Page 141 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

Oromon stood blocking the cabinet, feet planted wide, arms folded across his broad chest. “You’re not doing anything today. If those papers were urgent, they’d have sent an envoy, not a courier.”

Kassenor glanced between them—his two sons and the woman who’d matched him blow for blow in council and in life—jaw set, shoulders taut.

And he didn’t argue further.

Ark leaned back in his chair, a perverse humour tickling his chest. This was their rhythm: his father bristling with pride, his mother wielding hers like a sword, and the rest of them orbiting the wreckage they’d shaped into something functional.

And despite everything—the old arguments, the silence, the awkwardness they still couldn’t get over—they were here, together.

He glanced at the empty seat across from him.

Not for the first time since returning, he let himself picture her there—tucked against the armrest, legs drawn up, red curls catching the light like copper threads. She would have understood the brittle tension, the kind of love that spoke in barbed retorts and sidelong glances. She would have smiled—amused, unafraid—and maybe even dared to ease it.

Cassia had a way of fitting into spaces not made for her, filling them until they felt warm and lived in. She would have offered his father something spiced and unfamiliar, softened his mother’s arched brow with a confection invented just for her, and gone on talking as if she belonged.

And she would have, quicker than anyone thought possible.

A polite knock interrupted his thoughts.

Orlen stepped in, a silver-edged envelope balanced on one gloved hand.

“A missive for you, my lord,” he said to Ark with a slight bow. “Marked for your eyes alone.”

Ark accepted it without comment. The wax seal—obsidian black, pressed with that blasted magpie crest—tightened his scalp before he even cracked it open.

Arkenoth,

I find myself in legal possession of a certain property you have a vested interest in. Some things are best discussed without intermediaries. I am having a small gathering this afternoon. Come, and we can talk.

Alderrath

Ark crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fire.

“Alderrath,” Oromon muttered, lounging in the corner but no less alert. He hadn’t even needed to see the seal.

His mother observed him from the settee. “From the look on your face, he’s not inviting you to a neighbourly tea.”

His jaw flexed. “It’s about Starlight Orphanage. He’s acquired it. Legally. Which means the children are in his hands now.”

Kassenor studied him from his chair, eyes sharp. “What’s your investment in this?”

Ark met his father’s gaze. “I spent years resenting the weight of our name. I saw the legacy you built and called it a cage. But she—Cassia—carries a weight just as heavy for children who have no name at all. I was too blind to see it, and too selfish to care.”

Delphyne’s voice came low. “And now?”

“I won’t be blind anymore. Alderrath is using Starlight as leverage against Cassia. Against me. I don’t intend to let him get away with it.”

She gave his father a look, and he didn’t miss the slightly arched brow. She turned to him. “Do you know what he wants in return?”

“Yes, but I’ll hear it from him directly. Whatever he’s planning, it is time to beat him in his own game.”

Oromon pushed up from his seat. “You want backup?”

Ark’s mouth quirked. “Thanks. But I need to face this alone.”

Delphyne stood as well, approaching him. “You’ve spent years running from your name, your title, your place at the table. You called it freedom. I called it waste.” She held his gaze. “But now you have something worth fighting for. Stop evading what you are and use it.”

Before, those words would’ve grated. Now, they landed differently. For years, he had treated the Varil name as a burden—a cage of expectations and obligations he wanted no part of. He had built Aegis & Ash in secret, solved problems without the family crest, without the council seat, without any of it. He had told himself that was freedom.