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Ronan was seriously getting on my nerves.

“Might as well kidnap her,” he reasoned, matter-of-fact. “I mean, someone will, eventually. Pretty, owns a bar, heals fiend venom sickness like it’s a common flu, can touchyouat full power? If your mom hears?—”

“You willnotmention Kleos to my mother,” I growled threateningly. “You will not speak about her at all at lunch, or I swear to every god known and not, you’ll lose your invitation, permanently.”

“That’s not fair. You know how I love your dad’s roasts.”

Ronan and I both lived on Kings’ Avenue—by the gate, in his case, and at the very end, in mine—so we made our way to my parents’ place in the Gate of Night together most weeks. A network of seven tram lines ran through the underside, by far the most efficient transport here, and that was typically how I travelled, but Ronan, the arrogant sod, kept horses and a chariot.

We’d banned cars because of the stench, and the fact that they were too dangerous when almost everyone was on foot, but there were cycle paths, and a paved central road on all avenues for carriages. Only five families kept them now. Mine was oneof them, and we made use of it on formal event, or when all of us had to get somewhere together, but I wasn’t about to call for horses and a driver on a casual Sunday. Ronan had no issue doing so.

His two eight-legged horses hated going slow, so whenever the road was clear, they galloped at such speed the two hours’ walk only took fifteen minutes. By the grace of the gods, and an abundance of magic, we didn’t trample any pedestrians.

My friend spent the entire journey chatting about Kleos. He was positively obsessed. I was glad I’d never confessed the fact that her magic was so fascinating. He’d never drop the subject.

“My boys!” Mother called when we walked in.

Wrapped in a dark green empire line dress, her hair up in a beautiful complex twist, she looked ready to host this year’s gala rather than Sunday dinner. This was her version of casual. She wore her tiny emeralds and small diamond ear drops.

She kissed Ronan first, before pressing her mouth to my cheek.

“You drained,” she observed, frowning. “You know that’s not necessary, love. Not here.”

She could tell in one glance.

When my energy was drained, I lost some of the strangeness, the looks that set me aside from the people around me. I was less pale, my hair became more gold than platinum, my eyes warmer. In actual fact, most people would take a look at me at my weakest and believe I was healthier. At my normal strength, I looked like my father’s son, rather than the descendant of a dark, powerful force.

I made myself shrug. “It’s no big deal, Mother. I like hugs, and I’d rather not murder you.”

Shaking her head, she engulfed both of us in a tight embrace, her arms around our shoulders. She was a lot stronger than she looked, and I loved it.

“Preoccupied,” she concluded. “Both of you. You know my rules, boys—you leave your troubles at the door or you share them with me.”

I was wise, so I opted for the first option, immediately pushing down every concern that could come to mind, and only thinking about a lovely meal with my loving family.

Ronan being Ronan, he immediately spilled. “I can’t work out a way to mix wolfsbane with any component that makes the transition less painful to new shifters, and it’s driving me insane. It’s like the answer is staring me right in the face, but I can’t think of what it could be. It’s for children so I’m also trying to make the damn brew less disgusting, and most of the elements changing the taste also affect the efficiency. My mom keeps pretending she’s not bothered by Dad keeping his mistress in the house, and Lucky almost died three times this week. I’m losing it. And your idiot of a son met a girl immune to his touch, and he didn’t propose to her on the spot.”

“Dammit, Ronan!” He justhadto bring that up.

“What? If Cassiopea asks, I’m going to tell her. You should give it a try.”

“Yes, you should,” my mother readily agreed, threading her arms through both of our elbows, before leading us to the main atrium. “Darling, leave your parents to their misery. They’ve been together a hundred years. If they’re putting up with each other’s nonsense, it’s because they want to. As for your wolfsbane issue, have you tried hemlock? Dangerous, I know, but a single drop in a very large brew ought to take the bitterness out—and help with pain.”

“Hemlock,” he repeated. “By all the gods, that might just work.”

Mother patted his hand. “As for Lucky, she’s here, and still alive. We’ll keep her in one piece until dessert.”

Her keen gaze—green eyes completely unlike mine—settled on me. “Immune to you, hm?”

I glared at Ronan, deciding I’d curse his bollocks. He was going to itch all week.

“A healer,” I explained. “She wanted to test her innate shield against my power. It held. I didn’t affect her.”

Her lips thinned. “And you did not propose? Lucian, darling, surely you must grasp the benefit of a partner who won’t wither and die by accident. And you’re not getting any younger.”

“Mother,” I said patiently, “you refused the marriage your father tried to arrange for you—which is why you and Father are one of the only couples in the founding families who don’t openly despise each other. May I remind you you wished Damian and I found a bond just as strong?”

“Yes, darling. When you were eighteen. Pardon me if, with two sons in their thirties?—”