Chapter 26 Roth #2
His eyes flick to Luther towering behind me as his cheeks flush with a lovely shade of red. I can practically see the hamster wheel in his brain working overtime to come up with a response.
“How magnanimous.”
“Isn’t he?” Calanthe interjects, desperate to be relevant. “Your mother gave us a tour earlier, Roth—truly, your people have outdone themselves. Well—our people soon,” she grins.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” my mother announces with the clinking of her wedding ring against a crystal coupe glass.
“Please join us in the dining hall for our first course.” Renard offers his arm to escort her while Preston and Cyrus trail behind them like ducklings.
Laurent and Amarantha follow—the former leaning on her for stability and the latter glancing coyly my way—as do Marcus and Naomi, and Soren with his fiancée.
Calanthe barely takes one step when I quell her presumptuousness with an icy look.
Killian escorts his mother to our group. “Mrs. Hastings, what a pleasure to see you again.
“Roth, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Claire.” Unlike my mother, her smile actually reaches her eyes.
“At least once more, Mrs. Hastings.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes, turning to Killian, “Will you tell him to quit it? My goodness, it’s not like I haven’t known you since you were all in diapers.”
“Mom,” Killian groans, and I can’t help a small smile.
“Thane, sweetheart, come tell me all about school,” she beckons to him, looking over her shoulder. “And Luther—don’t think you’re getting out of answering either. I want to know everything” She winks, and the three of them walk arm in arm to the dining room as Luther and I bring up the rear.
Oh, right. And Calanthe.
“Have you had any thoughts about where we should honeymoon? I was thinking somewhere tropical—”
“No.” I interrupt.
“The Mediterranean, then. We went there last year—”
“No.”
“Well as long as we don’t go to Europe. It’s just so overcrowded with tourists in the Summer.”
We won’t be going anywhere.
Everyone’s seated by the time we arrive: Renard at the head of the massive table, Rebecca at the foot.
I escort Calanthe to her join her parents on my father’s left, followed by Marcus, Naomi, Cyrus, and Luther.
Thane’s seat is next to mine on my father’s right, with Soren’s fiancée sandwiched between them and Killian sitting between Preston and Claire to shield her through dinner.
I take my seat on my father’s right just as the servers pass around champagne-poached shrimp beurre blanc appetizers around the table, and Renard resumes his conversation with Marcus, Preston, and Laurent about the Nephilim “problem” they’re manufacturing.
Cyrus is a dog barking at the ankles of his betters, desperate to contribute anything of worth while the grown ups talk with Naomi nodding at whatever sage wisdom he imparts.
Luther is tense next to him, but Claire manages to draw him out of his silence while Killian distracts my mother with her favorite topic: herself.
I envy how the half-breeds have always managed to stay outside of the Council’s sphere of influence, beholden to neither the Archangels on the Light Council or the Archdemons on the Dark Council. They don’t breed for power like demons, or purity like angels. They just… are.
Their only crime is being free. Because if they’re allowed to exist outside the bounds of authority my father and his ilk have held for the last thousand years, then what’s to keep others from following suit?
Half of the Council’s power comes from the people’s acceptance of their rule, and they’ll use their considerable magic to keep it that way, even if it means exterminating an entire species.
Thane’s knee brushes against mine and my attention shifts to whatever Soren is yammering about as our plates are replaced with the first soup course. “…Yvette caught my eye immediately, didn’t you, mon trésor?”
“The feeling was entirely mutual,” she says with a light accent, bringing her hand to her heart. And then she touches Thane’s forearm, his muscles flexing involuntarily before pulling away.
“Son, you wouldn’t believe how talented she is,” Soren praises.
“Do tell.” I order.
He stumbles, caught off guard. “Oh—she, well for one, she’s a wonderful dancer.”
She tenses under my hard stare. “Ballet?”
“Oui, I was an étoile at l’Opéra de Paris when I was younger, and have been a private instructor and choreographer for the last several years.”
“So young, yet so accomplished,” Soren crows, eyes glittering with eager greed that has nothing to do with her talent.
“How fortunate you two crossed paths,” I deadpan.
“It was kismet—I was at Cannes, and Yvette was receiving an award for her choreography work on one of the films being screened.”
“Charming.”
“Thane—do you share your father’s passion for film?” she asks, turning to him even as he refuses to look at her.
“No.”
