Martin inclined his head. “If you’d prefer, my lord, I could call you ‘Gill.’”
Then Baron would be six years old again. Only Silas still called him Gill—sometimes “Gilly” to be obnoxious.
“It isn’t the name, Martin. It’s the absence.”
When Baron gestured, his father’s head of staff—hishead of staff—entered the study, a folded parchment in his hands. “An invitation from Lady Bennett.”
Silas’s mother. For a moment, Baron perked up. Then Martin continued the announcement.
“Miss Margaret Bennett is turning seventeen. There is to be a celebration in her honor, held—”
“Send my polite refusal. I’ll continue to refrain from social events through the full mourning season.” Baron pushed aside a few sheets of parchment. The fall harvest estimates were too low. The carriage house was in need of repair, among other things, though priority ...
Martin shifted.
Baron looked up. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s passed, my lord. The mourning season.”
Baron blinked. Three months already? He turned his gaze to the window. Trees lined the path to the estate, their green leaves untouched by autumn, not because it hadn’t arrived, but because the Reeves estate boasted a climate warm enough to support the lemon orchard. Every year, winter passed without sting, and it was easy to lose track of the seasons in such an unchanging paradise.
Except it had changed. The best part of it was gone.
“When my own father passed on ...” Martin hesitated, rubbing the dome of his balding head. He lowered his hand with a small sigh. “It’s impossible to put a time frame on grief.”
Yet society had.
“No more hiding, then,” Baron murmured.
He’d made a promise to his father, and at the thought of it, an invisible weight settled across his shoulders, bowing his back. It was no easy task to change an entire kingdom, but Baron had somehow felt up to the challenge when his father had stood at his side, the solid rock he could always rely upon.
Now he had to be the rock. For himself, for his two brothers, for every magic user in the kingdom.
Three months was not enough time. Twenty years was not enough time.
“Lady Bennett notes that your absence would be excused.” Martin had his eyes on the parchment. “She mentions the ‘ill political climate’ but nothing more specific. As if everyone in the kingdom hasn’t heard Morton’s letter to His Majesty by now.”
All the more reason to attend. Clarissa Morton had implicated all Casters in her rejection of the king, and it was Baron’s responsibility to show everyone a Castercouldbe a faithful member of court. He could not do so by remaining at home.
Forcing a tight smile, he said, “Inform Lady Bennett to expect us.”
Baron adjusted his gloves again. If he kept at it, he would develop a rash.
“This is stupid,” Leon announced for the third time, his voice too loud for the enclosed carriage.
“If you say it again,” Corvin growled, “I’ll peck your eyes out.”
“A modicum of civility, please.” Though Baron was no more excited than his half brothers to be approaching the Bennett estate.
The estate’s rigid black gate and strict rows of trimmed hedges was a familiar sight. Everything in its place, everything devoid of frivolous color—exactly the way Lord Bennett liked it. Considering this was the home of Baron’s best friend, he ought to have felt more comfortable visiting, but he and Silas had developed their friendship at Fairfax, and most of their time together had been at the school. Silas was more likely to pop up unannounced in Baron’s training yard than to invite him over for tea, especially after the event two years ago.
“This is stupid,” Leon repeated.
Corvin squawked, but before he could lunge at his twin, Baron raised his cane to block the way, braced against the back of the carriage seat between the boys. While many noblemen embraced a cane for fashion purposes, his had always pulled double duty as a brother barrier.
“A modicum,” he repeated, holding each boy’s gaze for a moment, “of civility.”
Corvin deflated, and Leon sighed. At a glance, the two thirteen-year-olds did not seem to be twins, not with Corvin’s angular, dark features compared against Leon’s rounded face and heavyset frame. Yet given any chance to bicker, their similarities became obvious.
