Lola wanted to say something rude to him but Russel just shook his head, face grim, and urged her onward. It looked like he didn’t want to stall any longer either. She could almost feel a low, thrumming terror coming off him and she knew he was just as scared to face his father as Lola was. She wanted to grab his arm, yank him out of that castle, and run away with him but she knew he wouldn't go with her.

Whatever happened, it was too late for running.

Eventually after climbing three flights of stairs, they went through one final set of doors and found themselves in a long, wide room full of torchlight, thick columns, and a dais on the far side with a single throne carved from what looked like pure obsidian. Hanging from the ceiling behind the throne was a banner bearing the crest of the Polver royal family in their ancestral colors of red and grey.

The crest, Lola saw, was of an open hand, each finger tipped with a claw. Behind the hand was the outline of a circle.

Sitting on the throne, leaning forward slightly with his hands steepled, was one of the biggest and scariest people Lola had ever seen. As soon as their eyes met, she felt that sensation along her spine again but this time, it was much, much worse. In fact, it was worse than anything she’d experienced before.

Worse than when Russel snuck up behind her.

Worse than with the ghouls.

Even worse than the oni.

It was a malevolent, vile presence against her awareness and it was so powerful, she almost fell to her knees right there.

“Come forward, my sons,” the man said. He had a deep, rumbling voice that only made things worse for Lola.

The brothers, including Russel, started walking down the middle of the throne room on a blood red runner that started at the door and ended at the dais. The torches guttered in their sconces, as if they were muttering amongst themselves.

Lola forced herself to follow. It wasn’t easy. Her body wanted nothing more than to turn and bolt. That, she knew, would be a very bad idea though. So, instead of doing that, she matched pace with Russel. She wanted him to give her a reassuring look, something that would ease her state of mind and give her comfort but every time she looked at him, his eyes never wavered from his father.

When they got to the end of the runner, each brother dropped to one knee, crossed a fist over their chest, and bowed deeply.

“Rise,” their father rumbled.

Lola could feel something heated in that voice. Something angry.

The king got up from his throne and glared down at his sons as they stood back up. His eyes drifted over them all, including Lola. When he got to her, that anger felt like it wanted to jump out at her and smash her down. But then his gaze drifted past her and finally, it settled on Russel.

“I have to admit, Russel, you were the last one I thought would have the balls to throw the Blood Challenge at me,” he said. “At least now I have a legitimate excuse to cull you from my bloodline.”

Russel’s nose twitched and his lip curled up at his father’s words. His eyes narrowed and Lola could see him clenching his jaw, trying to bite down on the words he probably wanted to throw at him.

“Bring in the witness!” the king shouted, the tendons in his neck popping out as he yelled.

Immediately, a human woman in somewhat better clothing came rushing in. She held a roll of parchment in one hand and a quill in the other.

“Here, Your Majesty,” she said, breathing heavily. “I, Wilma Marsten, shall serve as witness to the results of the Blood Challenge between King Carter Ismael Polver and Prince Russel Arthur Polver. This is a binding challenge.”

“Good, good,” King Carter said. He started removing his clothes. As he did, the other four brothers moved off to one side. “I promise you, son, this will not end well for you.”

His head turned and that murderous gaze landed on Lola again.

“Or for you, human.”