“You never let me have any fun,” he pouts like a damn toddler, making my lips twitch reluctantly. By the time Luther joins us back on the sofa looking about as pleased as I am to still be here, my phone is finally silent. None of us want to go to the fucking Masquerade, but our families haven’t given us any choice.
Roth will be forced to kiss the rings of his worst abusers while Calanthe hangs off his arm. My stomach churns at the thought of watching her fawn over him, knowing how it makes his skin crawl to be touched, let alone by some vainglorious succubus whose parents sold her like chattel to the highest bidder.
For Killian, it’s one of the rare occasions his mother is permitted to make a public appearance—in support of her husband, the great Councilman Preston Hastings, of course. Not to see her only son. Not to escape the prison of her husband’s making, surrounded by the victims of his countless infidelities and betrayals. But Claire’s too virtuous—she’d never betray Fate and abandon her soulmate, even if it kills her. It probably will. If Preston ever found out how many times Killian’s begged her to leave him, offered to take her place as Preston’s leverage, Preston would never let her see the light of day again.
She’s too good to condemn her son to the same fate.
She’s the best of all our families, and they’ll bury her for it.
But Roth and Killian know how to play these games, as much as it kills them.
Luther doesn’t bother playing these games at all. He doesn’t ingratiate himself like his brother Cyrus, the prodigal son and Heir of House Aeris. He stands tall, no matter how hard they try to tear him down for not falling in line, no matter how they twist the knife into those old wounds.
That’s why they hate him so much, I think.
Despite their constant cruelties, he endures.
He’d endure anything to keep them from erasing Quentin’s memory, from pretending they didn’t sacrifice two sons for the sake of one. That’s what a sentinel does—watches over precious, fragile things like the truth.
Luther is the best of House Aeris, and they’ll punish him for it every time.
When Roth finally signals it’s time to go, Luther breaks his silence.
“I need a fucking drink.”
“You’re gonna need more than one, you goddamn giant.” Killian taunts as we follow Roth out of the shop, ignoring Luther’s irritated growl.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Oh no, he’s hangry too. Roth—better feed him quick, we can’t have him tearing up the town if he eats after midnight.”
“That’sGremlins, you asshole.”
“Wyckd?” I venture, interrupting their bickering.
Roth nods. “That should suffice for my father’s stipulations on public appearances, at least temporarily.”
Killian snorts from behind us. “He’s still fucking on about that?”
“Unfortunately. He’s quite convinced of his own ingenuity,” Roth answers, lips curling into a sneer. “Mother’s delighted at the prospect of having a powerful succubus at her disposal, while the Beauchamps ascend the hierarchy in a single, bloodless transaction.”
“Cowards,” Luther mutters under his breath.
“Morons, more like,” I add.
“My bet’s on Greed to make the first challenge. Lyra doesn’t give a shit who she has to fuck or fuck over so long as she comes out on top,” Killian groans. “Fuck, she’s been relentless lately.”
Luther huffs. “The fuck did you expect, goading her like that?”
“Like what?” I turn with a frown.
“Yeah, Killer, like what?” Roth echoes with a cocked eyebrow.
“Okay first, fuck all of you. Especially you,” he glares at Luther, who only smirks, “you fucking hypocrite. And second, I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Jesus dude, what the fuck did you do this time?” I sigh.
“Okay so you know how I walked Nyx back from the Training Center after Luther left her naked and drip—fuck, you dick,” he cuts off suddenly when Luther dead arms him, drawing a rare half-grin from Roth, while Luther barely grunts as Killian returns fire. “As I wassaying, the next night I went back to her dorm to pick up where we left off?—”
