32. Deacon
Chapter 32
Deacon
Cade, Lena, and I have had our fair share of troubles, and the Alloways have had full-out brawls. But when I casually walk in late to the predinner drinks, it’s absolutely unmistakable that everyone in the royal family has years beyond their wisdom. That’s saying something since I’m not the youngest at the table.
Side-eyed glances and whispers start the moment I cross the threshold. Maybe I should download one of those language - learning apps.
Revecca eyes me, and fuck if she and Cade don’t have that weird genetic predisposition to having the same behaviors bullshit. In the slight flare of her nostrils and a side-eye glance, I know where I’m supposed to sit and, in another glance, who it’s about to piss off.
He’s Hugo Ardelean, if the ‘who’s who’ crash course Patrick gave me is anything to be believed. Robust in an uncharacteristically wolf way with a large barrel chest.
“Shall we join the table?” Revecca asks in English, which I’m sure is for my benefit.
Hugo Ardelean practically sprints ahead of the group headed to the dining table and gets to the chair that my ass is supposed to occupy. Normally, I’d say fuck it and grab a chair farther down. I’m not concerned so long as there’s food served in that seat as well.
But there’s fuckery to spread.
I stalk up quietly, hands tucked in my pockets, and slouch back on my heels. “I believe you’re in my chair.”
Hugo huffs. “You can’t be serious.”
Casually I rotate to Revecca and shake my head, giving her a rough shrug of my shoulders. I get the tiniest of nods before turning back to Hugo. I pull my hand out of my pocket and extend it to him. “His Royal Highness, James Deacon Alden, of The Harbinger line. You can call me James.”
“Your Majesty,” Hugo sputters.
I cringe on his behalf. “See, that is the problem, isn’t it? She’s not Your Majesty the Queen. She’s Your Highness the Queen.” The room goes deathly still. Please don’t be wrong. I draw a slow breath. “The woman, who, from my understanding, has been doing an excellent job caring for the people of Romania,” I lean forward and whisper yell, “despite your best efforts to undermine that.” I lean back and sigh. “She’s only Your Highness like the rest of us. His Majesty is at home with his mate.”
“You can’t possibly —”
“Can’t possibly what?” I cock my head to the side, kind of wishing I had drugged my wolf as ancestors materialize through the walls. “Can’t possibly be implying that he or his future children return to Romania?”
“Well,” Hugo huffs.
“Hate to break it to you, but despite Revecca’s best efforts, she can’t get Cade to come here. Sorry, she can’t get Alexandru to return to Romania to fully abdicate the throne of Romania, which means The Leviathan rules from the United States.” I turn on my heels, making a big show of it to look at Revecca. “That about covers it? More or less?”
She gives a curt nod. “More or less.”
She swallows, and it seems difficult.
“So, if The Leviathan isn’t abdicating, then Revecca is still Your Royal Highness, not Majesty, and that means that all the power is still in their bloodline, and because my half-brother is The Harbinger, then... whatever the fuck my wolf is qualifies as his successor, and Harbinger is the successor of The Pricolici, so I’m the successor of Harbinger, so therefore would you fuckin’ move.”
A gasp comes from somewhere down the table, and I’m not exactly sure if it was the use of the word fuck or something else.
Hugo Ardelean steps away from my chair and walks around to the other side of the table.
“And before anyone fuckin’ asks, yeah, the bloodwork’s been done.” I look down at the ten other people flanking the table.
Revecca takes her seat, and I follow her lead, sinking into the large wooden chair. Remarkably comfortable for being an antique. With a careful nod from Revecca, service staff enters the dining hall and begins dropping the first course.
“So, James,” a woman to the left of Hugo pipes up, “what is it you do?”
“I’m a venture capitalist,” I say confidently.
“A freeloader,” Hugo grumbles.
“From my conversations with the director of the Ardelean Fund, Deacon is very good at putting money into the right hands for a profitable reinvestment.”
Revecca shocks me, mostly because I didn’t realize she could see our finances .
“Oh, and your gift?” A man’s voice comes from down the table.
“It’s not polite to ask about an Ardelean gift.” I’m quick to push back.
Laughter erupts down the table.
