There was a good chance that he was still intoxicated.
“Honk.”
The bird proceeded to do a little dance, lost his footing, and plummeted from the tree in a mess of feathers, desperately flapping wings, and an alarmed series of noises that made him sound more like a monkey than a peacock.
Matthieu scrunched his nose and looked away, only to find Geoffrey standing an intimate distance from him. The look in his eyes matched the emotion Matthieu felt through their mate bond—anger and fear, disappointment and frustration, reluctance and…
Matthieu shuffled his feet and dropped his head.
Affection.
Geoffrey felt affection toward him. He didn’t have to, but he did all the same. It made Matthieu feel guilty for his short temper.
“Listen,” Matthieu began. He searched for the right words to say, but came up short. He’d have to wing it and hope that he didn’t botch his delivery. “I know that you are upset. We all are. But this… this is not my doing. I wanted my freedom, and I wanted for you two to be together. You and Ian. That is all.”
“Hooonk,” Lucian agreed from somewhere on the ground.
The bird was drunk.
Definitely drunk.
“If I could put an end to this, I would. But I cannot.” Matthieu swallowed the lump rising in his throat. For years he’d dreamed of escape, of law school, and of a better life, but now there was no chance he’d achieve any of it. He’d fall into his role as Geoffrey’s mate and produce a clutch for him, and the bond would brainwash him into believing that it was what he wanted. The man he’d once been would be overwritten by his baser instincts. The Matthieu he’d been no more than a few days ago was as good as dead. “This is how it is, and we will have to make the best of it.”
“You misunderstand.” Ian joined their conversation, coming to stand by Geoffrey’s side.
“Do I?” Matthieu couldn’t bring himself to lift his chin. He stared at the toes of Ian’s leather shoes instead. “There is no way to break a mate bond, except for death, and should one of us die, the other is likely to perish as well.”
“No.” Ian drew a breath, like he was bracing for the worst. “What you’re forgetting is—”
A loud tap disrupted what Ian had to say, scaring Matthieu so much he jumped and spun toward the source of the noise. Lucian had recovered from his tumble and come to perch on the windowsill. He pecked at the glass like a chicken looking for worms.
“I’ll get him,” Geoffrey said in a low voice before moving to the window. Without hesitation, he wrested it open, plucked Lucian from the ledge, and cradled him in his arms like a baby. Lucian stretched his legs in the air and squawked, his head and neck draped comfortably in the crook of Geoffrey’s arms. His long tail dipped downward, dragging on the floor.
Matthieu had to look away. Geoffrey had no business looking so adorable.
“Did you drug him with diazepam again?” Geoffrey murmured, either to himself or to Ian. “You know how he gets on diazepam. We were supposed to dose him with midazolam instead, remember?”
Ian smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. There were circumstances that necessitated our early departure from the Brand estate, and I had to work with what I had.”
Lucian honked pitifully at Geoffrey and curled his toes. Geoffrey immediately fished something from his pocket and presented it to the bird’s beak. Whatever it was, it was promptly consumed.
“Good boy,” Geoffrey praised, then set the peacock down. The bird stumbled, but caught himself with a flap of his wings and sauntered over to Matthieu. “No, Matthieu does not have any raisins.”
Lucian swung his head around and gave Geoffrey the evil eye, then fanned his tail feathers and strolled off to perch on top of the wingback chair.
With his cock satisfied, Geoffrey turned his attention back to Ian. “Circumstances? What do you mean by circumstances, Ian?”
A lump rose in Matthieu’s throat. While he longed to get back to the conversation at hand so they could come up with a solution, he knew that it wasn’t his place to interrupt. Not now. Geoffrey was Ian’s lover, and he deserved to know what had happened.
Ian frowned. “There was an incident with my father.”
“What now?” Geoffrey asked, concerned. “Matthieu was bred, just like I told him he would be. There was nothing—”
“I kicked him,” Matthieu admitted in a small, guilty voice. Then, with far less guilt, “In his face.”
Lucian honked in a way that sounded like laughter, but apart from his apparent mirth, the room was still and silent. Geoffrey had gone quite pale. “You… kicked him?”
“I stepped in,” Ian said. “We were asleep. He grabbed Matthieu and lifted him up by the ankle so he could verify that the deed had been done, and Matthieu, who hadn’t known to expect such treatment, defended himself.”
