KINGMAKER

VICTORIA FALLS - Three Days Before The Trials

DOWNTOWN FINANCIAL DISTRICT - ROUSSEAU TOWER

7:47 AM

The morning sun filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows on the forty-second floor, casting sharp shadows across Séverin Rousseau’s desk. He sat perfectly still, a cup of black coffee cooling beside untouched financial reports, his dark green eyes fixed on the single card that had arrived an hour ago.

Heavy black cardstock. Gold embossed lettering. One word: ARCHON.

Beneath it, a date. Three days from now.

“You’ve been staring at that for twenty minutes.” Théo stood in the doorway, tablet in hand, expression carefully neutral. “Your mother called. Twice.”

Séverin didn’t look up. His fingers drummed once against the desk—the only sign of tension in his otherwise controlled posture. The sleeve tattoo on his left arm shifted with the movement, the serpent seeming to coil tighter.

“I know what she wants.” His voice was low, measured. Empty of emotion.

“She wants to confirm you received the summons.”

“I received it.” He finally looked up, jaw tight. “Tell her I’ll be ready.”

Théo hesitated. “Sev—”

“And find out who the other candidates are. All of them. I want full backgrounds by tonight.”

He picked up the card, turning it over in his long fingers. Twenty-seven years of preparation. Twenty-seven years of being molded, controlled, perfected. And now, finally, the moment his mother had been engineering since before he could walk.

He should feel something, but felt nothing but the familiar weight of expectation pressing down on his shoulders like a hand around his throat.

“There’s a rumor,” Théo said carefully, “that the Valencia family is putting forward a candidate.”

Séverin’s eyes snapped up. “The Valencias are dead.”

“All but one, apparently.”

A pause. Then Séverin set down the card with deliberate precision. “Interesting.”

A ghost entering the trials, he thought. Either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

He’d know which soon enough.

THE DOCKS - DELACROIX SHIPPING WAREHOUSE

8:15 AM

Sienna Delacroix’s fist connected with the punching bag with a sound like a gunshot. Sweat dripped down her face, her cornrows pulled tight, sports bra soaked through. She’d been at it since five AM, trying to burn off the rage that had been simmering in her chest since last night.

Since her father had told her the trials were happening.

Since he’d told her she was their candidate.

Since he’d made it clear this wasn’t a request.

“Your form’s sloppy.” Marcus Delacroix stood in the warehouse entrance, massive arms crossed, watching his daughter destroy the bag with something that wasn’t quite pride. “You’re fighting angry.”

“I’m always angry.” Another hit. The chain rattled.

“The trials start in three days.”

“I know.” Hit. “You’ve reminded me.” Hit. “Seventeen times.” Hit.

“Sienna.”

She stopped, chest heaving, and turned to face him. Her father—a mountain of a man, scarred and weathered, with eyes that had seen too much death. The man who’d raised her to be a soldier when she’d wanted to be anything else.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said quietly.

“None of us ask for what we’re born into.” He walked closer, and for a moment—just a moment—his expression softened. “But you’re the strongest person I know. You’ll make the family proud.”

I don’t want to make you proud, she thought. I want you to let me go.

But she didn’t say it. Instead, she nodded once, grabbed her towel, and walked past him without another word.

She had three days to prepare for a trial she didn’t want, fighting for a title she didn’t care about, all to prove something to a father who’d never see her as more than a soldier.

EASTSIDE TECH DISTRICT - KOZLOV SAFE HOUSE

9:33 AM

Alexei Kozlov sat in the dark, surrounded by the blue glow of six monitors, his fingers flying across three keyboards simultaneously. Code scrolled past faster than most people could read. He barely noticed.

Empty energy drink cans littered the desk. His hoodie had a stain he didn’t remember getting. He hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours.

The center monitor displayed a file labeled: TRIAL_CANDIDATES_FULL_DOSSIER.encrypted

He’d been compiling it for weeks. Ever since he’d intercepted the Council’s communications and learned the trials were being called early. Six months early.

Something’s wrong, he thought, chewing his already-bloody thumbnail. They don’t call trials early unless something’s forcing their hand.

His door opened without knocking. Alexei flinched, fingers automatically closing windows.

Dmitri Kozlov stood in the doorway—thin, unremarkable, with dead eyes that missed nothing. “You received the summons.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Alexei didn’t turn around.

