Calanthe’s lips part coquettishly, but the Lust Legacy is anything but. When I bend my head, her tongue snakes out lasciviously, much to everyone’s amusement. Killian catches my eye from across the room as I break the kiss, staid in solidarity.
“Here’s that drink you asked for,” Thane says from my right, handing me a full glass of amber liquid to wash away the poisonous aftertaste of her kiss. As I drink, I feel Luther’s presence at my back.
Marcus and Cyrus whisper briefly before the former continue Renard and Preston’s debate about the best way to apprehend the leader of the Nephilim coalition, Sariel, and I make a note to follow up on that later.
Cyrus directs his self-aggrandized smirk to us. “I’m surprised to see you here, little brother. I thought the invite only applied to the Heirs—well, andtheirfuture heirs,” he winks at Calanthe, still hanging on my arm.
I crook my eyebrow at his gall. “My friends are welcome wherever I am, Cyrus, or did you forget our last visit to your estate? Which reminds me—I was disappointed to see how derelict Quentin’s tomb was when I went to pay my respects. Whoever you currently have has obviously neglected that portion of the grounds—no doubt you’ll want to replace them immediately. I’ll speak with Father about lending you ours in the meantime. It’s such a shame that a Son of Aeris has been left to languish like that.” I tsk, holding his gaze over the rim of my glass as I drink.
His eyes flick to Luther towering behind me as his cheeks flush with a lovely shade of red. I can practically see the hamster wheel in his brain working overtime to come up with a response.
“How magnanimous.”
“Isn’t he?” Calanthe interjects, desperate to be relevant. “Your mother gave us a tour earlier, Roth—truly, your people have outdone themselves. Well—ourpeople soon,” she grins.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” my mother announces with the clinking of her wedding ring against a crystal coupe glass. “Please join us in the dining hall for our first course.” Renard offers his arm to escort her while Preston and Cyrus trail behindthem like ducklings. Laurent and Amarantha follow—the former leaning on her for stability and the latter glancing coyly my way—as do Marcus and Naomi, and Soren with his fiancée. Calanthe barely takes one step when I quell her presumptuousness with an icy look.
Killian escorts his mother to our group. “Mrs. Hastings, what a pleasure to see you again.
“Roth, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Claire.” Unlike my mother, her smile actually reaches her eyes.
“At least once more, Mrs. Hastings.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes, turning to Killian, “Will you tell him to quit it? My goodness, it’s not like I haven’t known you since you were all in diapers.”
“Mom,” Killian groans, and I can’t help a small smile.
“Thane, sweetheart, come tell me all about school,” she beckons to him, looking over her shoulder. “And Luther—don’t think you’re getting out of answering either. I want to know everything” She winks, and the three of them walk arm in arm to the dining room as Luther and I bring up the rear.
Oh, right. And Calanthe.
“Have you had any thoughts about where we should honeymoon? I was thinking somewhere tropical?—”
“No.” I interrupt.
“The Mediterranean, then. We went there last year?—”
“No.”
“Well as long as we don’t go to Europe. It’s just so overcrowded with tourists in the Summer.”
Wewon’t be going anywhere.
Everyone’s seated by the time we arrive: Renard at the head of the massive table, Rebecca at the foot. I escort Calanthe to her join her parents on my father’s left, followed by Marcus, Naomi, Cyrus, and Luther. Thane’s seat is next to mine on my father’sright, with Soren’s fiancée sandwiched between them and Killian sitting between Preston and Claire to shield her through dinner.
I take my seat on my father’s right just as the servers pass around champagne-poached shrimp beurre blanc appetizers around the table, and Renard resumes his conversation with Marcus, Preston, and Laurent about the Nephilim “problem” they’re manufacturing. Cyrus is a dog barking at the ankles of his betters, desperate to contribute anything of worth while the grown ups talk with Naomi nodding at whatever sage wisdom he imparts. Luther is tense next to him, but Claire manages to draw him out of his silence while Killian distracts my mother with her favorite topic: herself.
I envy how the half-breeds have always managed to stay outside of the Council’s sphere of influence, beholden to neither the Archangels on the Light Council or the Archdemons on the Dark Council. They don’t breed for power like demons, or purity like angels. They just… are.
Their only crime is being free. Because if they’re allowed to exist outside the bounds of authority my father and his ilk have held for the last thousand years, then what’s to keep others from following suit? Half of the Council’s power comes from the people’s acceptance of their rule, and they’ll use their considerable magic to keep it that way, even if it means exterminating an entire species.
Thane’s knee brushes against mine and my attention shifts to whatever Soren is yammering about as our plates are replaced with the first soup course. “…Yvette caught my eye immediately, didn’t you, mon trésor?”
“The feeling was entirely mutual,” she says with a light accent, bringing her hand to her heart. And then she touches Thane’s forearm, his muscles flexing involuntarily before pulling away.
“Son, you wouldn’tbelievehow talented she is,” Soren praises.
“Do tell.” I order.
