He didn’t comment on my appearance and simply hung my jacket. Then he gestured me inside. “Your father and Master Sebastian are in the library,” he said smoothly. “Your mother is out for the evening.”
Disappointment rose within me. Guess I should have called before arriving unannounced. With luck, maybe my father would know something.
“Thank you, Henrik,” I said, already striding toward the west wing.
The scent of firewood, old books, and tobacco greeted me as I approached the library. I pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside.
As with most libraries, books lined every wall, stacked floor to ceiling. Books about languages, cultures, magic, vampirism, humanity, philosophy. The list went on and on. My brother had a deep-seated fascination with all things written, and my father had fostered his love of books by building him this library.
And speaking of the old man, he sat by the fire, one arm draped over the armrest, the other holding a glass of what I assumed was blood-bourbon—his favorite drink. His attention drifted to me as I entered, his eyes taking in my current state of dress. A slight frown wrinkled his brow, but he didn’t say a word.
Across from him, tucked onto the loveseat, was Sebastian. He held a book in his lap, a thick tome etched with glowing runes on the spine and cover. Undoubtedly some piece of forgotten magical academia only he could decipher—that was my brother’s specialty after all.
Had Juliette and Evangeline been here, the scene would have felt like something out of our childhood. Back when the entire family gathered in the library for no reason other than spending time together.
“Lucien,” my father said. He gave me what passed for a warm smile, but it vanished a moment later when he took a sip of his drink and let the fire reclaim his attention.
Sebastian tore his focus away from his book long enough to give me a welcoming nod, then dove back into the pages.
I chuckled to myself. It didn’t matter how many years passed, my little brother would always remain the same. He even turned the pages in the same manner he had when we were kids. He’d tap the bottom right corner—once, twice—then turn the page, careful not to touch the ink, lest he smear it.
My younger brother had never much cared about pleasantries. Or people in general, really. He’d always lived in his own orbit, quiet and focused, anchored by routines no one dared interrupt. To him, books weren’t possessions. They were constellations—maps of knowledge that gave his world structure. His main interest lay in those pages, and very little beyond.
On the upside, if there was anyone in the house who might tell me the truth about the break-in, it would be Sebastian. He saw little value in mistruths. The challenge, however, would be prying him away from his pages to speak.
“I presume you’ve come tonight to give us an update about Miss Laurent?” my father asked, his voice drawing my focus away from my brother.
Sebastian didn’t so much as glance our way.
“Where’s mother?” I asked.
My father eyed me for a moment before he took another sip. “She has a social engagement tonight.”
“With whom?”
Ambrose’s brows lowered. He studied me for a moment in silence, then asked, “Why do you need to know?”
I needed to tread carefully here. If my mother was up to anything nefarious, undoubtedly, my father would know. The two never kept secrets from one another. Their dedication spanned centuries. However, I couldn’t simply ask if she was responsible. My father would do anything to protect his wife. Even from her own children, if necessary.
“Can a son not inquire after his mother’s whereabouts?” I asked, feigning a light tone as I lowered myself into the loveseat beside Sebastian.
“A son can,” my father said, swirling his drink. “But a father may also question his son’s sudden curiosity.”
I chuckled. “Merely curious who she’s off charming this afternoon. I hadn’t heard of any notable events. Wondering if I’ve fallen out of the loop.”
“Perhaps you have,” my father said, his voice clipped. “Rumor has it you’ve been distracted lately.”
The jab landed, but I didn’t bite. Instead, I kept quiet.
Sebastian reached the bottom of his page and turned it with delicate precision. “She mentioned Delancey. Briefly. Said the witch owed her a favor.”
Both my father and I turned to Sebastian.
He didn’t look up. Didn’t elaborate.
“Delancey Ravenspell?” I asked, sharper than intended.
Sebastian gave a small, distracted nod, his gaze still anchored to the book. “They don’t like each other. But Mother said the meeting was necessary.”
