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LUCIAN

E leven years ago

I was infinitely bored, and on my guard.

I couldn’t understand why my parents insisted I tag along to those stupid parties.

Yes, it was written in the ancient city charter that every member of founding families ought to be present at official festivals from the age of twelve, but I knew for a fact that Cassius hadn’t shown his face in my entire lifetime.

We usually played chess together, until four years ago.

I doubted the gods would care if a sixteen-year-old was present.

I strongly suspected Mother dragged me there because she was afraid I’d turn into a recluse, like my grandfather.

I couldn’t deny that I didn’t seek out other people.

Being close to them, feeling their energy call to me, demanding I have a taste, like people were a stand of freshly baked hot cross buns on a snowy day, made me feel like what everyone thought Grandfather was: a monster.

Mother had drilled it into my head that my ability didn’t define who I was, only my actions did. Easy for her to say: she could make people do what she wanted. Big deal. Being able to suck every delicious inch of their life force until they were nothing but an empty husk was a different story.

They were prey; it was that simple. At the core, I was a creature meant to feed off them.

I wanted to. Cassius had taught me all the tricks to stop myself, but sometimes, I slipped.

I could never afford to be too annoyed, or happy, or hot, or cold, or gods forbid, tipsy.

Because when I wasn’t in control, I was a monster.

Damian had fun at parties like these. He flirted with half the girls in the room, even the valers.

I’d caught him kissing a woman who I was fairly certain was married behind one of the columns supporting the ballroom last Ostara.

Because his stupid power was being able to send people for a nap.

And yes, the nap could be permanent if he wanted, but whatever.

Reversing a sleep spell was a lot easier than bringing people back from the dead.

I knew as much. That had been my main course of study last semester. I did manage to bring back a crow, but it gave me a headache for days.

Damian took pity on me and offered me his glass while Mother had her back turned, arguing with our grandmother. The two women wouldn’t hesitate to murder an acquaintance for each other’s sake, but they adored squabbling almost as much as they loved one another.

Half a glass of champagne wasn’t going to get me sloshed, so I drank it fast, before Mother noticed. Ronan winked at me over his new flute. Sometimes, he was all right.

At first, I thought that the booze must have hit me harder than usual, because what I saw next made no sense.

Except Cassius being thousands of years old meant that he let me have watered-down wine at the table since I was seven—the age of manhood where—or when—he was from.

Adulthood , to him and most elders, was twenty-five, but little girls and boys became a person capable of agency at seven, likely because that was when parents were fairly certain they’d survive.

At age sixteen, I did not get drunk after two gulps of champagne.

And yet, I couldn’t comprehend what I was staring at. It made no sense.

The little girl in a ridiculous white dress, with flower in her bright red hair, felt like a monster. Just like Cassius. Just like me.

Every single inch of my body went on high alert, demanded I keep staring, just in case she?—

What ? What could she do to me ?

I didn’t know.

I didn’t want to find out.

Eyes remaining fixed on her, I stepped towards Mother and tugged on her sleeve for attention.

“What is she?” I asked, thoroughly perplexed, tilting my head toward the source of my bewilderment.

I was being uncouth, and my mother raised an eyebrow in surprise. It wasn’t like me, I knew that. At least I hadn’t pointed straight at her and screamed, “ what the fuck are you, freak?” like I wanted to.

Unfortunately, my brother heard. “A girl, Luce. Haven’t you seen a girl before? Mom, we need to get him out of the manor.”

My jaw ticked. “I haven’t seen a girl like that .”

Cassiopea Regis smiled, patting my cheek. “Yes, she is rather pretty, isn’t she? Should I ask for an introduction?”

Ugh .

“Mom, she’s a kid ,” I groaned. “I meant her life force. It doesn’t feel normal.”

Of course, my mother didn’t know what I was talking about. The only other being in Highvale who could was locked up in a manor on the underside.

