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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T he formal dining hall at Stoneridge was just as stuffy as Cael remembered.

Before he’d left to join the Vestians, he’d attended plenty of gatherings in the impressive space his father used to entertain far-flung family members, business partners, Imperial Council members—even Emperor Leonin and Empress Mila a time or two.

The hall was a perfect distillation of Stoneridge’s lodge aesthetic, crafted from thick, shellacked logs and littered with hunting scene tapestries. A gallery of antlers decorated the south wall.

When Cael was younger, he’d sneak in here and run his fingers over the pristine bone. Try to figure out if his father’s gruesome trophies were from true animals or Beastrunner Fae. It had been Cael’s favorite, albeit macabre, game as a boy. He’d never been able to tell the difference, though he was convinced, even back then, that at least a few belonged to Arran’s enemies.

The first thing he noticed this evening was how immeasurably his father’s collection had grown. A century and a half ago, it had consisted of around twenty specimens. Now, there were over a hundred. And they were no longer limited to antlers. Yak horns and boar tusks, stuffed foxes and hares—even an ocelot stared back at him.

In the center of the mounted cemetery was a snarling grizzly bear head, its wrinkled muzzle pulled back over substantial fangs that gleamed in the candlelight. Which spilled from a chandelier made of antlers.

Though the estate was outfitted with the all the latest Fae technology, his mother had always preferred to dine by candlelight. Said it imparted a more intimate atmosphere, made her guests feel more relaxed. Whether her goal was mere conviviality or a lowering of defenses—loosened lips and spilled secrets—Cael could never tell.

Probably the latter, given the credenza full of ales, wine, liquors, and glowing bottles of Delirium.

Cael paused before the spread, deliberating. Given his mood, Delirium was the last substance he should be consuming. Sure, he’d get a burst of temporary euphoria. But as soon as that wore off, he’d be plunged into an even deeper despair.

It was tempting, though. To allow the elixir to dull the edges of the evening, to get him through this first meeting with his fiancée.

His fiancée.

Fucking Stygios take him.

His fingers trembled as he reached for a bottle. That sight alone had his better nature kicking in. He grabbed a glass mug instead, then filled it with ale.

A quick sip of the frothy, golden liquid settled his nerves, and he turned to find Erik caressing the tail of a frozen fox at Arran’s trophy wall.

“I can’t decide whether I find all this fascinating or horrific,” Erik murmured. Cael couldn’t tell if he was talking about the fox or the evening ahead.

“Can’t it be both?” Cael shrugged, raising his mug again. The ale was bitter, but had a tart, refreshing finish. And went down far too easily. He’d have to watch himself. “Where’s the rest of our illustrious family?”

Erik and their mother, Petra, were the only two Zephyruses for whom Cael’s feelings were wholly uncomplicated. The rest of his familial bonds were barbed. Viktor, his oldest brother who had far too much in common with their father, had been harsh and cruel during childhood. And Tomas, the second oldest, had only tolerated Cael for a few years before settling into an alliance with Viktor.

His two older brothers had mocked him mercilessly. Cael cried too much, was too moody, was too much of a drain. It used to sting. Part of the reason he’d gone to the colonies in the first place was to prove them wrong. He used to dream of returning as a Vasilikan, more powerful and important and untouchable than they would ever be.

Standing here now, with his lone wing tucked against his back, he realized how foolish that plan had been. He’d become exactly what they’d always claimed.

Useless.

He buried that thought beneath another hearty gulp of ale.

“They’re down in the foyer, awaiting our guests.” Erik turned away from the gallery wall.

“Why aren’t you down there with them?”

“Outcasts aren’t worthy of the first impression.” Erik’s brown eyes flashed with something akin to hurt—pain Cael recognized. Was it selfish of Cael to have left Erik here to suffer their father and older brothers alone?

When Cael had first arrived in the colonies, he’d befriended Tristan because a part of him hoped that Tristan’s openness and joviality would rub off on him. But the effects never took. And though Cael didn’t want to end up like his father—someone who relished in and profited from the world’s cruelty—sometimes he felt it was inevitable. A poison in the Zephyrus family blood that Cael was helpless to counteract.

