It Came Upon a Midnight Tentacle (Tinsel and Tentacles 3.0 #10)

Prologue

The Nefyrian System

Twenty years ago…

Deep in the shadows, Qylar watched from the edges of the ballroom, his gaze trailing Cryss on the dance floor.

Cryss’s parents were once again doing their damnedest to find a royal match for their son.

There had already been two failed engagements.

How many more would they suffer? Qylar had lost track of how many princesses and princelings they’d foisted on Cryss that night alone, their desperation so thick it was cloying.

“That should be you out there.”

Qylar glanced over his shoulder at Lord Libault. The man stood near, watching those on the dance floor.

“No thank you,” Qylar said. “I’m quite happy where I find myself now.”

“You prefer servitude to Prince Cryss over being one yourself?”

Qylar’s jaw tightened. He knew Libault was simply pushing his buttons. “As you well know, Cryss is not a prince. No more than I am.”

They’d both lost their rights to that title. One through war, the other through family ruin.

“Had Krythar not won and deposed Cryss’s grandfather, he would be a prince today. Luckily for his family, House Kreegl is still quite formidable—even after their defeat. Cryss lives a better life than some princes on this planet.” Libault smiled. “As do you, at his side.”

“I live a very basic life, I assure you.”

“Basic?” Libault scoffed. “You live in a castle. You’re served fine meals every day and are dressed better than many. From what I’ve heard, you were educated by the same tutor as Cryss, too. If I lived as you do, I might not miss my crown, either.”

Qylar ignored the comment.

“Although, you’ll never get any farther than you are now. Being Cryss’s errand boy will be the best you can ever be.”

“Better that than the life I might’ve had.”

Lord Libault chuckled to himself. “There are some who speculate that Cryss keeps ruining his engagements because he has demanded you be his mate.”

Qylar rolled his eyes. He’d heard the rumors himself and ignored them.

Cryss was his best friend. More like a brother, if truth be told.

“We’re not lovers, if that’s what you’re insinuating.

” He shook his head, not sure why he didn’t simply walk away from their conversation.

It clearly wasn’t going to be fruitful. “Even if we were more than that, his parents wish to align him with a powerful royal line. Not only did I lose my title and house, but my bloodline is tainted beyond repair.”

“Cryss can be persuasive. I don’t know too many nine-year-olds who could convince their powerful father to make a ten-year-old friend his steward,” Lord Libault laughed.

“His steward, of all things. It’s ridiculous—and so very humiliating for you.

A beggared child accepting the duke’s charity in a position far outside possibility. ”

Qylar winced inwardly. “I’ve shadowed the Duke’s steward for years, preparing for the day Cryss has his own household. I take my role seriously and do my best to repay their kindness by protecting their son.” He turned to eye Cryss on the dance floor. “I’ll continue to do that until my dying day.”

“Get real. You’re the highest paid plaything in Nefyrian history.”

“Plaything?” Qylar asked, rolling his eyes. “I suppose that makes sense to someone who’s never had a true friend.” He searched Libault up and down. “But then, who would wish to be the friend of a man only out for himself?”

Lord Libault smiled. “I came to you in hopes of saving my brother. Does that sound like a man only out for himself?”

Qylar frowned. “I’m sure whatever you have in mind benefits you in some way.”

“Do you really think your entire family should be left to rot in the mines for the rest of their days?”

Qylar glanced at Lord Libault. “If there’s any justice, yes.”

“Your poor papa? He deserves to waste away there?”

Qylar’s breath caught. He’d loved his papa dearly and still struggled to reconcile the man he’d known with the truth. “He’s a monster, just like the rest of them.”

“He was no more the cause than you were,” Lord Libault said. “I know my brother’s heart. This was not him.”

Qylar turned away, sickened. He watched the dancers, again focusing on Cryss amid the crowded space. “There used to be opulent galas like this one held in House Zyven. Do you remember?”

“Oh, I do,” Lord Libault said. “I was often a guest. I don’t know another who threw grander parties—or was such a lovely host.”

“How Papa loved to entertain. He always seemed his happiest when preparing for a celebration.” He eyed Lord Libault.

“Abundant food. Stunning decorations. Unworldly entertainment. People danced all night, until the sun rose, and then sometimes continued on into the daylight because no one wished to leave.”

“Those were the days.” Libault smiled, his gaze going hazy. “As a child, you were only privy to a quarter of the debauchery that went on those nights. If only you’d been older before the end.”

