The gold ring on his finger catches my eye. The King’s ring. His fingertips trace the tattoo slowly, sensually, but his green eyes are bored, staring out over the dance floor. I’m not sure if it’s this new knowledge of him being another Royal that makes him seem weirdly human all of a sudden, or the rumpled appearance. I’ve known Remy’s dad for years, and never once have I seen him look anything but eerily immaculate. Tonight, he’s shucked his tailored suit jacket, the top three buttons of his shirt undone. His eyes are heavy with the drink he’s holding, a glass of amber liquid resting on his other knee. His head is tipped back so that he stares down his nose at the people below, but there’s a visible exhaustion–or maybe disappointment–in the set of his mouth.
He’s never resembled his son more.
It’s only when the girl turns, catching sight of me in her periphery, that I announce myself. “Am I interrupting?”
The girl springs to her feet, looking relieved. “I’ll be downstairs!”
Maddox’s hand falls away from her skin, eyes narrowing as she saunters away.
“Thank you, Wilcox,” he says, leaning forward to place his drink on the table. “Make sure no one bothers us. Simon and I have some private matters to discuss.”
Irritation flickers across Heston’s face, his jaw tensing at the command. I get the feeling he’s not used to taking orders. It’s an indicator of Maddox’s power, one he’s used to flaunting. Like Wilcox, I’m not interested in measuring dicks. Not tonight. I need solutions.
The minute we’re alone, he turns his cold eyes on me. “How’s my son?”
“Alive,” I reply, not willing to give him more than that.
“Obviously.” He flashes me a condescending grin. “I could tell from the call. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be celebrating.”
A bottle of brandy sits on the table, along with two glasses.
“Do you always celebrate by railing your Baronesses?” I sneer because it’s downright illicit. Kings do, take, and keep whatever they damn well please, but there are some lines that just don’t get crossed, and fucking the current leaders’ house girl is one of them. Unbidden, the thought springs to mind–Saul on top of Lavinia–and I ball my fist.
“Ah, you really do have that Duke charm, don’t you?” He reclines back, nodding at the space beside him. I take the chair directly to his left instead, disgusted by this new view of him. “Regina simply needs to be brought to heel. That’s the problem with recruiting brides from the wicked path. Fickle, psychotic little bitches. She’s driving my poor boys up the wall. But I suppose you know a thing or two about that.” He holds my stare, which is how I realize he’s halfway drunk already.Good. “Not that it’s any of your business, but the only Baroness I’ve ever ‘railed’ was my own, twenty-three years ago, and I’ve been carnally faithful ever since.” Maddox raises an eyebrow at my snort. “Does that surprise you? I suppose it would. This new guard doesn’t value loyalty at all.”
“It’s more that my brother has pretty expansive knowledge of the Hideaway’s clientele.” I give him a long, meaningful look.
Flippantly, Maddox waves a hand. “A man has needs and a myriad of ways they can be met.”
“Oral doesn’t count, huh?” I scan the floor below, looking for anyone wearing just a little too much black. “See, that kind of pedantic horseshit is exactly the kind of ‘loyalty’ I’d expect from the old guard.”
Maddox leans forward and refills his glass, spilling a little down the side, and then pours the brown liquid into the empty one. He pushes the fresh one toward me. “Tell me, did the Lucia girl survive?” At my dark, warning look, he hums. “Well, of course she did. Else, it would have been my son coming up those steps, ready to kill me.” Sipping his drink, he adds, “Or ready to try, in any case. Still, I’m a bit offended they sent you instead of Nicholas.”
I roll easily with the topic change. “Well, seeing as how you want to kill him, I’m not sure who else you’d expect.”
“Want is a strong word.” He tips his chin and leans closer, as if he’s about to tell me a secret. “Irritating as he may be, Nicholas is merely a job. He understands being in that position more than any of you, so I know for a fact he has the guts to look me in the eye. Most importantly, he has a name fitting of someone who’d hazard to negotiate with a senior member of the highest Royalty.” Maddox tsks. “What gives you the authority to make this kind of arrangement? You aren’t the Bruin Heir.”
It’s meant to be an insult, but my patience has run thin. “No, I’m not. But it’s not safe for my brother to be traipsing around town right now, is it? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Maddox. If you want to start a war, you call Nick. If you want a negotiation? You talk to me. ” He eyes me long and hard, realizing the truth of that statement.
“Still, Perilini doesn’t strike fear into the hearts of men.”
“Maybe it should.” I point out, “I’ve taken down a lot of men–all bigger and better than you.”
“Yes, the fighter. Catch and release.” He raises his glass to his lips, which are curled in obvious distaste. “I do wish it’d been Nicholas. He’s insufferable as a person, but as a murderer? He shows potential.”
I give him a grin as cold as his own. “Next time, I’ll be sure to bring you his autograph. In the meantime, you want to cut to the fucking chase?”
Maddox regards the sweep of my hand with a dark, severe expression, and I try to reel it in. This is why Nick couldn’t come. Not because he’s afraid. Not even because I was afraid for him. It’s because Nick is an escalator. Unfortunately, sitting like this with my best friend’s father, it’s easy to forget he’s a King–one out of the five most powerful people in Forsyth.
So I tack on a belated, “...sir,” and try not to pull a face.
“I’ll admit,” he says, holding up his glass, “things didn't go as planned last night. My intention had been to get Remy somewhere safe.” He takes another sip, savoring it. “But, as usual, the interference from the Dukes and your Duchess ruined my best laid plans.”
I stare at the glass, unable to look this man in the eye. Not now that I’ve been reminded how close he’d come to taking the most important people in my life away from me. “I happen to know a little about not being the man your father wants you to be. Like you, my fathers never wanted their sons to be Dukes. They thought this life was too violent. Too deceptive. They opted out—for me. For Nick. For their Duchess.” I pick up the glass, giving it a covert sniff.
“It’s the fatherly Forsyth curse. Look at Daniel Payne.” His voice turns casually conversational, just a touch of a booze-slur, as if we’re just two friends meeting for a drink. “We raise defiant men because we want them to survive. If we ask them not to pledge Royalty, they’ll do it just to spite us. If we ask them to lead our houses, they’ll ultimately come to overthrow us. There’s no winning, Simon.” He tips his glass toward me. “No victor. No spoils.”
Hearing the solemness of his tone, I try to reason with him. “Remy isn’t made for the darkness of a Baron’s life. It would consume him, and you know it.”