Success.
That single, triumphant word echoed through Cassiopeia's mind like a stolen melody as the long, dark car glided away from the Maxton ancestral mansion, threading its way through the patient, whispering hedgerows toward the distant gates.
Success... she had truly done it.
She had not only deceived the stupid, self-important men of her own house — her father, her uncles, the small ancient parliament of patriarchs who had spent the afternoon leaning across the long oak table receiving her report with the grave, patient attention they reserved for intelligence they believed they had paid for — but she had also fooled the overestimated, oh-so-mighty Awakened Jörmungandr Prince himself. Danton... the very Progenitor of her Bloodline, albeit, unawakened.
