Forbidden Honor (Dragon Royals #1)(65)

Instead, I made my way as Lucien—shirtless, bedraggled, and probably stinking of corpse—into my childhood home.

There were guards outside, and doormen who viewed me distastefully even as they bowed. But everyone recognized me, even if my hair was plastered against my forehead.

I made my way through the brightly glimmering house and the mass of partygoers, who shied away from me. Yep, I definitely stank. But I barely registered anyone’s faces beyond their general wide-eyed shock and horror.

I only had eyes for my boys.

“Excuse me,” I said to a passing serving girl. She stopped and held her tray toward me, her lips parting in shock as she took in my appearance.

I didn’t particularly want the wine she was offering, but it couldn’t make things worse. I took two glasses. “Thank you. Have you by chance seen five miserable fuckheads who’ve judged all of humanity and decided they only like the other four fuckheads? Two blond, three dark, all excessively tall and painfully handsome but just exuding general dickishness?”

She stared at me in horror.

I made people uncomfortable.

Then she squeaked out, “They’re in the pipe room,” before she turned and fled.

I stared after her as she headed into the crowd. Huh. She’d recognized their description.

Since when did my house have a pipe room, anyway?

At least that information narrowed things down. I headed down the hall, which was lined now with flowering trees in pots, which scented the air fragrantly. Given how I smelled, I should probably just have dragged one of these trees along the marble.

I pushed open the door to what had been my father’s study. For a second when my hand was on the mahogany wood and I breathed in the scent of woodsmoke from the fireplace, I almost thought I’d see him in front of the fire again, with his book on his lap. The memory of him was so strong that his death was a shock all over again.

But the dragon royals were here instead, and that felt like a slap. Grief, even once it had aged, always seemed to have another sucker punch to throw. They didn’t belong in here.

They were drinking whiskey, laughing and joking. Talisyn was telling some story in front of the fire, talking with his hands the way he did, the fire casting his handsome, grinning face in shadows. Branok was trying to shout him down, Lynx was laughing, and Arren surveyed the three of them the way he so often did, as if he were an outsider, as if he were the adult watching over them.

I used to come in here to tell my father about all my little kid problems. When I pushed open the door, he’d always laid down his pen and held out his arms. He’d prop his chin in his hand and smile at me as he listened to me ramble.

I wondered what the royals’ fathers had been like. Probably assholes. It was probably genetic.

People who had happy childhoods really never turned out quite that badly did they?

Arren’s gaze was on my face. He’d noticed me before any of the others

“Hello, gentlemen,” I said and plopped down on the couch beside Lynx, who lay sprawled across it, one arm cocked behind his head.

He scrambled to sit up, his eyes widening.

“Hello, Lucien,” Talisyn said. “Nice to see you. I see you found the wine.”

I took a long sip from one of my glasses, buying myself time to gauge them. Branok didn’t even acknowledge me. It seemed as if they hadn’t been surprised at all to see me. So perhaps they hadn’t gone into the night planning on murder.

I glanced around the four of them again. Branok sipped his whiskey and stared into space, his laughter forgotten once I walked into the room. Lynx was ignoring me, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. Arren had moved closer, resting his forearms on the back of the couch; I could feel his presence just behind me, threatening enough to make my skin prickle.

But Talisyn was still smiling, as if there was nothing to fear. Foolish boy.

“Where’s Jaik?” I asked.

“He never showed.” Talisyn eyed me skeptically, but I could have sworn there was a glimmer of happiness. Was he glad I was alive?

The same couldn’t be said for the golden twins. Were they the ones behind the murder attempt? Maybe they’d exhibited some rare independence and gone behind Jaik’s back.

I didn’t want to be unfair though. I was giving everyone the chance to get on my murder list tonight.

“Are you all right?” Talisyn asked me, crinkling his nose in disdain as he glanced over me.

“Wonderful.” I didn’t bother to look down at my bare chest and soaking wet trousers as I polished off the second glass of wine. “I just hate to be late for a party.”

“It looks like you’re missing some clothes.” Talisyn poured himself a fresh glass of whiskey, then to my surprise, held a second glass to me, though he didn’t move from his spot in front of the crackling flames.

I rose to join him at the fireplace, glad to get closer to the warming flames. “This is the hot new look. I hear all the Fae royalty beyond are doing wet-and-bedraggled.”

No one asked about my evening activities, although from the glances they exchanged, almost behind my back, I had a feeling they were very curious. But were they curious how I escaped? Or were they curious how I survived?

How much did the answers to those questions change things? I’d want revenge either way. But their motives determined whether it was the stabby kind of revenge or not.