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I hated family dinners.

How was I supposed to just… sit here knowing what our father planned to do to Avril?

She was ours.

Hidden from sight under the table, my hand clenched into a fist on my thigh.

Lucian sat at the head of the grand dining table like a dark king surveying his domain.

I’d always disliked this room. The ceilings were too high, and the intricately plastered vault high above us was tasteless and strange compared to the gothic beauty of the rest of the mansion.

The marble covering the floor and column capitals was expensive, and I only knew that because, when my father brought me before him—his bastard son welcomed into the family—Bastian hadn’t shut up about it.

I hated every inch of it.

Just like I always had.

But there was something different about that hatred now—something sharper.

The flickering candlelight danced ominously across Lucian’s pale skin and moonlight-colored hair. His eyes, cold and predatory, swept over the faces seated across the table from him.

What was he thinking?

He had been paranoid these past few weeks—ever since Avril’s initiation.

She had performed her part well… maybe too well.

Or was it something else? Had Elder Craster’s confession set him on edge?

He would never admit to such weakness, but if my father was afraid—perhaps we should be, too.

I stole a glance at Avril, seated beside him.

She looked fragile under Lucian’s looming shadow, her posture was stiff and her eyes were on her hands. The way her fingers gripped the edge of the table made me want to leap across the table and snatch her away… but I couldn’t move.

None of us could.

I wanted to tell her that everything would be fine—that our plans would work.

What plans?

My own thoughts were mocking me now.

We would make a plan, and it would work.

“May I leave?” Avril croaked.

She had barely touched her food, and Lucian’s focus turned to her. I struggled to stay still as my father’s gaze lingered on her with an unsettling intensity.

“But we have barely begun,” Lucian replied. His voice was smooth, but we could all hear the venom in his tone. “My dear, the night is young, and we have much to discuss.” He leaned closer, a predator reveling in the scent of prey, and placed a long finger beneath her chin to force her to look up at him. Her breath hitched slightly as she met his icy gaze, and I clenched my fists tighter beneath the table as fury bubbled just below the surface.

“Discuss what?” she dared to ask.

“You wound me,” Lucian replied, his tone deceptively light as he flicked his finger under her chin. Avril flinched and Bastian’s fork scraped against his plate as he fought to control himself.

“To think you had forgotten what has been promised—” A smile curved over his lips as he reached for his wineglass and raised it to his lips to take a thoughtful sip. He savored the wine and swirled the remainder in his glass while he looked down at Avril indulgently, as though she were a foolish child.

“You should know— Your mother’s mourning period has ended.”

The room was silent and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Titus flinch.

Lucian seemed unbothered by the tension in the air as Avril’s breath hissed through her teeth.

“That means the time has come to set a date for our wedding… That long-awaited joyful event.” Despite the smile on Lucian’s face, each word that fell from his lips was filled with malice.

Avril’s grip tightened on her fork, knuckles white against the polished metal.

“Has it really been so long?”

Her voice was quiet, and she seemed to move in slow motion as she set down her fork.

“It has, indeed,” Lucian replied. “Agonizing to wait for something so joyful—do you not agree?” Lucian’s pale gaze flickered to us.

“Joyful?” Bastian snorted.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed as he locked eyes on his youngest son. “What?”

“Weddings are so dull,” Bastian continued in a bored tone as he re-filled his wineglass with the dark red vintage. “Is it really necessary to rush into another union so soon? Your guests will get confused—”

What the fuck was he trying to do?

“Careful,” Lucian intoned. “Remember your place.”

Bastian shrugged, undeterred. “How could I?” he retorted. “You have reminded us, very precisely, of our place in this world, father.” He took a sip of his wine and set the glass down with enough force to make the liquid slosh over the rim and onto the tablecloth. The deep red stain spread out under the foot of his glass and his smile was brief as he met our father’s gaze.

His pale eyes were the same as Lucian’s.

Sometimes the two of them were too similar.

“Bastian has had too much to drink,” I interjected and tried to keep my tone carefully controlled. “We’ve been waiting for you to announce the date. The Necromi will be eager for the details.” I straightened just a little as Lucian’s pale gaze turned on me. “This union will only strengthen our family’s power in Messana.”

The words tasted like poison on my tongue, but I forced them out and ignored Bastian’s pointed glare.

Lucian hesitated for only a moment before his lips curled into a satisfied smile and he turned his attention back to Avril. “You see, my dear? Even my sons understand the importance of this marriage. It is time for you to embrace your destiny.”

Avril’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly.

She didn’t look at me. But she had to understand why I had spoken out.

I longed to comfort her—but I didn’t dare. The wedding date wouldn’t be set for weeks—enough time to prepare. Maybe even enough time to escape.

My heart raced as Titus leaned forward and drew my attention away from Avril.

“Father,” Titus began. “It’s been some time since you’ve allowed us to know what your plans are— Surely you’ve considered your next move after... recent events.”