Qylar was glad he hadn’t been.

“Vylan and I would sneak into the dining room and steal small sweets and fruit from the buffets before the parties. We would sit at the head of the stairs and watch as the guests arrived in all their finery. At their last ball, my parents allowed me to attend for the first couple of hours. Of course, unbeknownst to me, it was a first meeting of the prince they’d arranged to be my mate.

” Qylar smiled sardonically. “I danced with Vy almost the entire time, thinking it was the most magical night of my life.”

A sharp pain lanced Qylar’s chest at the memory of Vylan, his brother closest to him in age.

Lord Libault grinned. “It likely was.”

“Mm-hhmm,” Qylar said. He dropped his smile and all pretense. “Until I learned we’d danced on the backs of those my family enslaved, using the funds from their sale to throw those parties and give us the lifestyle we led.”

“Nephew…”

“Don’t,” Qylar snapped. “You were only too happy to distance yourself from me after the truth came out. You don’t get to call me nephew now.”

“I was trying to distance myself from your father. You were caught in the crossfire, boy.”

“Even knowing I was an innocent with no one to protect me?” Qylar narrowed his eyes. While he’d been too young to know what his parents had been doing, Libault wasn’t. “Tell me. Did you know?”

Lord Libault’s face fell. “I did not.”

Qylar sensed the lie. “Odd. As close as you and Papa were, I’d have thought you did.”

“I’d heard rumors. Rumors he refuted time and time again.”

“Either you’re a fool or a liar.”

Lord Libault glowered at him. “My brother did not know as much as your father claimed in the trials. Vali attempted to put his misdeeds on Izzy’s shoulders and make him carry the weight of those crimes when he was mostly innocent.”

“How is one mostly innocent in a situation like that?”

Lord Libault did not answer.

“He knew—and turned a blind eye to others’ suffering. He chose his own comfort and life of luxury over doing what was right.”

“And had you been older and brought into the fold like your siblings, what choice would you have made, Qylar?” Lord Libault took a menacing step closer. “Would you have followed in your brothers and sisters’ path and upheld the family business, too?”

Qylar had asked himself that question time and time again—and he hoped he’d have made the right choice, no matter how difficult. “I wouldn’t have participated.”

“Easily said from your position of relative comfort now. Would you have turned in your entire family and potentially resigned yourself to poverty to do the right thing? I doubt I would’ve had the strength or fortitude to do that.”

Qylar frowned. “I’m cut from a different cloth.”

“Oh, no, my love. You are no different. Even now, you sit here in this castle, living a life of luxury just as you did before you learned what they did.”

Qylar fought against the twisting of his gut.

“You might call yourself a servant, but we both know you’re not. I wonder what all those people and families yours destroyed thinks of your lofty perch now.”

“My lofty perch?” Qylar scoffed. “I’m a pariah wherever I go.

Everyone assumes I am spoiled fruit, fallen from a vile, rotted tree—even the very man you claim offers me his charity.

” Qylar paused a moment, searching Libault’s face.

“I assure you that my life is not one of ease. I may live in a castle, but I sleep in the bowels of it. My clothing? Castoffs from the Duke’s family.

I may occasionally eat at their table or attend their parties, but only because Cryss wishes me there and the Duke reluctantly agrees.

On the nights I’m barred from appearing—which is more often than not—I eat with the other servants.

Servants who dislike me because of the latitude I’m given in this house.

” Qylar chuckled to himself, but only to prevent the tears prickling at the backs of his eyes from forming.

“I’m loathed by all. Banished from the aristocracy, yet too highborn to be accepted by the working classes.

Both sides are watching and waiting for me to cross a line so they can gleefully say they were right about me—that I am as abhorrent as my family.

I must be careful in everything I do and everything I say.

What did I ever do to earn that? I was born to the wrong family.

A boy of ten who had no idea what his parents did to fill their coffers.

Yet I’m held responsible for their misdeeds at every turn.

Unlike you, I couldn’t distance myself and walk away unscathed. ”

Lord Libault narrowed his eyes.

“Unscathed, yet something tells me you shouldn’t have been. What might people think if it came out you knew all along?”

“I knew nothing.”

“So you say,” Qylar snapped. “If you did, I wish you only what you deserve.”

Libault glared at him.

“You have a nice evening, uncle.”