“You know, I’m getting a sense of déjà vu here.”

George Louis pulled away from him so fast, David stumbled a step forwards. Greg leaned against the door. The closed door, thank goodness.

“What, Greg? What do you want?”

“Mother wants to know if His Highness will join us for dessert.”

David rubbed his tingling lips, while George Louis tried to be subtle about straightening his clothes. Which was not working. At all.

“Mother already had a plate brought out. She was going to send a servant, but Morgulon insisted that I go,” Greg went on.

“The werewolf knows about us?”

Greg rolled his eyes at the duke. “What, you don’t remember the first time I found you like this?”

“I meant the other one,” George Louis grumbled.

“Pretty sure she sniffed us out the second she first saw us together,” David sighed.

“They’ve got magic for that, too?”

“I don’t think so. Just a really fine nose, apparently.” David replied. “She’s not going to tell anyone, so what does it matter?”

Greg looked back and forth between them. “What do you want me to tell Mum?”

David caught the hem of his old sweater to stop himself from curling his hands into fists in annoyance. “Nothing. We’ll be there in a moment.”

“We will?”

“Unless you want to explain to my mother just why you absolutely cannot stay for dessert, yes, we will.”

For a moment, George Louis seemed to think about it, but then he just gave up on subtlety and closed the buttons on his jacket. “Lead the way, I suppose.”

“Smart,” Greg said. “By the way, Your Grace, Morgulon says you owe her a favour.”

“And I didn’t before? I was under the impression that all of Loegrion owed her a favour or two. And Deva especially.”

“True, but because everyone owes it, nobody is going to pay it. This one is personal. The servants do talk.”

“No doubt there.”

Greg grinned at David. “Don’t take too long,” he said, ducking out of the door before David could do more than glare at him.

“I’m really tempted to chuck a silver coin at him,” George Louis grumbled. “You’re sure the bitch won’t talk?”

“Morgulon won’t,” David shrugged. “Other werewolves might.”

George Louis grumbled something inaudible while turning around himself. “Your brother has the most dreadful timing, you know that? Doesn’t this place have a mirror?”

“Eh,” David shrugged. “Here, let me—” He reached out to straighten the duke’s tie. “Look at it this way: It could have been Nathan.”

“Which would have been worse?”

David tried to imagine Nathan’s face when they walked into the dining room in a moment and grimaced. “Much worse, yes. At least Greg doesn’t giggle.”

He was drawing it out, wasn’t he?

“Are we ready?” he asked, looking George Louis up and down. “How do I look?”

“If I say bad, will that slow you down?”

“You showed up here, unannounced,” David pointed out. “Not my fault if your evening is being interrupted.”

“Inviting me for dinner was your idea,” George Louis muttered, but he straightened his jacket one last time and then grabbed a large parcel from where he had set it on the table. It was very long, and quite narrow—unwieldy.

David had been so distracted by the duke, he hadn’t even noticed the box. It was covered with a cloth—probably to protect the fine wood underneath.

“Let’s get this over with,” George Louis said, clearly to forestall David asking about the parcel.

“What’s that?” David asked anyway.

“You didn’t really think I came here empty handed, did you? Of course you did.” The duke sighed. “You’ll see in a moment. If I’m staying for dinner, I might as well prove to your parents I’m not wholly ungrateful.”

“It’s a sword, isn’t it?”

“The faster we get this over with, the faster you’ll see.”

David rolled his eyes, but he went. A new sword would be nice. Not that he needed another one. The duelling sword George Louis had given him last summer was still in perfectly good condition. On the other hand, one could never have too many blades.

The maids were watching them, weren’t they? Of course they were. After all, it was His Highness, Duke Stuard, the man about to crown himself king of Loegrion, who was currently eying the hallway’s decorations with interest.

David wondered what had caught his interest. There were family portraits, some vases, and a bust of the ancestor who had founded the house on Loegrion. A few weapons were hung from the walls, too. A lion’s head was mounted over the library door. From what David had seen of other noble houses, theirs wasn’t particularly noteworthy. Granted, the portraits of his ancestors tended to have a distinct, more colourful style, but the only other difference was probably that the pieces they owned that came from the continent were family heirlooms rather than spoils of war.

“No werewolf pelts,” George Louis noted. “Though, I suppose you sold them after Greg was bitten?”

Right. David supposed there was a distinct lack of—hunter memorabilia here. He stopped in front of the bust of his forefather, wondering what to say. The whole topic was a bit embarrassing. On the other hand, it was history by now.

“Neither, really,” he finally said honestly. “We already sold most of them when the last plague hit, and just never replaced them. You wouldn’t hang the skin of a human from the wall, would you?”

“I suppose not.” George Louis looked up to the lion above the door. “I didn’t realise you thought of it that way before the thing with your brother.”

David just shrugged. He didn’t feel like explaining the growing feeling of unease, the way he had tried to rationalise the killing, the way they sometimes, rarely, had let werewolves escape and the way they had all lied to each other about their true feelings for the job they were doing. Had lied to Greg most of all.