He sipped his ale and surveyed his younger brother. That warm, open expression that was so much more Petra than Arran. Erik was the baby, after all. Maybe Cael had done the right thing by leaving and gifting Erik the full might of their mother’s abundant affection. He’d often wondered why Erik hadn’t left home yet. Perhaps he’d been reluctant to leave Mother alone with these cold, unfeeling Zephyrus males. Perhaps Cael should thank him for that.

The large wooden doors creaked open to reveal his father’s deep, grinding voice. “And here are my other two sons.”

Arran was accompanied by a paunchy Beastrunner of middling height with bushy black hair and a matching beard. The male’s stomach preceded him into the room.

“Cael, Erik, this is Phidion Laskaris,” Arran announced.

Laskaris extended a hairy-knuckled hand, his beady eyes crawling over Cael’s sole wing.

Cael squeezed Laskaris’s hand harder than necessary, inspiring a grunt of discomfort. “Pleasure to meet you, Master Laskaris. Welcome to Stoneridge.”

Arran offered Cael an approving nod then turned to Erik, who executed a deep bow and pressed his forehead to Laskaris’s proffered hand.

“Master Laskaris, your reputation precedes you. We are honored to have such an icon of continental commerce grace our humble estate.” Erik delivered the speech to the ground and Cael swore he saw his brother’s lips quirk faintly upward.

So this is how Erik had survived Stoneridge all these years—thinly-veiled sarcasm.

Laskaris didn’t recognize the jab, his chest swelling with pride as Arran pulled Erik to standing with a look promising death.

Cael bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Petra bustled into the room, a Fae female on each arm. The female on her left was older—Laskaris’s wife, no doubt. A beautiful, curvaceous Beastrunner with dark waves and glowing cheeks. She and Petra were laughing together.

The tall, lithe female on Petra’s other arm wore a lilac dress that accentuated her creamy complexion. She smoothed back braided bronze hair as she aimed a shy smile at Cael.

“Here is my treasure,” Laskaris said, his face beaming with pride. Cael’s envy spiked—Arran had certainly never looked at him that way. Laskaris grasped his daughter’s delicate hand between his mitts, then walked her over to Cael. “Master Zephyrus?—”

“Just Cael is fine.”

“—allow me to introduce my daughter, Elodie.” Laskaris flashed him an indulgent smile. “She’s been dying to meet you. Speculated about you the whole way here. Practically talked our ears off.”

Elodie smacked her father’s hand, ducking her head and releasing a breathy, embarrassed laugh before raising hazel eyes to meet Cael’s. They were just as lovely as the rest of her.

But the shade was all wrong.

Nothing like those orbs of sparkling emerald that exposed every facet of his dark soul with their uplifting light.

Elodie lifted her hand and he took it, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “It’s lovely to meet you. Would you like something to drink? I hope your journey wasn’t uncomfortable.”

Laskaris elbowed Arran in the ribs, and his father offered a strained smile.

Cael guided Elodie toward the credenza and her eyes snagged on the snarling grizzly bear head. He could’ve sworn he felt a shudder rack her thin frame before she leaned in to whisper, “My father’s teasing me, but he’s not wrong. I have been speculating about you. Ever since I learned they’d made this match for me. And I must say, I’m very pleasantly surprised. You’re quite handsome.”

Her candor coaxed a laugh from him. She pointed to a bottle of white wine, and he poured her a glass. She ran her fingers over his as he passed it to her.

“Yes, well, thank the High Gods for small favors,” he chuckled. “The face helps distract from the lost wing.”

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip to catch a drop of wine. A calculated seduction tactic that might have even worked on him before he’d… Before her .

“I think it adds to your charm.” Elodie raised a saucy brow. “And I rather like the thought of you being grounded. You won’t be able to fly away from me.”

An odd joke, but Cael laughed politely as he led her toward the long mahogany dining table and pulled out her chair.

The families took their seats and the first breaking of bread between them commenced.

“How was the mood on your journey, Phidion?” Arran asked as he speared a roast duck breast and slid it onto Petra’s plate.