Soren merely chuckles at his son’s brush off. “We may not have the same appreciation for the arts, but there are other things we could share,” he says, bringing her hand to his lips. “Comme toi, mon trésor.”
“Soren!” she giggles. “You said we would discuss it later.”
“Forgive me darling, I was simply overwhelmed by your beauty. And how bright our future looks with you in it,” He says, palming her lower stomach. Thane drops his spoon and it clanks against the pristine bone china as his other hand grips my knee under the table.
“She’s already pregnant?” he hisses, glaring at his father.
“Well, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about.” Soren shares a loaded look with Yvette and then smiles at Thane, eyes shining with zeal. “I’ve been working with a fertility specialist and we decided that outcross breeding would increase the chances of successfully conceiving another Leviathan—”
“What the fuck?” he seethes, but Soren is unmoved by Thane’s barely contained outrage.
“—so after your next term ends—unless, Fate willing, Yvette is already carrying your brother—we will honor our House and continue our line, together.” Thane looks at me, eyes wide from the same shock and disgust I feel.
This is… unexpected.
Soren and Yvette exclaim at the arrival of our first course of chicken francese with roasted parmesan asparagus which provides a desperately needed moment to regroup.
Thane storms off down the hall, catching Luther and Killian’s attention.
I flick my eyes in the direction he went and Luther slips away to mitigate any damage control.
When he’s out of sight, Killian leans back in his chair, raising his eyebrow in unspoken question.
What the fuck was that?
I shake my head.
Later.
He nods and turns back to entertaining our mothers as the food is passed down the table. Out the corner of my eye, I see Preston’s left hand snake out and slip beneath a servants dress—the same one from the parlor earlier—and she freezes.
“You there—” I snap my fingers, calling out to her.
“Maid.” Her back goes ramrod straight, standing at attention.
Killian looks over just in time to see Preston’s hand retreating from the girls skirt and his eyes threaten to flood black.
“This asparagus is overcooked. Take my plate back to the kitchen and tell the chef I want it remade.” She takes my plate, hurrying to obey despite her panic and disappears through the walkway to the kitchens.
“While we’re on the subject of marriage,” Soren winks at Yvette before turning to my father.
“I’ve been meaning to congratulate you Renard—and you, Roth—on your upcoming nuptials.
How the Hell did you manage to swing that, Laurent?
” he laughs, raising his glass in a lazy toast and emptying it in one swallow.
“Come now, Soren, who could resist her?” he gestures to Calanthe across from me, who glows with false modesty under his praise. “I barely had a hand in it,” he chuckles.
Good broodmares practically sell themselves, after all.
Renard grins in barely-concealed triumph. “Just so—I expect the union of Wrath, Ignis, and Lust to be our best investment yet. Wouldn’t you agree, Roth?” he asks, turning his full attention to me.
“The House of Ignis can only benefit from a union with Lust, and I am honored to serve as its Heir.” His jaw clenches at the underhanded reminder that the House of Ignis is mine. Luther and Thane walk in then, taking their seats just in time for my mother to stand.
“Everyone—I’d like you all to raise your glasses and join me in a Saturnalia toast—not just to the union of Ignis and Lust,” she gestures to the Beauchamps, “but to the future of all our Houses. Together, our coalition has withstood the tests and trials of time. Now more than ever, we must continue the vital work our predecessors began for the greater good of our community. At least, until our Heirs are ready to take up the mantle themselves.” Her eyes rake over me before Marcus interrupts, reaching around Naomi to pat Cyrus on the shoulder.
“Hear, hear!”
Rebecca’s smile doesn’t falter, but her pique is unmistakable after years of memorizing her every micro expression.
“Thank you, Marcus. A toast, then, to our past, present, and future.” Scattered tinkling fills the room as she takes her seat, only for Soren to stand unexpectedly.
“While we are all gathered here, I’d like to make an announcement.
” Thane tenses beside me, and I brush my hand over his thigh under the table to keep him steady.
“As some of you may know, even though it’s only been a few months, Yvette and I have had a whirlwind romance.
I can’t imagine a future that doesn’t involve her joining our family. ” Yvette stares up at him, teary-eyed.
Poor, stupid, doomed girl.
“Which is why she and I have decided going to elope, and spend the new few weeks in the Maldives celebrating our future so that we may begin the New Year as true husband and wife.”