But the shade was all wrong.
Nothing like those orbs of sparkling emerald that exposed every facet of his dark soul with their uplifting light.
Elodie lifted her hand and he took it, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “It’s lovely to meet you. Would you like something to drink? I hope your journey wasn’t uncomfortable.”
Laskaris elbowed Arran in the ribs, and his father offered a strained smile.
Cael guided Elodie toward the credenza and her eyes snagged on the snarling grizzly bear head. He could’ve sworn he felt a shudder rack her thin frame before she leaned in to whisper, “My father’s teasing me, but he’s not wrong. Ihavebeen speculating about you. Ever since I learned they’d made this match for me. And I must say, I’m very pleasantly surprised. You’re quite handsome.”
Her candor coaxed a laugh from him. She pointed to a bottle of white wine, and he poured her a glass. She ran her fingers over his as he passed it to her.
“Yes, well, thank the High Gods for small favors,” he chuckled. “The face helps distract from the lost wing.”
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip to catch a drop of wine. A calculated seduction tactic that might have even worked on him before he’d… Beforeher.
“I think it adds to your charm.” Elodie raised a saucy brow. “And I rather like the thought of you being grounded. You won’t be able to fly away from me.”
An odd joke, but Cael laughed politely as he led her toward the long mahogany dining table and pulled out her chair.
The families took their seats and the first breaking of bread between them commenced.
“How wasthe mood on your journey, Phidion?” Arran asked as he speared a roast duck breast and slid it onto Petra’s plate.
Arran always served his wife at formal dinners. When Cael was younger, he’d believed it was an affectionate gesture. But now, he saw it for what it was—more evidence of Arran’s control over the entire family. Petra didn’t seem to mind, and only everate what Arran served her. Never requested anything different or asked for seconds.
“Turbulent,” Laskaris said around a mouthful of potatoes.
The meal was far too abundant for the ten individuals seated around the table. Heaping platters of roast duck and seared trout, a terrine of squash soup, a mountain of glistening rolls, and three separate vegetables. Plus, several bottles of red and white wine from the credenza. If the turbulence Laskaris mentioned was disrupting the supply chain across the continent, it certainly hadn’t affected the Zephyrus household.
“How so?” Arran prodded.
“Cernodas is awash in rebel activity, especially in the countryside we traveled through. Bastards destroyed a hospital in Lodesvale just last week. They’ve grown increasingly bold.”
Viktor, Cael’s oldest brother and the spitting image of their father with red-brown hair and piercing steel eyes asked, “What will that mean for your mining business?” Viktor’s wife, Helena, who bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Petra, placed her hand on his forearm.
Arran shot Viktor a prideful glance.
Such a fucking kiss ass.
Cael knew their chief concern was what a continent at war with itself would mean for their profits. Arran was scheming to sell weapons to both sides. A risk he was willing to take, since he knew Eamon’s Imperial forces weren’t numerous enough to fight both the rebelsandArran’s own Brachian armies. But, production would certainly be hampered if Cernodas fell to the Teles Chrysos and Laskaris couldn’t get him any raw materials.
“Hard to tell,” Laskaris answered Viktor. “The rebels have made no moves to shut us down, but if the conflict intensifies, shipping across the continent will be difficult. Our main supply route runs through Nephes, as you well know. Stolia and I have begun exploring alternate routes. I may need to raise costs.”
Though Arran’s face remained neutral, his knuckles whitened as he strangled his knife. Funny—and sad—that thinning profit margins made him angrier than his son’s suffering.
The rest of the table quietly munched their dinner, watching the exchange between the two scions.
“Has the Emperor made any official statements?” Arran asked.
Laskaris huffed, a piece of gristle shining in his beard. “Not a word. Ever since he returned from Thalenn he’s been quieter than usual. I assume you heard he canceled this month’s Imperial Council meeting?”
Arran nodded brusquely. “He’s informed all the High Councilors that he doesn’t want us traveling to Delos. Too risky. He’s concerned for our safety.” The last was said with barely concealed disdain. “With a civil war on the horizon, one would think he’d want us in Delos to shore up a coordinated effort.” He sliced off a chunk of duck, then tore into the blood-red meat with his sharp fangs.
“There are rumors that his trip to the colonies did not go as intended,” Laskaris said. “He had some grand spectacle planned for his return, but canceled it at the last minute.”
Cael dipped a spoon into his soup. He hadn’t realized Eamon had visited the colonies. Had Tristan seen him? Cael might have known the answer to that question if he’d bothered responding to those windwhispers Tristan had sent. But he’d been so low on those first, horrible nights back at Stoneridge, he couldn’t muster the energy to doanything. And now the thought of reaching out was too painful.
The less pieces of his old life that he clung to, the better.