Lucian’s chin lifted slightly as he assessed his eldest son Titus with a predator’s calculating precision.

“Ah, my ambitious son,” Lucian replied as his lips curled into a cryptic smile, one that sent a chill racing down my spine. There was something unsettling about that expression—about all of this. “Everything will fall into place when the time is right.” His voice was filled with an eerie calmness that set my nerves on edge.

“Is it wise to leave so much to chance?” Titus pressed. His tone was deceptively respectful, but I knew what he was really thinking.

Do you— do you, really?

There was only one thing I knew about Titus with any certainty—his hunger for control could ruin our plan before we had even made it.

“Chance?” Lucian chuckled, and the sound reverberated eerily through the room before the velvet curtains that masked the tall windows muffled it. “I have no intention of leaving anything to the whims of fortune.” His fingers tapped against the tabletop, and I could sense the dark energy that crackled just below the surface—a barely concealed threat. “You should know better than that.” His lip curled in a sneer before he wrapped his hand around his wineglass once more.

“Of course,” Titus said in a tone that was filled with mock deference. “The Necromi don’t believe in fate—isn’t that right, father?”

“We make and unmake fate,” Lucian intoned. “We bend it to our desires.”

“As all things bend,” Bastian finished flatly.

Titus glanced at Bastian, but it was fleeting, and Bastian seemed intent on finishing all the wine that remained in the crystal carafe and Titus focused on our father once more.

“But what if those plans require... resources that are currently out of reach?”

Lucian frowned. “Resources,” he echoed as he traced a finger around the gilded edge of his wine glass. “Everything we desire lies within our grasp, my sons. All it takes is a little patience…” His gaze flitted toward Avril and lingered just long enough to make her shiver.

The polished wood of Lucian’s chair creaked as Lucian leaned back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

He knew how threatening his calm could be.

“May I— May I leave—” Avril tried again to flee. I could sense her desperation, and it was obvious how much delight my father took in it.

“Now, now, my dear—” Lucian purred. “Remember what I said about patience?”

“Yes,” Avril murmured.

Her wineglass was refilled, but she didn’t touch it or look up.

“My sons, I have grown tired of this loneliness,” Lucian said with a deep sigh, as though he had been alone for centuries—

As though we hadn’t just laid Avril’s mother on a cold marble slab in the family tomb. Lucian’s eyes raked over us, and I couldn’t risk a glance at Avril.

“It is time to celebrate this union,” Lucian continued. “I feel, very strongly, that my beloved Julia would have wanted the bond that Avril and I share to be celebrated.”

How could he say such a thing?

My skin crawled at the innuendo in his voice.

We’d made a mistake in throwing Avril at his feet after we’d ruined her. We’d thought that it would dim his lust for her or cast her aside—but it seemed to have only made him want her more.

Lecherous monster.

But a thought struck me— what if it was something else?

Elder Craster… What was it that the old man’s shade had tried to tell me?

The memory was faint, even though it shouldn’t have been.

Elder Craster’s shade had told me that Dario Velez had given something to his daughter before he died… But what?

Across from me, Lucian shifted slightly in his chair and I pushed the thought, and the memory of the shade’s frightful manifestation, away.

“As Valen was so astute in pointing out,” Lucian continued, “the members of the Black Council are, indeed, very invested in this union… This marriage will solidify the power of the Romano name. And our hold over Messana.”

There was no way to ignore what hadn’t been said.

This marriage would solidify his power.

Not ours.

“Has anyone asked about the Elder’s disappearance?” Titus asked.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed at the abrupt change of subject.

“In springtime the garden will be alive with color—” Lucian said as though his eldest son hadn’t spoken. His voice softened, as if he were suggesting a pleasant outing rather than a binding contract. “What do you think, Avril?”

Our eyes turned to her.

Avril’s throat worked as she tried to swallow.

“So soon?”

Her voice was choked.

“Do you not think we have waited long enough?” Lucian demanded. He gripped her hand and held it tight, and I tensed as Avril’s mouth twisted in pain as his fingers tightened.

“I—”

Avril’s hazel eyes were wide, her expression desperate and pleading. But we couldn’t move.

“Look at me,” Lucian demanded.

I hoped Avril hadn’t actually believed that Lucian had loved her mother.

If she had, any shred of it should have vanished with this display.

He had thrown my mother aside just as easily.

A smile that was more fear than delight twisted across Avril’s full lips.

Lips I wanted to see wrapped around my cock—not smiling at my father.

“You’re right,” she replied. “You have been denied your desires for too long.”

A shiver rippled up my spine.

“Perfect,” Lucian said softly, as if he relished every moment of her discomfort.

He drew Avril’s hand to his lips and pressed them against her knuckles.

CRASH

The sharp echo of breaking glass filled the room and Lucian pulled away from Avril with anger in his pale eye.

