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They were a noble family, though as noteworthy as gum beneath my shoes: slightly annoying, highly repulsive, but otherwise irrelevant.

“Castor Pendros-Valmont. He was in my year at the Academy through high school, though he finished his further education up in the Vale.”

I hadn’t attended high school with Ronan, as I was still homeschooled by Cassius at that point.

“What do I need to know?”

As contemptuous as ever, Ronan sneered. “You recall my belief plain people aren’t worth getting to know? I based it on six years of schooling alongside him. Everything inside and out is a five out of ten.”

I snorted. “I’m still not quite certain about that theory of yours.”

“I wrote a thesis on it. It had seven pages of examples. One of them is his picture.”

I couldn’t be sure he was joking.

“First point: we live in a town where fifty percent of the population wields magic. If you’re born with a face so utterly forgettable, for the sakes of the gods,change it. I know ten wizards who can work miracles on cheekbones for, like, a hundred golds.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Did you get your cheekbones redone?”

That earned me an elbow to the ribs. “You’ve known me since I could walk, Regis. Don’t insult me.”

“Just saying. That was a rather specific claim. How would you know if not for firsthand experience?”

“Because they also happen to be capable of morphing tits and cocks. I’ve sent a handful of lovers their way. I can’t work with five inches—or B-cups.”

I decided that was enough conversation with my best friend while sober. Besides, the fool on the dance floor had stepped on Kleos’s toe for the third time in as many minutes.

I had had enough.

33

KLEOS

Really,him?

Out of all of my mother’s extended relations, if I had to choose one I’d happily never speak to again, it would have been Cousin Castor. Technically, he was my mother’s second cousin, but as he was only two years older than me, they’d made me call him “cousin” since I was a child.

I paid very little attention to the list of suitors my mother sent, only scheduling the meetings when I had the time. At first, Mother had insisted on proper dates: letting them pick me up, take me to dinner, and bring me back home. After the tenth time one of the asses had attempted to grope me in the cab back, I snapped, and said I wasn’t ever doing that again.

The thing was, it was expected for an adult Pendros to either be married, or actively accepting courtship requests.Notbelonging to either column was a subject of conflict between my maternal grandparents and my mother. They were old, old-fashioned, set in their ways, and already generally pissed at my mother for daring to have a career rather than pumping out babies. The Pendros line was one of the largest in Highvale, and they took pride in it. The fact that their most illustriousdaughter had her tubes tied after one child was a huge subject of arguments and scorn.

I didn’t much like that side of the family, other than a little cousin who believed that their values were all crap just like I did. If they were annoyed with me, it was their business. But Mother was all about appearances, and that meant keeping the peace. She was quite attached to her own independence. Mine was another story. Besides, I thought she agreed that my unmarried, entirely uninterested in their idea of dating, state wasn’tproper.

But…him?

Castor was my cousin. I realized we were at least twice removed, butew. I couldn’t believe he’d made an application to court me. I couldn’t believe Mother had accepted him as a suitor. When she said she wanted me to dance with Valmont, I expected Thomas or Daniel Valmont, who were perhaps just as boring as Castor, but at leastnot related to me.

That didn’t seem to bother him, given the fact that he was too fascinated by my tits to pay attention to his steps. Staring as intently as he did was a feat, given the fact that my dress revealed very little. At first, I assumed his eyes were on the rows of diamond, but no, the gaze dropped distinctively lower.

As did his hand, sliding from the small of my back to my butt several times.

Would this song never end?

But it wasValse Tristeby Sibelius, and by the sound of it, the orchestra intended to play every single second of the painful six and a half minutes. I was considering hexing the balls of the conductor with an itching curse popular back in high school when my entire body straightened, alerted by an approaching presence moments before someone cleared their throat.

I purposely took my time to turn to face the ridiculously beautiful man in his ridiculously expensive custom suit, cut to emphasize every muscle, the breadth of his wide shoulders, hisslim waist, and those thighs. He wasindecent. And I should be staring at him from a distance.

He shouldn’t be here. He said it himself; we were supposed to act like nothing was wrong to avoid alerting my attacker.