“He makes it look easy,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.
“He does. He’s always been good at making things look effortless. It’s one of the many reasons he will make an excellent duke.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You put people at ease just by being yourself.”
“Do you think so?”
I couldn’t look at him, but I nodded in reply. If I looked at him, I wasn’t sure I could resist telling him how he was his brother’s superior in every way, and how fond I was of his company. I needed the darkness to cloak the emotions that threatened to bare themselves, so I pushed away from the wall and walked slowly down the stone steps into the garden below. Maxwell followed with light footfalls, but even without their telltale sounds, I would have felt his presence.
Tall hedges made the garden a crisscrossing maze of avenues, obscuring the light from the party as the music became fainter with every step. Thankfully, the moon was full enough overhead to provide sufficient light to maneuver by. A bat streaked by, and I wondered briefly if it was one of Vrykolakas’s pets, sent to keep tabs on me.
“What do you want to do with your life, Lucian?” Maxwell asked after we’d been walking for a time. “Will you return home after the competition?”
I looked mock-offended. “You don’t think I’ll win? I hope I won’t have need to return home.”
“Ah, of course. Ambrose seems close to making a decision.”
I blinked, glancing at him briefly before looking away. Was that jealousy I detected in his voice? Bitterness? “I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”
“Oh, I didn’t say you were the frontrunner.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh? I suppose that honor falls to … Cecelia?”
“I doubt Father would allow that after last night. He doesn’t tolerate weakness.” He shook his head. “I do apologize for what happened in there with Thomas. You didn’t deserve that. Thomas isn’t in his right mind.”
“I know.” I looked around the path at the hedges we passed, hoping to find inspiration to change the subject. “What will you do after Ambrose makes his decision? Look for your own match?”
Maxwell cleared his throat, his voice returning thicker than before. “I suppose I’ll have no choice.”
I thought of Maxwell dancing with more men and women, laughing at their jokes rather than mine. How I wished things could be different.
I closed my eyes. There it was, of course. Cecelia had been right about how I was fooling myself. But I had to put duty over what I felt. This would be a passing moment in my immortal life. A time that would likely fill me with regret.
I stopped abruptly, turning to Maxwell, seized by a sudden impulse. What if I threw myself into his arms right now? What if I kissed him right here, right now, gods damn the consequences?
Muffled voices carried to us across the garden, interrupting my thoughts. One voice was briefly raised, as if in anger. I sent Maxwell a questioning look and he shrugged, following as I skulked from shadow to shadow, the voices growing closer the further into the garden we ventured.
“He was clearly not ready for society. You should have known better,” a voice I recognized said, full of accusation.
I paused at a large hedge and pushed aside some branches carefully to see Ambrose standing with arms crossed, jaw set, as he stared down his nose at a man in a beige suit sitting on a bench.
“You’re right,” the man agreed, shrugging. “I don’t think anyone who witnessed that spectacle would say that he’s recovered. We miscalculated. He seemed to be doing so well.”
Ambrose scoffed. “The trauma was practically radiating off him tonight. How could you have missed that?”
The man sat forward. “Don’t tell me he didn’t seem fine most of the night. You were excited to have him here.”
Ambrose hesitated. “He was triggered, clearly. Lucian resembled his captor. But we can’t have him going off like that in public. Give him another month of quiet, at the very least.”
“I quite agree.” The man eyed Ambrose for a moment. “Another feather in your cap.”
“Well, this isn’t exactly your first blunder, is it? Your men left my brother bleeding, for Christ’s sake.”
I stiffened. His men? Was Ambrose referring to the blood on Emmett’s mattress? Was this man involved in Emmett’s disappearance? I squinted. What exactly was going on here? And what was Ambrose’s involvement? My eyes widened as I realized the implications. This man … his men were hunters. He was connected to them. I stared at him, memorizing his features.
“Didn’t leave them much choice, did he?” the man returned. “If it hadn’t been—”
A branch snapped near my ear and I swiveled my head to glare at Maxwell, who winced.
