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Anton, to his credit, didn’t argue. “They do. Sit where you like, I’ll be right back.”

Samuel chose a collection of chairs away from any other groups of people—and also by an open window. He crashed into the chair, turning towards the soft breeze that came in off the sea, the early summer breeze feeling cool on his skin. He was considering if it would be too rude to tear off his cravat when Anton came back, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto his chair.

Well, if Anton was stripping his jacket, then surely he could loosen his cravat.

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

Samuel froze. “Talk about what?”

“Whatever is on your mind, Aberforth,” Anton said, though he paused as a waitress brought them their drinks. A fresh pot of tea for Samuel, and a glass of dark amber for Anton, served quickly, and she was gone. Anton didn’t even reach for his drink; he just rested his elbows on his knees as he stared at Samuel. “I’m not that much of a fool to see that something is bothering you, and it doesn’t seem like the tables are helping.”

“Am I that easy to read?” Samuel quipped, and Anton chuckled in spite of himself. “Also, just Samuel, please.”

“Fine, fine,” Anton shrugged. “I suppose we are friends now, aren’t we? You came to my house, depressed and dejected, and I took you out gambling. What greater display of masculine bonding is there?” His tone dripped with sarcasm, but his eyes were kind. “I’m just sorry it didn’t work out like I had hoped.”

Samuel stared at him in surprise—given their past encounters, he was surprised to see this sort of kindness from Anton. Not that he had ever been cruel, or crueler than anyone else who had been born to a Blood Worker family, but he had clearly been pursuing his own agenda. Tonight, he just seemed tired, caught up in his own cares and worries, and yet here he was, trying to cheer Samuel up.

He appreciated it more than he thought he would.

“It’s still strange to me,” Samuel said. “Spending—wasting—money. I know it’s ridiculous, that I have more than enough of it now. But old habits are hard to break.”

Anton nodded, sympathetic. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Tossing so much money for the chance—the thrill—of winning more.” Samuel looked at him in surprise, and Anton smiled wryly. “What?”

“I just thought you would enjoy the game more,” Samuel muttered. “I mean, you have a—”

“Reputation,” Anton said in a low voice. “Yes. People see me as a dissolute gambler, as no threat, and they don’t mind their words as much around me.” He gestured at his face. “And my beauty doesn’t hurt things either. We all have our parts to play.”

Samuel just stared at him, taking in the carefully constructed persona that made up Sir Antonin LeClaire the Second. The tailored clothes, well-made and fashionable. The carefully cut and styled hair. He had designed himself to be a rake, frivolous and dissolute, and Samuel had fallen for it.

He remembered Shan’s words, back when she had first found him and started transforming him into Lord Aberforth. How he needed to come up with a version of himself that wasn’t entirely true, a mask he could wear before the other nobles of Aeravin.

It looked like he wasn’t the only one who had gotten that advice.

“Are you happy with it?” Samuel asked.

Anton’s brows drew together in thought, and Samuel wondered if anyone had ever bothered to ask him that. Happiness didn’t seem to be the lot of the LeClaires, after all, but duty and power.

“I am good at it,” Anton said, his voice surprisingly bitter. “And it’s not like I have a lot of options, anyway. I’m not the eldest, so I have no seat in the House of Lords. Not that they’d allow an Unblooded in there anyway.”

“You know much about the House, then?”

“A bit,” Anton hedged. “I was fascinated by politics when I was young, but that was before I learned it wasn’t my place.” His hand clenched at his side, reflexively, as if he recalled an old pain. “But that was a long time ago.”

“Well, perhaps you can help me out,” Samuel said, an idea sparking. “They already have me sitting in on meetings, but I’ll be damned if I can figure any of it out.”

Anton shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but it would be better if we didn’t. Trust me on that, Samuel.” Before he could ask what that meant, Anton stood and grabbed his jacket. “Anyway, I do have a reputation to keep.”

Samuel just looked away, knowing a rebuff when he saw one. “I understand.”

“Care to rejoin me downstairs? I think it’s time for roulette.”

Samuel shook his head. “I need to head home.”

“Ah, I tried. Just speak to Mary-Ann at the front, and she’ll call a hack for you.” He turned to walk away but stopped at the last second. “Oh, and Samuel? You’re not that bad.”

He laughed, because it was so patently untrue. The King had seen to that. “Thanks, you too.”

Anton only shrugged. “We’ll see how long you think that.”