Arran always served his wife at formal dinners. When Cael was younger, he’d believed it was an affectionate gesture. But now, he saw it for what it was—more evidence of Arran’s control over the entire family. Petra didn’t seem to mind, and only ever ate what Arran served her. Never requested anything different or asked for seconds.

“Turbulent,” Laskaris said around a mouthful of potatoes.

The meal was far too abundant for the ten individuals seated around the table. Heaping platters of roast duck and seared trout, a terrine of squash soup, a mountain of glistening rolls, and three separate vegetables. Plus, several bottles of red and white wine from the credenza. If the turbulence Laskaris mentioned was disrupting the supply chain across the continent, it certainly hadn’t affected the Zephyrus household.

“How so?” Arran prodded.

“Cernodas is awash in rebel activity, especially in the countryside we traveled through. Bastards destroyed a hospital in Lodesvale just last week. They’ve grown increasingly bold.”

Viktor, Cael’s oldest brother and the spitting image of their father with red-brown hair and piercing steel eyes asked, “What will that mean for your mining business?” Viktor’s wife, Helena, who bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Petra, placed her hand on his forearm.

Arran shot Viktor a prideful glance.

Such a fucking kiss ass.

Cael knew their chief concern was what a continent at war with itself would mean for their profits. Arran was scheming to sell weapons to both sides. A risk he was willing to take, since he knew Eamon’s Imperial forces weren’t numerous enough to fight both the rebels and Arran’s own Brachian armies. But, production would certainly be hampered if Cernodas fell to the Teles Chrysos and Laskaris couldn’t get him any raw materials.

“Hard to tell,” Laskaris answered Viktor. “The rebels have made no moves to shut us down, but if the conflict intensifies, shipping across the continent will be difficult. Our main supply route runs through Nephes, as you well know. Stolia and I have begun exploring alternate routes. I may need to raise costs.”

Though Arran’s face remained neutral, his knuckles whitened as he strangled his knife. Funny—and sad—that thinning profit margins made him angrier than his son’s suffering.

The rest of the table quietly munched their dinner, watching the exchange between the two scions.

“Has the Emperor made any official statements?” Arran asked.

Laskaris huffed, a piece of gristle shining in his beard. “Not a word. Ever since he returned from Thalenn he’s been quieter than usual. I assume you heard he canceled this month’s Imperial Council meeting?”

Arran nodded brusquely. “He’s informed all the High Councilors that he doesn’t want us traveling to Delos. Too risky. He’s concerned for our safety.” The last was said with barely concealed disdain. “With a civil war on the horizon, one would think he’d want us in Delos to shore up a coordinated effort.” He sliced off a chunk of duck, then tore into the blood-red meat with his sharp fangs.

“There are rumors that his trip to the colonies did not go as intended,” Laskaris said. “He had some grand spectacle planned for his return, but canceled it at the last minute.”

Cael dipped a spoon into his soup. He hadn’t realized Eamon had visited the colonies. Had Tristan seen him? Cael might have known the answer to that question if he’d bothered responding to those windwhispers Tristan had sent. But he’d been so low on those first, horrible nights back at Stoneridge, he couldn’t muster the energy to do anything . And now the thought of reaching out was too painful.

The less pieces of his old life that he clung to, the better.

“That’s enough talk of politics and business,” Petra said, placing a light hand on her husband’s wrist. Arran’s grip on his knife relaxed. “We’ve got more important matters to discuss.” She turned to Laskaris’s wife. “Zosime, we’ve made all the arrangements for the wedding. We didn’t feel there was any reason to wait. I assume you’ll all be able to stay at Stoneridge for the next month as we prepare? It will be so lovely to have something to celebrate. Take our minds off this nasty business of war and rebellion.”

Cael blanched. A month ? He didn’t realize it would happen so quickly.

“Yes, we’re thrilled about the match.” Zosime smiled at the couple. “We don’t see any reason to wait either. This may be our last opportunity for cross-continental travel for some time.” Her cheeks fell as tears pooled in her eyes. “Though it will be difficult for me to leave my baby here.”

“Oh, Mama, you worry too much.” Elodie beamed at Cael, placing a hand on his forearm. He resisted the instinct to pull away from her touch. “I’m sure my new husband will take very good care of me.”