George Louis looked at him expectantly, but David didn’t say anything more on the matter. Once, he might have. But a single kiss wasn’t enough to bring back the trust and intimacy they had lost.

Instead, David walked forwards, into the dining room. The family rose when the duke followed him. Bram sketched a bow, as if they were at a public gathering.

“Welcome, Your Highness,” he said and claimed: “It’s an honour.”

George Louis smiled rather wryly, but he replied: “The honour is all mine, Lord Feleke. Thank you for the invitation,” he added in Imani’s direction. “I failed to bring flowers for the lady of the house, but I hope this gift will make up for it. And that it will keep the bearer safe in the coming battles.”

He presented David with the parcel, pulling away the piece of cloth, revealing beautifully carved wood: Two owls, sitting on a branch like lovebirds. The corners of the box were plated in gold, and the lines of the animals were lined in gold as well. It was clearly quite heavy, too: George Louis struggled to balance it on on hand.

David felt a morbid urge to see if he would drop it if he didn’t take it, but Andrew already cleared a space on the table, anyways. So David reached out to accept the gift. The wood felt as nice as it looked, smooth and warm in his hands—not as heavy as George Louis had made him expect, either.

He had been nearly right about the contents: Inside the beautiful box, on dark purple velvet, rested a sabre in its sheath. Silver inlaid adorned it. It looked both impractical and ostentatious, but it also made David’s finger prickle with magic.

“It’s a family heirloom,” George Louis explained, before David could comment on the sheath. “My father wore it to battle against some of the finest cavalry the Valoise ever fought. I briefly carried it myself, against the Kujawen tribes. However, I believe you’ll be able to make better use of this blade. The sheath is enchanted with the most powerful protective magic my family could pay for.”

Quite powerful indeed, if the tingle in his fingers was any indication. He lifted it out of the cask. The hilt was only slightly over-wrought, with a decent basket—modified so it wouldn’t impede movement—and a solid tang, proving that this was no dress-sword. It lay well in his hand when he drew it.

“Careful,” George Louis complained when David swung the blade experimentally, which made Nathan snigger.

“Shouldn’t give him a sword, then.”

David ignored them. It was a very nice sabre, if at the large side to use on foot. Or within the dining room. But that wasn’t what it was for, anyways, was it? This was a cavalry sabre.

David did like the balance and the shape of it—straight enough and stiff enough for a piercing thrust, with a nice spear-tip that was edged front and back for the first several inches, and just enough of a curve to aid in cutting.

Someone in the Stuard family had known blades. Or employed someone who did.

“May I?” Bram asked.

“It’s very nice,” David said, handing the sword over. “Thank you,” he added, looking at the duke.

“I hope it will serve you well.”

David picked up the sheath again. It was a fine enchantment indeed: he didn’t feel the tingle until his fingers touched it. Which meant the magic didn’t “leak” as Pierre called it. There was a tension in the silver, like a tightly wound spring. Something David wouldn’t have recognised a few weeks ago. Would it stop a bullet? It felt like it might.

“Thank you,” David repeated.

“Perhaps we could sit down then?” Imani asked in fond exasperation, looking at Bram who was just passing the sabre over to Nathan.

There was already a chair and setting added to the head of the table. Which would place George Louis right next to David—and Greg.

If the duke minded the arrangement, he didn’t show it, though he couldn’t quite hide the flinch when Morgulon poked her head into the dining room. The she-wolf sniffed the air, sneezed, and pulled her head back again without comment.

David took the sabre back from Nathan and placed it in its sheath. Only when he returned both to the box, he noticed the bag of what looked like the same velvet as the lining sitting in a corner.

“What’s that?” he asked, lifting it out.

“Just something I had lying around.”

That was quite obviously a lie: When David opened the bag, it turned out to be full of coffee beans.

“Something to return to, perhaps,” George Louis said, as David deeply inhaled the familiar aroma. “Or maybe something to share with the family.”

“Is that coffee?” Nathan asked. “No way he’s going to share that.”

“Damn right I won’t,” David said. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he closed the bag again. Quite possibly worth its weight in gold, given that the trade lanes had all been interrupted. George Louis either had to have saved this for a special occasion or he’d bought it at the blackmarket for a ridiculous price.

“Thank you,” David said again. He placed the coffee next to his plate and set the case with the sabre aside. The duke waited until David sat down to follow suit. If Greg noticed the glance George Louis shot in his direction, he didn’t give any sign. David was quite certain that Thoko did notice, but she just pursed her lips.

Before the silence could turn uncomfortable, the servants brought the dessert course, and then it was just like any other dinner invitation David had ever been part of. He felt himself mentally disconnecting from the small talk as George Louis extensively complimented the food and Imani asked polite questions about his son. Thoko was listening with more interest than he was—probably to learn from Imani.

On the other hand, he was glad for the distraction that stopped his family from dwelling on what was going to happen tomorrow—and the days after.