For whatever reason, Anubisa hadn't bothered to let her people-her vamp society-in on the secret of Atlantis. But Ven knew that could change any minute. If anybody knew about the capriciousness of gods and goddesses, it was an Atlantean.

Doomed to the bottom of the sea at Poseidon's whim.

Not that he'd ever complain about it. Out loud, at least.

Still, it was tough to defend humans when the big, bad, and ugly roamed freely, and the Atlanteans had to stick to the shadows. But Ven had argued the point in the Council until his face turned blue, and then he'd finally given up. The Elders didn't want anybody to know about Atlantis, and until Conlan ascended to the throne, nobody could go against their edict.

Ven looked down at his brother again, barely registering the soothing tones of the harps and flutes being played by temple maidens in the alcoves surrounding his brother. The music was supposed to aid in healing.

Ven laughed. Yeah, except Conlan hated that light, fluffy Debussy shit. When he ascended to the throne, he'd probably ask for Bruce Springsteen or U2 to play at his coronation.

If. If Conlan ascended to the throne.

He didn't even want to think about what would happen if Conlan had gone bad. Because guess who was second in line? Yeah. Ven would go from being King's Vengeance to high prince in a royal godsdamned minute, and there was no fucking way he was cut out to lead anything.

He looked down at his brother again, lying so still. Conlan had grown up like royalty, honor and duty and all that happy shit ingrained in his soul. But Ven had grown up pure street fighter. There was a big, ugly part of his soul. The part that had withered and died when he'd been with his mother at the end, before she died. When she'd begged him to save himself. Keep his brother safe.

He'd promised her, sobbing, as she died.