As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end.
He hadn’t performed his praxis or even prayed for days, as usually happened when he became this other Maxence, the one he’d been before, the one who had no discipline or conscience.
He was falling, he was fallen, he was falling apart.
World without end.
He didn’t know what was going on with Flicka.
His world was ending.
The other texts were even more confusing.
From another cousin, Alexandre:Home for tour break before Winter Ball. There is some shit going down here. P insisting everything is fine, but it’s not. Fwding info about refusing inheritance. You’re going to need it.
Maxence would not need it.
He had no illusions. His brother Pierre would not refuse his inheritance. Pierre wanted it all, as he’d told or threatened Max with many times during their lives. Max, the spare heir, would never inherit the bulk of their family’s money and power.
Pierre had reminded Max of that every chance he’d gotten.
Unless Flicka had divorced Pierre.
And unless the Council cared that she had divorced him, and that was a longshot.
The last text on Max’s phone was from Father Moses:We should talk.
Maxence held in a sigh.
Yes, he should talk to Father Moses, and soon. Max wasn’t even sure what he was doing in Paris with Dree, but he couldn’t stop doing it. He’d always thought of these sojourns from his true life as going rogue for a few days, but this time, going back seemed impossible. He was already hungering for heragain.
The sunset blazed across the sky, turning the buildings to fire.
Maxence should be on his knees before a crucifix, praying the evening prayer of Vespers, giving thanks for God for the day and preparing himself for sleep.
Dree came into the living room, her blonde hair blow-dried in soft ringlets and wearing the red lipstick they’d bought the first day at Sephora.
That bright red of her lips commanded all his attention.
Dree was wearing tiny little gym shorts and a tight tee shirt, and she stopped and squinted, peering at him. “You okay?”
“Perfectly fine.”
He was falling, he was fallen, he was falling apart.
“Come here,” he told her, unbuckling his belt. “On your knees, pet.”
He gathered the silk of her hair in his fist and worked her over his cock, using her mouth. She looked up at him with her light blue, wide eyes and her lips around him, so abjectlyhisat that moment, and his orgasm soared through him.
He forced her to swallow it, and she complied.
Falling.
He was sitting on the couch, and he tucked himself back into his pants and buckled his belt. “Time for supper, pet.”
“Funny, I feel like I’ve just eaten ahugepiece of meat.” She stood up and walked over to the supper tray that the hotel had wheeled into the room and lifted one of the silver domes, sniffing the dish. “What is that?”
“Duck.”
