"To Lucius," she said, soft and certain. "And everything they'll never touch."
As if summoned by the toast, or more likely, by the gods of political inconvenience, Lucius appeared behind them with the weary elegance of a man who had just escaped diplomatic captivity.
He didn't wait to be acknowledged. He stepped into the circle like it was a lifeboat.
"I swear," he muttered, "if one more noble asks me about heirs, I will burn this ballroom to the ground."
Chris turned slightly. "Good evening, darling."
Lucius gave him a look. "You knew, didn't you?"
Chris smiled. "Define 'knew.'"
"They cornered me by the archway near the elder council," Lucius continued, as if Chris hadn't spoken. "Three different lines of succession. Two genetic charts. A ten-minute lecture on the fertility decline of secondborn alphas."
Lucas winced. "That's rough."