“Three days. You’ll be ready.”

“I’m always ready.”

A pause. Then his father’s hand landed on his shoulder—too tight, fingers digging in like a threat. “Don’t embarrass me, Alexei. The other families already think you’re weak. Prove them right and I’ll ensure you regret it.”

The hand left. The door closed.

Alexei exhaled slowly, his whole body shaking.

On one of his monitors, a notification popped up. New candidate file complete: VALENCIA, IMANI - AGE 22 - STATUS: ACTIVE

Alexei frowned, opening the file. The Valencias were supposed to be extinct. But here was a photo—a young woman with light eyes and dark curly hair, taken from what looked like a college security camera.

He ran facial recognition. Cross-referenced with every database he had access to.

The results made him sit up straighter.

She’s been hiding. Living under a different name. Alessia Ivans. College student. No connection to the underworld for six months.

She doesn’t even know yet.

He chewed his lip, thinking. Then, against every instinct of self-preservation, he made a decision.

He sent an anonymous email.

To: [email protected] Subject: They’re coming for you Message: The trials begin in three days. Run, or show up ready to fight. - A friend

WESTSIDE ENTERTAINMENT DISTRICT - YAKIMURA ESTATE

11:07 AM

Mei Yakimura knelt in the center of the meditation room, back perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap. She’d been there for four hours without moving.

The knife lay in front of her. Polished. Perfect. Waiting.

“The trials are in three days.” Kenji Yakimura’s voice came from behind her, soft as silk. “You understand what is required.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“There will be four other candidates. All of them are beneath you.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“You will not fail.”

“No, Uncle.”

A pause. Then the sound of his cane as he circled her.

“The Delacroix girl is a soldier. Predictable. The Kozlov boy is a coward hiding behind computers. The Rousseau heir is arrogant.” Another pause. “But the Valencia girl… she is an unknown.”

Mei’s eyes flickered. The first sign of reaction she’d shown all morning.

“I thought the Valencias were eliminated,” she said carefully.

“One survived. She has been living as a civilian.” Kenji stopped in front of her, his shadow falling across her face. “She will be the weakest link. See that she’s removed quickly.”

“As you wish.”

He placed a hand on her head.

“You have brought honor to this family with your forty-seven successes. Do not disappoint me now.”

“I won’t, Uncle.”

When he left, Mei opened her eyes and looked at the knife.

Forty-seven people. Forty-seven names in her journal. Forty-seven deaths she’d executed perfectly.

Number forty-eight would be decided in the trials.

She picked up the blade, testing its weight. No emotion crossed her doll-like features.

Just another assignment.

Just another kill.

SOUTHSIDE - VICTORIA UNIVERSITY CAMPUS

2:34 PM

Imani Valencia—though here she was Alessia Ivans—sat in the back of her Criminal Justice lecture, pen tapping absently against her notebook. Professor Chen droned on about prosecutorial discretion while autumn sunlight streamed through the windows.

She should be paying attention. Finals were in three weeks. Law school applications were due in January. Her whole carefully constructed future depended on maintaining her perfect GPA.

But her mind kept drifting.

Six months. Six months since the fire. Since the funerals. Since she’d buried seventeen members of her family and walked away from the only world she’d ever known.

Six months of pretending to be normal. Of being Alessia. Of coffee dates and study groups and conversations about nothing that mattered.

“Hey.” Evony nudged her, all bright smiles and concerned eyes. “You okay? You’ve been spacing out all day.”

Imani forced a smile. “Yeah, just tired. Late night studying.”

“You work too hard.” Evony’s nose scrunched up in that way that made her look about twelve. “Come out with us tonight! There’s a party at Nelly’s house. You need to actually have fun for once.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s code for no.” Evony pouted. “You’ve been so weird lately. Like, more than usual weird. Is everything okay? For real?”

No, Imani thought. Nothing’s been okay since I watched my family burn.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Promise.”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Probably just a Canvas notification or—

She glanced at the screen and froze.

Unknown Sender Subject: They’re coming for you

Her blood went cold.

Professor Chen’s voice faded to white noise. The classroom walls seemed to close in.

With shaking hands, she opened the email.

The trials begin in three days. Run, or show up ready to fight. - A friend

No.

