_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">The Blood Banquet—a traditional mid-tournament event where contestants and observers gathered for formal blood sharing—provided the perfect opportunity to test their newly established communication system. As vampire nobles circuted through the grand hall in their finest attire, Nathaniel and Aric maintained careful distance from each other, their public rivalry an effective cover for their private alliance.

  Three nights had passed since their meeting in the commissioner's pavilion. During that time, they had developed an eborate system of signals designed to appear as casual aristocratic mannerisms while conveying specific messages between them.

  Aric had been surprisingly thorough in designing the system. Each potential need was assigned a corresponding gesture: adjusting cufflinks indicated warnings about nearby threats, specific ways of holding wine gsses identified different suspects, handkerchief pcement signaled meeting times, and particur phrases about weather formed conversation codes for various intelligence updates.

  "The system must be sufficiently complex to avoid accidental signals," Aric had insisted during their pnning, "but natural enough to avoid detection."

  Nathaniel, drawing on his childhood observations of aristocratic subterfuge in Orlov's court, had contributed several elegant refinements. The result was a communication method that even close observers would mistake for typical noble mannerisms.

  At least, that had been the theory.

  Nathaniel stood near one of the ornate blood fountains, conversing with a contestant from Seraphina's Eastern Encves while maintaining peripheral awareness of Aric's position across the chamber. The duke was engaged in conversation with two tournament officials, his posture rexed but attentive.

  A new group entered the hall—representatives from traditional faction houses who had been observing the tournament. Among them, Nathaniel recognized Lord Devereux's former seneschal, now serving House Volkov after his master's downfall. The seneschal had been particurly vocal about "common-born contestants polluting noble competitions" according to Aric's intelligence.

  Nathaniel casually adjusted his stance to maintain sight lines to both Aric and the new arrivals. When the duke gnced in his direction, Nathaniel made a seemingly casual gesture with his handkerchief—a specific fold and pcement that indicated potential hostile presence.

  Aric nodded almost imperceptibly, then returned his attention to his conversation. Minutes ter, he moved toward the refreshment table, positioning himself with clear view of the Volkov representatives. After a moment's observation, he reached for his wine gss.

  Their code designated different wine gss holds for various suspect categories: standard grip for minor threats, stem hold for confirmed saboteurs, and—

  Aric held his gss with his pinky extended in an aristocratic flourish that would have looked perfectly natural to any observer.

  Nathaniel froze momentarily before recovering his composed expression. According to their established signals, that particur hold indicated "suspect present, confirmed connection to previous incidents." But it also required immediate coordination at their secondary meeting location.

  At least, that's what Nathaniel understood from their pnning session. He made a subtle gesture of acknowledgment before smoothly extracting himself from his current conversation. According to protocol, they would depart separately with appropriate time intervals to avoid suspicion.

  As Nathaniel made his way through the byrinthine gardens toward their designated meeting point—a small pavilion on the tournament grounds' eastern edge—he mentally reviewed the information he had gathered about the Volkov seneschal. The connection to previous sabotage attempts seemed tenuous, but Aric clearly had evidence worth sharing immediately.

  The pavilion stood empty when he arrived, its marble benches gleaming in the moonlight. Nathaniel took position in the shadows as they had arranged, waiting for Aric's arrival.

  One hour passed. Then two.

  By the third hour, Nathaniel's aristocratic patience had worn considerably thin. The night was well advanced, and there was still no sign of Aric. Whatever intelligence had prompted the urgent signal clearly hadn't been urgent enough to ensure the duke's punctual arrival.

  Had he misinterpreted the signal? It seemed unlikely—they had practiced the hand positions repeatedly during their pnning. Perhaps some emergency had detained Aric? But that would contradict the duke's meticulous nature. He would have found some way to send word.

  Finally, as the night's deepest hours approached, Nathaniel abandoned his position. Either there had been a miscommunication or Aric had encountered some unexpected obstacle. Either way, further waiting served no purpose.

  As he made his way back toward the contestants' quarters, a shadow detached itself from a decorative column.

  "You weren't at the south garden archway," came Aric's low voice, tinged with uncharacteristic confusion.

  Nathaniel stopped, maintaining careful distance. "The pavilion was our designated meeting point for urgent communications."

  "The pavilion is for scheduled meetings," Aric corrected. "The extended pinky indicates moderate suspicion, no immediate action required."

  "Your extended pinky," Nathaniel replied with barely contained frustration, "was our signal for 'confirmed hostile presence, meet immediately at second location.'"

  A rare expression of surprise crossed Aric's features. "That's the under-the-stem hold."

  "No, the under-the-stem was for 'potential but unconfirmed threat, maintain observation.'"

  They stared at each other for a long moment before Aric broke the silence with a sharp exhale. "We appear to have a... discrepancy in our interpretation of the signals."

  Nathaniel's aristocratic composure barely contained his irritation. "A discrepancy that left me waiting for three hours in an empty pavilion."

