The tournament grounds sprawled across a vast neutral territory situated at the precise center of the five archdukedoms. Enormous pavilions and temporary structures transformed the normally tranquil valley into a bustling city of vampires, with banners representing each territory fluttering in the evening breeze. The official registration hall—a massive structure combining architectural elements from all five territories—dominated the central pza.

  Nathaniel paused just outside the hall's ornate entrance, taking a moment to steady his nerves. After weeks of preparation and travel, the moment of truth had arrived. If his documentation survived scrutiny, Lord Nathaniel Hargrove would officially exist within vampire society. If not...

  "My lord," a uniformed guard approached with a respectful bow, careful to maintain proper deference to nobility. "May I humbly suggest proceeding inside? Registration will continue for three more hours, but the queue grows substantial. Someone of your station shouldn't be kept waiting longer than necessary."

  Indeed, a substantial queue had formed behind Nathaniel while he hesitated. Mostly young aristocrats from across the territories, they dispyed the distinctive styles of their respective domains—eborate medieval garments from Orlov's nds, subtly modernized traditional wear from Lucius's domain, and the more overtly progressive fashions of Dante's and Seraphina's territories.

  Nathaniel joined the line, adopting the confident posture he had practiced. His attire—formal but understated in the style of a younger Orlov noble—had been carefully selected to avoid drawing undue attention. Not so ostentatious as to appear compensating, nor so pin as to seem suspicious for his station.

  The queue moved with surprising efficiency, each contestant spending approximately fifteen minutes with the registration officials before being directed to secondary processing. As he approached the entrance, Nathaniel observed the procedure—documentation verification first, followed by contestant categorization and housing assignment.

  "Next," called a stern voice as the aristocrat ahead of Nathaniel completed his registration.

  Taking a deep breath, Nathaniel stepped forward to a long table where three registration officials sat—one bearing Lucius's insignia, one with Dante's, and a third with the neutral territory's markings. Conspicuously absent were representatives from Orlov's territory, though this was hardly surprising given the traditional faction's disdain for the Crimson Games.

  "Name and territory of origin," the central official requested, not looking up from his ledger.

  "Lord Nathaniel Hargrove of House Hargrove, Orlov's Southern Reaches," Nathaniel stated, his practiced masculine voice steady despite his internal tension.

  This decration caused the official to look up with mild surprise. "House Hargrove? Duke Hargrove's family rarely participates in the Games."

  "My father continues to disapprove," Nathaniel replied with a casual confidence he didn't entirely feel. "But unlike most of my brothers, I've developed more... progressive curiosities."

  The official's expression remained neutral as he extended his hand. "Documentation, please."

  With deliberate calm, Nathaniel removed the leather folio containing his altered documents from his jacket's inner pocket. The weight of the papers felt suddenly insubstantial compared to their importance.

  The central official opened the folio and began methodically examining each document, occasionally referring to a rge reference book at his side. "Birth registration... territorial identification... aristocratic status certification..." he murmured, checking each against some unseen standard.

  Nathaniel maintained his composed expression, though his senses heightened with awareness of potential danger. Thoris had assured him the documents would withstand standard scrutiny, but the thoroughness of the official's examination was concerning.

  "House Hargrove's youngest son," the official noted, gncing up at Nathaniel. "Your brother Aleksander competed in previous years, did he not?"

  "You're thinking of a different Hargrove," Nathaniel corrected smoothly, drawing on his extensive knowledge of the family he'd been raised in. "Aleksander was engaged to Valentina many years ago, but never participated in the Games."

  The official consulted his reference book. "Ah, yes. My mistake. It was a different Hargrove son—Lord Viktor who participated in the second Games."

  Nathaniel nodded, relief washing through him that his family knowledge had proven correct. "My third eldest brother. Father was... displeased with his participation, as I recall. I expect simir disapproval of my own involvement."

  This exchange seemed to satisfy the official, who returned to his examination of the documents. He spent particur attention on the aristocratic status certification, holding it at various angles as though checking for something specific.

  "These appear to be in order," he finally decred, though something in his tone suggested lingering uncertainty. He passed the documents to his colleague bearing Lucius's insignia, who conducted his own brief examination.

  "Authentication markers consistent with Orlov's territory documentation standards," the second official confirmed, before passing the papers to the third examiner.

  The third official—a sharp-eyed female vampire with Dante's insignia—studied the signature with particur attention. "Interesting penmanship," she observed. "House Hargrove has a distinctive script tradition."

  Nathaniel's heart stuttered before he controlled his reaction. "Father insists on maintaining calligraphic standards. Each of us receives extensive training."

  She nodded, though her gaze remained analytical. "And yet your signature shows some... inconsistencies. Recently changed your writing style, perhaps?"

  The question was posed casually, but Nathaniel recognized the veiled suspicion. Despite his hundreds of practice signatures, some subtle inconsistency had caught her expert eye.

  "Perceptive of you," he acknowledged, improvising quickly. "Father insisted I adopt a more formal penmanship befitting my new diplomatic responsibilities. My handwriting tutor has been merciless these past few months—I'm still adapting to the changes."

  The official's mouth twitched slightly, whether in amusement or disbelief was impossible to determine. She opened her mouth to ask another question when the main entrance doors burst open with dramatic force.

  A commotion erupted as a vampire dressed in House Veronique's livery rushed in, scanning the hall frantically before spotting the registration table. He carried a sealed message tube bearing the distinctive colors of Countess Veronique, Natalia's father's bitter rival.

  "Urgent dispatch for the registration officials!" the messenger announced, hurrying toward the table.

  The officials turned their attention to this interruption, the one examining Nathaniel's documents setting them aside momentarily. "House Veronique? What business does the Countess have with tournament registration?"

  "Formal accusation of tournament rule viotion," the messenger replied, presenting the tube with a flourish.

  The central official broke the seal and extracted a lengthy parchment, his expression darkening as he read. "Countess Veronique accuses Lord Reynard Bckwood of attempting to bribe cssification officials for favorable preliminary rankings. She provides witness testimony and demands immediate investigation."

  The three officials exchanged concerned gnces. "This is a serious accusation," the female official noted, setting Nathaniel's documents down. "We'll need to convene an ethics committee immediately."

  As the officials became absorbed in this unexpected complication, Nathaniel remained perfectly still, maintaining his aristocratic composure while internally marveling at the fortuitous timing. Whether coincidence or fate, the interruption had diverted attention at the most critical moment of his documentation scrutiny.

  The central official gnced at Nathaniel, then back at the protest letter. Making a quick decision, he stamped Nathaniel's registration form and returned the documents to the leather folio.

  "Everything appears in order, Lord Hargrove."

  With a standard contestant identification medallion now hanging around his neck and his documentation safely returned to his inner pocket, Nathaniel exited the registration hall into the cool night air. The weight that had pressed upon his chest since arriving at the tournament grounds finally eased.

  He had done it. Lord Nathaniel Hargrove was officially registered as a contestant in the Crimson Games. Whatever happened in the competition itself, his chosen identity now existed in official tournament records.

  As he made his way toward the eastern residential pavilion, Nathaniel found himself studying the Veronique messenger's unexpected intervention with analytical curiosity. The timing had been remarkably convenient—perhaps too convenient to be mere coincidence. Yet he could conceive of no reason why Countess Veronique would inadvertently assist him, nor how anyone could have orchestrated such perfect timing.

  Sometimes, he reflected, fate simply favored the bold. And Lord Nathaniel Hargrove was nothing if not bold in his pursuit of freedom.