No, no, no—

She’d left. She’d gotten out. She was done with that world. She was Alessia Ivans now, pre-law student, normal girl, safe—

“Alessia?” Evony’s hand on her arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

Imani stared at the email. At those two words that changed everything.

The trials.

She knew what that meant. What it had to mean.

The Council was calling for a new Archon. And somehow, impossibly, they expected her—the last Valencia—to answer.

Her hands clenched into fists under the desk, nails digging into her palms.

She’d spent six months running, hiding, pretending her family’s murder was an accident, that she could just move on, build a new life, to fo

But she’d never forgotten.

“I’m fine,” she told Evony, her voice steadier than she felt. “I just… I need to go. Something came up.”

“Wait, what? Class isn’t even—”

But Imani was already gathering her things, shoving her laptop into her bag with shaking hands. She needed to think and figure out what this meant.

“Text me later?” Evony called after her, concern bleeding through her usual cheerfulness.

Imani just nodded, not trusting her voice, and pushed through the lecture hall doors.

Her hands fumbled with her keys. Once. Twice. Finally, the lock clicked.

She pushed open the door to her single dorm room—the one luxury she’d allowed herself, needing privacy, needing space to breathe without a roommate asking questions—and froze.

On her desk, placed carefully atop her closed Criminal Justice textbook, was a letter.

Heavy cardstock. Gold wax seal.

And written across the front in elegant script: VALENCIA

Her blood turned to ice.

No one on campus knew that name. She’d been so careful. New identity, new records, new life. Alessia Ivans didn’t exist six months ago, but now she was real—complete with transcripts, medical records, everything.

Imani Valencia was supposed to be dead. Or at least invisible.

But someone knew.

Someone had been in her room.

She stood in the doorway, hand still on the knob, every instinct screaming at her to run. This was a threat. A message. They’d found her, gotten into her locked dorm room, left this like it was nothing.

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown: Open it.

A chill ran down her spine. She spun around, scanning the hallway. Empty. She looked at her window—closed, third floor, no balcony.

They’re watching me.

She closed and locked the door behind her, heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

Carefully, she approached. Her hands shook as she picked it up—heavier than it looked, the paper expensive, official. The gold wax seal bore an image she recognized from her childhood: five interlocking rings forming a crown.

The Council’s seal.

No. No, this can’t be happening.

She broke the seal and opened the letter.

The handwriting was immaculate:

Imani Estelle Valencia,

Last daughter of the Valencia line, born of blood and raised in shadow.

The Council formally acknowledges your right to represent your family in the upcoming Trials for the seat of Archon.

You have three days to accept or refuse this summons.

Should you refuse, your family’s territory will be dissolved and distributed among the remaining families. Your name will be struck from the records. The Valencia legacy will end with you.

Should you accept, you will present yourself at the Cathedral of Saint Constantine at midnight on the third day, where you will take your oath alongside the other candidates.

The Trials begin at dawn.

Be warned: To enter is to accept that only one candidate will survive with their life, power, and sanity intact. Turn back now if you are not prepared to sacrifice everything.

The choice is yours.

We await your answer.

—The Council of Five

Beneath the text was a line for her signature and a small box containing a single item: a ring.

Her father’s ring.

The one he’d been wearing when he died. The one that had been buried with him.

Imani’s legs gave out. She sank into her desk chair, the letter falling from her hands, staring at the ring with tears blurring her vision.

They’d desecrated his grave. They’d dug up his body to send her a message.

Come play our game, or we erase you completely.

Her phone buzzed a third time.

Unknown: I know this is hard. But you deserve answers. You deserve justice. Three days, Imani. Choose wisely.

She picked up her father’s ring with trembling fingers. It was exactly as she remembered—gold band, the Valencia family crest engraved on the face, worn smooth from years of wear. She could almost feel his presence, hear his voice.

“Ima, you are stronger than you know. Never forget who you are.”

For six months, she’d been Alessia Ivans. Safe. Normal. Small.

But she wasn’t small. She was the last Valencia. Daughter of a family that had protected their people, fought for their streets, and built something that mattered even in a world of corruption and violence.

And someone had murdered them all.

Someone on that Council had ordered the hit. Had burned her family alive. Had taken everything from her and expected her to just… disappear.

Imani closed her fist around the ring.