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I approved.

Frankly, it was a shock. I expected a loud club with flashing lights and loud trance “music”—that term was debatable—like Pan’s. I enjoyed Pan’s as much as the next unders, but it would have been nice to have a place like this back home too.

No, Lucian. You literally own six businesses. Don’t open a damn seventh.

We’d only taken a couple of steps into the club when Gideon bounced towards us.

It occurred to me that it was the first time I saw him in civilian clothes. In a leather jacket over a form-fitting white T-shirt and dark jeans, he still looked more like a bouncer than the gorilla had, with his bulky shoulders and unapologetically colossal frame. He towered over me and I was six foot bloody two.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I declared before he could say a word. “I could bring them or not come at all. This is Ronan and Lucky. Guys, Gideon Valesco.”

Ronan rolled his eyes, extending his hand. “Excuse my friend’s complete lack of decorum—he’s got his panties in a bunch tonight. Ronan Nachtigall, at your service. My excuses for intruding on your celebration.”

“The more the merrier,” he assured Ronan. “And any friend of Lucian’s is welcome.”

They exchanged the kind of handshake that made me wonder whether they broke any bones in the process.

Ronan gestured to Lucky next. “My family’s ward, Aristeia Priam, the unluckiest being alive, and therefore dubbed Lucky.”

“You’re so pretty!” Lucky told Gideon. “I’ve never seen a boy with eyelashes so long. And your hair’s totally thicker than Ronan’s.”

“His is silkier,” Gideon grunted. “And you? You drink on my tab all night, da’ling. Come on, I got us the back room.”

Like it was the most ordinary thing to do, Gideon dropped to a squat and patted his back. “Hop on, pixie. Wouldn’t wanna lose you.”

Lucky did not hesitate.

I had to admit, perching her up on someone’s shoulder wasn’t the stupidest thing to do. At least she wouldn’t trip and fall on an arrow tip. Or a jagged knife. Or broken glass. Yes, all three had happened to her at one time or another.

The back room was similar to the main club, but contained a single long wooden table, on top of the occasional smaller booth. Several familiar faces were already seated at the table, on the armchairs, and at the bar.

I was stunned to hear clapping, mugs hitting wood, and even the occasional whistle.

“The man of the hour!” Gideon announced proudly. “And his unfairly gorgeous friends.”

“Regis! Regis! Regis!” they chanted together.

I didn’t move.

In all the chaos, I spotted a flash of bright red hair, and then she was there, handing me an honest-to-god drinking horn, filled to the brim.

Leaning in, Kleos whispered, “You look like you’re ready to bolt.”

I swallowed. Could I?

“Just make a toast,” she said, lifting her own drink—a perfectly normal mug.

Wait, no. That was a tankard, made of something that looked like bone.

I only allowed myself to glance her way. It was also my first time seeing her out of her trainee uniform, and not dressed in a girlish pink gown either.

Guard trainees wore black cargo pants and a tank, under a bomber jacket if the weather demanded it. It was nondescript. She didnotlook nondescript today.

I decided to not look, let alone describe.

“You saved one of them today,” she reminded me, sliding to my free side—Ronan was still standing next to me, as stunned as I was. Gideon and Lucky were already at the bar. “No one will forget that.”

Right. That made sense.