“What—”

“Clumsy me,” Bastian sang out. “I think Valen’s right… Maybe I’ve had enough—”

Bastian’s feigned nonchalance was almost impressive as he pretended to survey the shards of shattered crystal that glinted like glass stars on the marble tiles. They were bright against the deep red of the spilled wine that seeped between them. “Forgive me,” Bastian added, as a grin stretched his lips.

Lucian’s unsettling gray eyes flickered with a fury I hadn’t seen in some time—but it was quickly masked. “Your recklessness is unbecoming, Bastian.” His voice was low and cold, but Bastian didn’t seem affected.

“Let him be,” Titus chimed in smoothly. “It’s just wine.” He took another sip from his glass and leaned back in his chair as though to show his indifference.

“Just wine,” Lucian repeated. His voice took an easy turn, as if he were speaking to children who needed correction. “Spilled, wasted… Careless.” He flicked his hand, and a pair of servants appeared like phantoms to clean up the mess. “I expect more from my sons.”

Bastian shrugged and rose from his chair, silent in defiance.

I followed his lead, eager for escape.

Titus stood last and considered Avril with dark humor before turning away. “A spring wedding,” he scoffed as he strode toward the door.

Lucian didn’t stop us from leaving, which worried me more than if he had.

He didn’t trust us, though.

Lucian’s fingers drummed against the table, and I could almost feel his thoughts as they twisted in his mind like iron vines as we slipped out of the room, leaving him with Avril.

Bastian was halfway down the hall, shoulders dropped in affected indifference, when I caught up with him. He had always been the most careless of us—quick to drink and quicker to act—but under Lucian’s scrutiny he could be cold and precise too.

“Are we really going to leave her alone in there with him?” I asked.

“What choice do we have?” Titus growled.

He was right. We couldn’t do anything.

“Think he’ll punish us?” Bastian asked with a quick glance over his shoulder.

“If he marries Avril as planned,” I said grimly, “he won’t have to.”

The slant of Bastian’s mouth turned dark. “He’s not going to fucking touch her.”

We all knew how all-consuming Lucian’s plans could be— But he rarely kept us out of them. And the fact that he wouldn’t answer Titus’ questions unnerved me more than I wanted to admit.

Titus was visibly irritated.

Unless we did something soon, Lucian’s hold on Messana would strangle our own designs.

But something else worried me more: the new and urgent hunger that our father seemed to have for Avril.

Why did he want her so desperately?

Bastian seethed ahead of me, and Titus’ stride was long and angry.

Lucian hadn’t even bothered to threaten us.

I didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved.

Maybe both.

As if to twist the knife deeper, his voice drifted down the corridor with cruel cheerfulness. “Only a few weeks more, my love.” Whatever Avril’s reply was, it didn’t carry as far.

My insides churned as I imagined tears brimming in her wide eyes.

Or worse—what if her lips curved into a smile and she let him kiss her…

Letting her go wasn’t possible—not after I’d tasted the heat of those tears on my tongue and felt her gasp like a pulse against my skin.

She was ours.

We followed Titus into the library. As I stepped into the room, Titus gestured angrily at the doors and they slammed shut behind me.

“What the hell was that?” Titus demanded.

“What was what?” Bastian feigned innocence.

“You— You were taunting him.” Titus glared. “Typical.”

Bastian shrugged and flung himself into one of the overstuffed leather chairs. “Give me some credit. I got us out of there, didn’t I?”

“And left her with him.”

“She can handle it,” Bastian retorted, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“What if she can’t?” I asked. “What if he finds out—”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Titus interrupted, though his voice was unsteady.

Titus walked to the shelf that held crystal decanters of the expensive whiskey he favored. He poured me a glass, but I waved it away.

“We have to get her out of this,” I said sharply. “The wedding—he wants it to happen sooner than we expected.”

“Too soon,” Bastian echoed. He reached toward Titus and flexed his fingers, beckoning toward the glass to whiskey until Titus let out a grunt and pushed it into his outstretched hand.

“Too soon for what?” Titus asked. His eyes were dark as he turned them on Bastian. “For us?”

“Do you honestly think she’d choose us over what Lucian can offer?” Titus snapped. “He’ll make her queen of Messana.”

“He won’t let her live long enough,” I snarled.

“She can’t possibly want him,” Bastian muttered as he lifted the glass of dark whiskey to his lips.

“Doesn’t matter what she wants if he forces it,” I said.

“Just like everything else.” Titus’ voice was low. “We can’t let another plan of his succeed. If this wedding goes through—”

Bastian cut him off. “It’s not going to.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“We need to make our own plans—and quickly.” Bastian’s eyes gleamed strangely in the lamplight.

“And when Lucian finds out?” Titus demanded.

“We’ll deal with it.” Bastian drained the whiskey in a defiant gulp and set the glass down hard onto the table beside the chair he lounged in so carelessly.

Titus shook his head and his dark hair fell across his brow. “You’re letting your cock think for you.”

“She wants us ,” I said firmly. “She won’t go through with it.”

I wanted to know for sure.

I needed to know for sure.