Her gaze bored into his cheek and he forced himself to meet it, but couldn’t quite return her smile. He hid it by gulping his wine, letting the alcohol’s burn dull his roaring mind.

Across the table, Tomas eyed Elodie with a predatory envy. Cael wondered why Tomas’s own fiancée Constance, the Windrider daughter of close family friends, wasn’t at this dinner. Purposefully uninvited, no doubt, so Tomas could pursue his philandering unsupervised.

“Wonderful,” Petra cooed, her dark eyes shining as she gazed at Cael and Elodie. “It will be good for you, Cael, to have such a fine female at your side.”

Cael understood his mother’s subtext. You need someone. You’ve always needed someone.

He aimed a tight-lipped grin at his mother, and Elodie clasped their hands together.

“Elodie, I hope you won’t mind helping to plan your own wedding,” Petra said. “I wouldn’t normally ask the bride to assist, but a month is not much time, and I’m afraid we’re going to need all hands on deck.”

“Not at all, Mother,” Elodie said, and Cael nearly choked on his wine. She was calling her Mother already?

Petra snapped her fingers at Erik, who’d leaned his chair back from the table and was chucking potatoes into his open mouth. Arran shot him an annoyed glare, while Viktor and Tomas rolled their eyes. “You’ll help, too.”

The legs of Erik’s chair clacked onto the floor. “How? Isn’t this kind of thing better left to the females?”

Petra glared at him. “Now, now. Don’t be so primitive. There’s plenty you can help with.”

Erik crossed his arms and aimed a petulant pout at their mother. “Why doesn’t Cael have to help? It’s his funeral, after all.”

Tomas and Viktor laughed before Helena slapped her husband’s wrist and Arran silenced them all. “I’ve got different work for him.” Cael shot his father a questioning glance. Arran hadn’t mentioned anything about any kind of work. “We’ll discuss it after dinner in my office.” He clapped his hands and a mortal servant came bustling into the room. “We’re finished. Bring dessert and after-dinner drinks.”

The man bowed at the waist, then whistled at the door, summoning a flurry of other servants.

The young woman clearing Elodie’s plate dropped it into her lap, and a blob of gravy oozed onto her silk dress.

“Clumsy, stupid human!” Elodie shoved back from the table, flushed with anger, then raised her hand to strike the cowering girl.

Cael shot out of his chair and grabbed his fiancée’s hand. No one else at the table had balked at her vitriol. “It was just an accident.” He plucked up a napkin and patted at the stain.

The girl curtsied, then hustled, red-faced, out of the room as the rest of the staff cleared the table.

“Cael?” Petra cut in. “Why don’t you take Elodie on a tour of the house while the rest of us have our dessert?” Her eyes widened—and not subtly.

“Of course, Mother.” He’d lost what little appetite he had left anyway. Had choked down more of the meal tonight than he could stomach. To prove something—though he didn’t know what—to his father.

“That sounds wonderful,” Elodie preened, smoothing her skirt and reaching for his hand.

“Don’t forget to show her the stable loft,” Erik snickered, earning a smack atop his skull from Viktor.

The stable loft had been the sight of many a secret tryst by all four brothers over the years. And was the absolute last place Cael had any interest in taking Elodie.

But he led her from the room, playing the part of the dutiful fiancé.

He swallowed back his rising nausea. This role, this life , was rushing toward him faster than he’d anticipated.

He tried to resign himself to it as he toured Elodie through the estate, barely listening to her endless chatter.

Her plans for the wedding—what the fuck did he care.

Where she thought they might live afterward—wherever, what the fuck did it matter.

How many children they might have—enough for Cael to get his father off his fucking case.

Though briefly, the thought of becoming a father sunk claws past his ribs and he nearly had a panic attack outside the stables. He’d likely be just as shit at it as Arran was.

His future unfurled before him, an endless immortality of doing his father’s bidding, raising children with a female he’d never love, and sinking deeper and deeper into his episodes.

This future was the price he’d paid for Xenia’s salvation. He’d thought he could live with it as long as she was safe. As long as she had a chance at happiness, even if it didn’t include him.

But as he walked the solemn grounds of Stoneridge, his fiancée prattling into the wind, he knew he’d made a terrible bargain.