BORN TO DIE | R. Arcturus Black

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Chapter Twenty-Five: Enter Dark Lord

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As the first course was laid out before them—an artfully arranged plate of smoked pheasant with a delicate drizzle of herb sauce—who she guessed was Evan's father, rose from his seat at the head of the table, raising his glass in a dramatic flourish. The room quieted instantly, all eyes turning toward him as he prepared to make his toast.

"To friends, family," he began, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "and the purest of bloodlines, which, as we all know, makes for a superior kind of company." He shot a glance across the table, his voice thick with barely veiled arrogance. "May we continue to uphold the old ways, undiluted, untainted." His gaze traveled across the room, his son, and then lingered on Janet just a second too long, a smug glint in his eye. "And may we find strength in keeping our circles... exclusive."

A wave of laughter rolled around the table, accompanied by smirks and nods, each held an air of practiced cruelty. Janet didn't move a muscle, her face an impenetrable mask as she brought her glass to her lips. But beneath that facade, her patience wore thin.

As the host sat, Evan leaned close to Janet, murmuring, "You don't have to take it personally. He's—well, he's a bit... old-fashioned."

"Old-fashioned is one way to put it," she replied coolly, her voice barely a whisper. "Bigoted would be another."

Regulus, catching the exchange, leaned over, his voice equally low but with a glint of amusement in his eye. "Not your type of humor, I take it?"

Janet gave him a withering look. "You think that was funny?"

Regulus smirked, leaning back in his chair with the air of someone who was perfectly at ease with the unspoken rules of this world. "Around here, it's called tradition."

Janet quirked an eyebrow, taking a pointed sip of her drink before answering. "Then maybe some traditions deserve to be broken."

Regulus's smirk didn't falter, though his gaze held a touch of curiosity. "Careful, Janet. Comments like that can make enemies quickly."

"Why, is that a threat?" she shot back, voice laced with false sweetness.

"Not from me," Regulus replied, his expression unchanging. "Just some advice. You might want to blend in a bit more tonight."

"Blend in?" she scoffed, setting her glass down with a soft clink.

Janet met Regulus's gaze directly, her eyes sharp with conviction as she leaned forward slightly. "Funny thing about blending in, Regulus. If everyone just focused on that, nothing would ever change. Sometimes, it takes someone willing to stick out—someone willing to challenge tradition—to move the world forward. Isn't that what your beloved Dark Lord claims to do?" She raised an eyebrow, her voice quiet but firm. "Or does he only break traditions when it's convenient for him?"

For a moment, Regulus was completely still, his expression flickering between surprise and something unreadable. He opened his mouth to retort, but the usual arrogance in his eyes had softened.

Before he could find the words, Janet gave him a knowing look and leaned back, taking a calm sip of her drink. It was as though she had caught him in some inner struggle he didn't even know he'd had, and her perceptiveness—her willingness to challenge him in ways no one else dared—left him, for once, at a loss.

After a beat, he cleared his throat, the smallest hint of a nod breaking through his collected facade. "Perhaps... you have a point," he admitted, voice just above a whisper.