  "While I checked the south archway four separate times," Aric added, his own annoyance evident beneath his controlled tone.

  The absurdity of their situation hung between them—two highly competent vampires, one a skilled military leader and the other trained in aristocratic intrigue, unable to successfully execute a basic coordinated meeting. Something in Aric's expression shifted subtly, and for a moment, Nathaniel thought he glimpsed the ghost of amusement in the duke's usually stern features.

  "We should crify our signals," Aric suggested with forced neutrality.

  "Immediately," Nathaniel agreed, his own expression carefully bnk despite the ridiculous nature of their predicament.

  The following evening, the Tournament Grand Hall hosted a reception for contestants and aristocratic observers. Nathaniel circuted among the gathering, maintaining his aristocratic fa?ade while gathering impressions and observations as any strategic competitor would.

  He spotted Aric in conversation with tournament officials near one of the ornate blood fountains. Following their revised signal protocol, Nathaniel casually positioned himself within earshot and waited for an appropriate moment to deploy their updated weather code.

  When a brief lull occurred in Aric's conversation, Nathaniel approached with perfect aristocratic timing.

  "Duke Aric," he acknowledged with formal correctness. "One expects rain by tomorrow evening, I believe."

  According to their revised code, this innocent comment about weather indicated Nathaniel had gathered new information about potential saboteurs—information that wasn't urgent but should be shared at their next scheduled meeting.

  Aric's response was not what Nathaniel expected.

  The duke's posture shifted instantly to combat readiness, his eyes scanning the room with predatory intensity. In a fluid motion that appeared perfectly casual to any observer, he positioned himself between Nathaniel and the nearest exit.

  "Lord Hargrove," he replied with a formality that didn't match his suddenly alert stance, "perhaps we should continue this discussion elsewhere."

  Before Nathaniel could crify the misunderstanding, Aric had maneuvered them both toward a side door, his hand making a subtle gesture toward security personnel stationed around the chamber's perimeter. Within moments, tournament guards began moving toward predetermined positions as if responding to a silent arm.

  "What are you doing?" Nathaniel hissed as Aric guided him into a private antechamber with a grip that appeared convivial but felt unbreakable.

  "Executing emergency extraction protocol," Aric replied tersely. "Your rain signal indicated immediate danger requiring swift evacuation."

  "Rain signal?" Nathaniel's confusion momentarily broke through his aristocratic mask. "Rain tomorrow meant 'new information, not urgent, discuss at scheduled meeting.'"

  Aric stopped mid-motion. "Rain tomorrow is code orange—immediate threat, non-specific target, requires precautionary evacuation."

  They stared at each other as realization dawned. Once again, their carefully designed communication system had produced exactly the opposite of its intended result.

  Outside the antechamber, they could hear the muffled sounds of security personnel establishing a perimeter. Tournament officials would already be implementing Lucius's carefully designed security protocols in response to Aric's alert—all because of a misinterpreted comment about imaginary weather.

  "This," Nathaniel said with aristocratic understatement, "is going to be difficult to expin."

  Something unexpected happened then. A slight tremor appeared at the corner of Aric's mouth, quickly suppressed but unmistakable. It was followed by a subtle shake of his shoulders that he disguised as adjusting his formal jacket.

  The absurdity of their situation—two highly competent individuals repeatedly foiled by their own communication system—had finally broken through even the duke's military discipline. The almost-smile transformed his features, softening the hard lines of his face and bringing unexpected warmth to his usually cold eyes.

  Nathaniel felt his own composure threatening to crack. The image of tournament security mobilizing over a weather forecast struck him with unexpected humor. He turned away quickly, using every bit of aristocratic training to maintain his dignified expression.

  "Perhaps," Aric suggested, his voice suspiciously even, "we should consider a simpler system."

  "Perhaps," Nathaniel agreed, not quite trusting himself to say more.

  When they finally emerged to expin the "misunderstanding" to increasingly confused security personnel, both maintained perfect composure. Only someone looking very closely might have noticed the slight tension around their mouths—the barely contained amusement at their shared folly.

  Later that night, a messenger delivered a sealed note to Nathaniel's quarters. Inside, written in Aric's precise hand, was a revised communication protocol consisting of exactly three signals: one for "meet now," one for "danger present," and one for "information to share."

  At the bottom, in what might almost have been a humorous postscript if Duke Aric were capable of such things, was a single line: "No weather references of any kind."

  Nathaniel carefully burned the note after memorizing its contents. As the paper curled into ash, he permitted himself a small smile. Their alliance remained precariously banced between rivalry and cooperation, but something had shifted during their shared embarrassment—a momentary glimpse of the person behind Duke Aric's carefully maintained facade.

  It was, perhaps, the first genuine connection between them that wasn't built entirely on mutual necessity or shared danger. A small thing, but somehow significant in ways Nathaniel wasn't yet prepared to examine too closely.