Hawley lounged at the end of one of the long tables. Contrary to the viscount’s preference for prominence, he’d tucked himself into a corner. Three ruffians with muscles pressing at the seams of their worn coats flanked him. Matthew tried to steady his breath, tried to remember all his training, but he seemed to revert back to the lad he’d been, cowering before his older sibling.
Somehow, he managed to retain enough presence of mind to scan Hawley’s companions. By their builds, any of the trio could have been the ones who’d attacked the coach yesterday.
As everyone in the Black Sheep turned at Hawley’s loud voice, he stood, his broad chest puffing out just as Pan’s had moments before. He reveled in the attention, turning to all sides of the room and tipping his hat like an actor about to begin narrating a farce.
“I must make apologies for my baby brother,” Hawley said with cruel joviality as he stalked toward Matthew. “He has always preferred the company of vermin to humans.”
As Pan was highly regarded in the Black Sheep, the gathered company did not laugh. Instead, they shifted in their seats. The right side of Hawley’s mouth dipped, and he focused his entire attention on Matthew. Matthew waited for his extremities to go numb as they had when Hawley had waylaid him as a child. To his surprise, he felt a calm steadiness instead.
“Why are you playing whoremonger to a parrot?” Hawley sneered.
“I prefer the title of Cupid to the star-crossed of the animal kingdom.” The flippant words escaped from Matthew before he thought to curb them. Evidently, he wasn’t entirely the quaking younger brother anymore.
Hearty chuckles rose up from the customers at Matthew’s quip, and an alien feeling swept through him. For the first time, he was the one surrounded by comrades. It was odd not being the laughingstock, a position Hawley had assigned him since birth. Only here, in this magical place where paupers and princelings debated, could he, the awkward, unwanted third son best the vaunted heir apparent.
“Maybe Father is right. Maybe you are a changeling. Communicating with the beasts of the earth like the fae folk.”
There it was. The old stab of shame, of knowing he didn’t belong, that he never would. Matthew hadn’t believed he was a fae for years, but he’d always felt he’d been born in the wrong sphere.
“Remember the ‘tests’ we used to conduct to see if you were a winged fairy? We never could coerce you to fly, though, now could we?” Hawley’s voice had turned into a vicious sneer.
Old, half-buried memories doused Matthew, and sweat broke over his skin. The upper dormer of his old boarding school. The open window. His brothers dangling him from his feet. The gusts of wind buffeting his face. The laughter of the boys drifting through the bitter air. Taunts for him to sprout feathers and free himself.
“There’s no reason to conduct trials to determine if one is a fairy.” Sophia’s bright voice broke into the suddenly charged stillness. Matthew turned to see her strolling through the back door, a tray of steaming coffees in her hand. Well accustomed to settling frays, she walked blithely through the room. “All you have to do is check for wings.”
Placing the drinks on a nearby table, Sophia made a show of checking Matthew’s back. Pan hopped onto Matthew’s shoulder and joined her exaggerated inspection. From the peripheries of his vision, Matthew could see the parrot twist his head this way and that. The patrons of the Black Sheep roared with laughter at Hawley’s expense. But Matthew could not feel their glee this time. He felt frozen by the past… and the future. For this brute, this terrible, foul brute was to marry Charlotte. And Hawley would try to destroy her like he did everything that was beautiful and good.
“See, no wings.” Sophia patted Matthew’s back for good measure. “Alas, not a fairy prince come to sweep me away from a life of drudgery. Just a mere mortal, although I agree a rather comely one.”
Sophia winked at Matthew, but her friendly teasing could not even begin to erase all the old and new dread that had settled upon his heart. Despite the frost sluicing through his blood, he managed a smile.
“No wings!” Pan seconded. When his observation was greeted with chuckles, Pan repeated the words, stretching out his own wings with each utterance. “No WINGS. No WINGS. No WIIIIIIINGS!”
“There is the truth of it,” Sophia said. “The matter is settled by Pan. Now who wishes to partake of my latest brew? It’s a new recipe and is free of charge.”
Instantly, Sophia pulled attention away from Matthew and, more dangerously, from Hawley. Worse, she had caused a group of men to laugh at the viscount. Matthew could hear his brother drawin breath. His hard gray eyes had fastened on Sophia like a white-tailed eagle on a rabbit. Sophia was no bunny, though, but a raptor in her own right. She could handle the likes of the viscount, yet Matthew could not countenance vile taunts heaped upon his friend, especially when she had come to his aid.
“What brings you to the Black Sheep?” Matthew asked Hawley, even though he knew the answer too well. It burned inside the inner pocket of his waistcoat as if its rubies were actual flames of fire.
His brother’s flinty gaze fell on Matthew once more. “Why, you, of course.”
“It is not like you to seek me out.” Matthew kept his voice calm despite the blizzard swirling inside his chest.
“You have forgotten your place, Mat. I did not appreciate your behavior at my fiancée’s salon. You invaded my realm, so I am here to conquer yours.” Hawley stepped closer. He notably didn’t mention the choker, but Matthew read that accusation in his brother’s eyes.
Hawley must have given some signal to his roughly dressed companions. The brawny trio rose from their seats and joined Hawley. His minions literally flexed their absurdly massive muscles like a troop of baboons circling a weaker rival.
Even though Matthew could now hold his own against Hawley, fisticuffs would only imperil everyone inside the Black Sheep, especially if it degenerated into an outright brawl. He had to think of a way to quiet the simmering tensions as peaceably as possible.
“Dash it all! Here you’ve come to overthrow me, and I seem to have left my scepter and sword at home.” Matthew desperately tried for levity. Unfortunately, humor not borne of mockery was lost on Hawley.
“That is best for you as I just would have shoved them up your—”
“Silly ol’ bird!” Pan suddenly shrieked. His wings beat against Matthew’s cheek before he flew directly at Hawley. Worried the bird’s actions would ignite the already charged situation, Matthew tried to grab the parrot. He missed.
Caught off guard, Hawley emitted a startled yelp. Pan raked the viscount’s head with his talons, sending the man’s hat rolling across the floorboards. On the second pass, Pan ripped off Hawley’s wig and gleefully flew off with it. Hawley’s ruffians dashed around the viscount in an attempt to catch the parrot but only managed to slam into each other. When Pan changed course and swept toward them, they ducked. One man even dropped to his knees and rolled alongside Hawley’s hat.
Guffaws and a smattering of clapping bounced off the white-plastered walls of the long, narrow building. Matthew had imagined a scene like this for years—where his bullying brother was brought low—but he could derive no amusement now. Not when he knew his brother would retaliate against the Black Sheep, the haunt of not just of Matthew’s dearest friends but of Charlotte. Matthew’s muscles tightened, and his chest constricted as he prepared to defend Pan and the coffeehouse.