“She seems shy. It must be her first year, poor thing. Why don’t you talk to her, darling? You can ask her why she’s different. And maybe you could dance.”

I frowned. I was rather curious, yes, but approaching that kid?I shook my head and spelled it out for good measure. “No.”

My grandmother chortled. She and my mother exchanged a glance. Then they were both grinning.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t interested in a bloody twelve-year-old. I just wanted to know what was wrong with her.

F or as long as I could remember, I’d hated the balls at the Hall of Truce. The only form of entertainment I’d had was looking for Kleos, and checking whether she still seemed as weird as the first time I saw her.

There were fifteen occasions where founders were expected to attend. Every single time, I’d looked for her, stared from a distance, and returned to my friends and family, safe in the knowledge that there was another freak in the city.

Today, seeing Kleos was different.

I knew she smelled of sea and salt and sun. I knew her red hair was ever so soft. And I knew the rows of diamonds around her neck belonged to the Saltzins.

I wasn’t the only one.

“Well, well,” Damian said, offering me a glass of champagne. “Way to make an announcement. Great-Aunt Geraldine’s parure, hm?”

Count on him to have catalogued and memorized every piece in our collection.

“And I see you have your ring, too.”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s a friend. I enchanted it for her. It’s a protection.”

“Certainly. It says, property of Lucian Regis. Approach at your own risk. Don’t think Mother won’t notice.”

Ha, fuck. Frankly, I didn’t even think about my mother’s reaction. With a bit of luck, she wouldn’t identify the provenance of the necklace as fast as my brother had. It came from my father’s side of the family, and it wasn’t her style.

“You already owe me six months of freedom. Tell Mother, and you will wake up completely bald this time.”

My brother shrugged, offering me his best smile. “I can pull it off. If there’s one thing to say about every single one of us, it’s that we’re pretty.”

“Not without hair, you won’t be.”

“I’d take that bet. But, brother mine? Touch my hair, I’m coming after yours. Wouldn’t it be nice in blue?”

I considered the threat, and decided to think of another payback. No one was fucking with my hair.

“Look what we have here. It seems like someone didn’t get the very large memo you tied around the girl’s neck.”

I was about to repeat to my brother that it had only been a spell—maybe argue that I’d technically only lent it to her—but his meaning became clear to me, and instead, I whirled back toward Kleos, still standing between a column and velvet curtains as though attempting to conceal herself as much as possible.

The pink-haired bitch by her side, in a dress fit for a funeral, was glaring daggers at the newcomer: a man who smiled too much, leaned in too close, and took Kleos’s hand while chatting, though she hadn’t offered it and wasn’t inclined to give it, I could tell.

“Right. Just a friend, huh?” My brother laughed. “I won’t tell Mom. By the look of it, I won’t need to, after you assassinate anything with a cock who dares to talk to her.”

“Fuck off, Damian,” Ronan drawled, walking towards us.

As usual, he was fashionably late.

Damian wasn’t bothered. “Just telling it like it is.”

“I have no clue what you said. I just thought you should fuck off.” My friend wasn’t fond of my brother.

As the feeling was reciprocated tenfold, Damian made his way to a nearby group of nobles he tried—and likely succeeded—to charm with his winning Saltzin manners.

“How’s Phobos?” Ronan asked.

I would have replied, except the moron—a dark-haired man in a boring shiny white suit he couldn’t pull off—was dragging Kleos towards the middle of the ballroom where a few couples were dancing.

She still had a glass in hand, and protested all the way.

Wait, I knew him. His general lack of anything noteworthy or interesting—too bland to be either ugly or beautiful, too weak to register on a magical level, too badly dressed and with too much hair gel to deign having him in my list of acquaintances—meant that it took me a while to place him.

He’d been at my last trial though, screaming about how the founders had too many rights.

I still didn’t know his name.

Ronan followed my gaze and whistled low. “Well, nice knowing you, Valmont.”

“ That’s a Valmont?” I asked, grimacing.

I’d taken him for a new blood.

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.