A knock came at Baron’s bedroom door, startling him upright in his chair. He hastily rolled Aria’s letter, sliding it into his vest pocket beside his heart, where he’d kept it since its arrival.
“My lord,” said Martin with a bow. “Corvin is readying for Lord Bennett’s dinner party.”
Baron thanked the man, then slipped down the hallway to Corvin’s room. The upcoming dinner was a simple affair meant to welcome home Silas, though his parents had certainly dragged their feet in acknowledging he even was home.
Normally, Baron would have been the only one invited, but hewas now an untitled Caster under house arrest, and no matter his personal connection to Silas, the invitation went, as socially proper, to the future lord baron. Huxley had snuck it right past Baron, accepting on Corvin’s behalf when Baron would have rejected. Now the boy would have to go alone to a party hosted by a man who’d tried to kill the last Affiliate he’d discovered in his home.
So it made sense Corvin was struggling with the buttons of his jacket.
“Lord Bennett hates the new trade agreements with Pravusat,” Baron said. “If you get cornered, simply mention them, and he’ll do all the talking. He might even forget you’re there.”
“As long as I don’t sprout feathers,” Corvin muttered. “That’s hard to forget.”
“If the worst really happens, Silas will have a window open for you. Just get out, and we’ll make our decisions from there.”
Corvin fumbled the last button, then finally forced it in place. “You talked to him about tonight?”
“He came by the training yard again yesterday.”
“I thought he didn’t even like me. He never talks to me when he’s here.”
“I believe he’s scared of you.”
“What, really?” Corvin looked up, eyes wide.
Baron shrugged. “Not really, but the idea that birds eat snakes has been mentioned a few times.”
“Heh. I don’t think even Leon could make Silas taste good.”
The joke had helped the boy relax, allowing him to pull on his gloves easily. He turned, craning his neck to survey himself in his new suit, which, despite being tailored, looked constricting.
“Looks better on you,” Corvin said quietly.
“You’re going to be fine,” Baron said, resting a hand on Corvin’s shoulder. “Not just tonight. Through all of it.”
Whether he believed it or not, Corvin nodded. Baron walkedhim to the carriage, lingered as long as he possibly could, and then paced all night, unable to focus on anything else. Leon brought him a cheese tart and told him to stop wearing grooves in the floor.
Finally, after dark, the carriage returned. Mr. Huxley hobbled through the door first, and his satisfied expression was not that of a steward discovering a shapeshifter in his charge. Corvin followed a step behind, unharmed and in one piece, allowing Baron to truly breathe.
At least until Corvin met his eyes.
“What happened?” Baron asked.
The boy’s expression fell. “Silas wasn’t there.”
Huxley took over, describing a perfect dinner event and praising Lord Bennett as the sort of nobleman every lord should aspire to be.
“If I had one criticism,” he said, “it would be the bait and switch of it all. The invitation claimed to be a welcoming party for the heir’s return, but Lord Bennett announced that his son is at the palace, challenging for the hand of the crown princess.”
Baron suddenly understood Corvin’s expression, and his stomach sank.
Silas had been convinced his father would try to marry him off immediately, and Baron should have realized the man would take the most prestigious option available. In three days, Silas would be gone again, after he’d barely been home a week.
And this time, he would be exiled forever.
17 days left
The third challenger requested to meet Aria in the library; that was new. When she arrived, she found the man already settled, perched on the window seat with one foot crossed over his opposite knee, thumbing the pages of a book with the light of enjoyment in his dark eyes.