Of course, it’s a dinner with a room full of Ardeleans.
I look over at Revecca, and she takes a sip of her soup.
Fuck me. Wrong answer.
“I see and speak with the ancestors.” The minute I say it, the ancestors in the room start getting loud.
I scrub my hand down my face, ignoring them all to pick up a spoonful of soup.
“It must be lovely being able to see your loved ones after they’ve died,” a woman muses.
“I’ve been blessed with never having lost a loved one.” I let those words out quickly and effortlessly. I don’t miss the shifting eyes in the room and pauses in the casual eating. “Not having parents I’ve cared about, no grandparents to speak of, and all the close calls have ended on our side of lucky.”
“Grigore,” Revecca cuts in, and even the ancestors in the room go silent, “tell me about the expectations for the sunflower crop this year.”
I follow Revecca’s lead for the rest of dinner, throwing out soft jabs here and there, saying the cutting words that usually go unsaid in polite conversation. When Revecca finally dismisses the rest of the company, she and I leave in the opposite direction down the hallway. We’re probably on the other side of the home when she leans against a wall, breaking out laughing. The royal guards stop and look at her, confusion and fear rippling off them in waves of concern .
“What on earth” — she gasps for air — “is an earth-vexing varlet?”
“No idea, but it sure sounded good.” I laugh along with her.
“I haven’t had that much fun at a family dinner in years. How did you know that about the royal family?” She wipes a wayward tear from laughing so hard out of the corner of her eye.
I steady my breathing before answering. “A lot of time in the archives with Thalia, a lot of time on the internet, and a lot of deductive reasoning.”
“Do you really believe Cade or one of his children will want the throne someday?” she muses, and we’re nearly back to where she spends most of her time.
“Cade? Personally? No.” I shake my head. “He’s loyal to his people, and they’re not here. And I don’t mean that to sound like your people are lesser.”
“But there’s a connection to familiarity.” Revecca gives a solemn nod.
“I know you and him are struggling to find a new relationship path.” I wince thinking about the last yelling match and the comments he’s made about having a sister. “But I don’t think Cade’s problems are with you as a person so much as how you approach him and your insistence that he returns to Romania. If all you want from him is for him to return home, then take this as a ‘stand down,’ so to speak. But if what you’re looking for is connection to your sibling, he responds well to genuinely expressed interest and conversation.”
Silently contemplating that, Revecca bobs her head. “How long do I have to wait for him to tell me his mate is expecting?”
“They’re planning to announce it once they tell the family at Equinox. Thalia is nervous with the first trimester.” It’s not worth lying to her or pretending I don’t know .
“Okay, but I’m brimming with excitement.” Revecca’s words don’t match her body posturing. “Can I please at least tell you what they’re having and their gift?”
“The fact that you get to pick gifts pisses me off.” I finally have someone to voice my frustrations to. “Your mother? Grandmother? Knew I was coming into this world and gave me this hell to deal with.”
“It’s not exactly as straightforward as you make it seem. Certain gifts can only be relegated in certain scenarios. Your gift is only available if Harbinger and The Leviathan come forth. As much as I’m sure you’ll hate the idea, Deacon, you are correct in that you are above Hugo Ardelean for the throne. I could abdicate to you.” Revecca places her hand on my shoulder.
That thought sinks into me like hot lava falling into a frozen lake. Things inside me crack and sizzle while I try to comprehend what she’s saying.
Fuck. I’m going to die in Romania with a crown on my head. Maybe I should call Cade.
Revecca turns to go. “Tomorrow, there’s someone you need to meet.”
“So.” Calling her back, I shake off my impending dread, not ready to give up whatever peace we’ve found between us just yet. “If a guy was about to start a betting pool on the gender of Cade’s child and the due date?”
When Revecca turns back, she’s smiling. It’s something I wasn’t so sure she could do but seems to do a lot here. “Girl. Strong like her sire and fair like her mother. I would guess before her due date.”
“Give her a hellish gift, and I’ll make your life hell,” I warn her .
“The gift of —”
“No. Don’t tell me.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to be culpable for your crimes of bad gifts.”
“Fair enough, given your current take of the situation.” Revecca nods.
This time when she leaves, I don’t argue with her going.