It was raining outside the old hospital, and the rain was pounding against the windows. About a year ago, the windows often rattled when it was raining hard like this, but nine months into his new employment under the Pike family, Gellert had ordered a significant refurbishment of the hospital’s central structures.

The rain could pound all it liked, but the windows would remain solidly in place, and the room would be no colder or damper for the downpour.

When Pike had bought the hospital campus for scarce more than a pittance two years ago, he’d invested a good deal in insulating, strengthening, and in part modernising of the basement levels which had once been home to the morgue, many of the underground corridors that connected to the buildings for the laundry, the incinerator, and connected different buildings together. Only the central building was still left standing by the time Pike had bought it — the new hospital was built in 2004, and by 2007 the old campus had been virtually empty — but while the outbuildings were demolished one by one to keep out the squatters and schoolchildren on their romps, the basement corridors had been largely kept locked and inaccessible.

Pike had cleared the building broadly of detritus, and then had customised a handful of rooms, eight or nine — removed the tile and put in carpeting and wallpaper, proper curtains, furniture. He’d had a few offices put in, a few bedrooms, and a few storage rooms, but the vast majority of the construction crews’ attention had been put into the basement levels, putting in better plumbing, humidity and heating controls, better drains, and so on. According to the messily kept accounts that Gellert had been able to read through, approximately a dozen different wizards had been hired at a premium to do the necessary enchantment work, and only half of those were actually plumbers or electricians.

The rest were ward specialists, experts in magical flow, a magical gardener, an illusionist, and such people as that. The basement levels were the very core of the Pike family’s new business operation: replicating the precise conditions of a fae forest some twelve hours journey away, they were able to grow on-site, right here in Lashton Town, the rare and unusual mushrooms that went into the production of pixie dust, a very popular magical high.

It had changed everything.

Overnight, the Pike family, before now frequently encroached upon by other crime families within Lashton, was suddenly making unspeakable levels of profit, their overheads cut to a fraction, no longer needing to coordinate security, transport, or to smuggle nary a speck of their most profitable import.

Lucien Pike, of course, was something of a minimalist, and was not organised by nature — that was where Gellert came in. He’d been the man’s personal assistant for not yet a year, but it was different to any work he’d done before. He’d been cooking books and assisting in smuggling operations since he was just out of university for one family or other, but as part of the Pike family, he was a valued lieutenant, more than that, he was a family head’s right hand.

Part of that meant thinking of the things that Lucien Pike didn’t think of himself, and Pike didn’t think of much — the whole of the hospital had undergone significant conversion now. They had a handful of additional bedrooms, but more importantly, they had a great many new offices for handling communications and accountancy, actually planning their business out, and for the first time in four hundred years, Pike’s business was digitised, his accounts were recorded on computers rather than in heavy, leatherbound books.

And, of course, there were meeting rooms dedicated to the purpose, despite Pike’s old-fashioned appreciation for meeting in dusty old pubs or standing in cold sheds, and nowadays, there was actually someone to keep minutes.

Gellert had come to this hospital quite often when he was a little boy — he remembered dislocating a hip after he scuffled with a girl in the yard and ended up being tipped down the stone stairs, and he’d run away from home during the winter when he was a child. He’d evaded everyone who was searching for him, but it had been February and there was heavy snow. He’d ended up escaping hypothermia itself, but by the time he had been caught two weeks in, he was nursing a lung-rattling case of pneumonia, and had been hospitalised.

“This used to be the paediatric ward,” he said idly as Pike walked into the meeting room: this had been a very large room initially, but now it was split into three rooms with glass walls in between them, actual tables, chairs.

“You get molested in here, then?” asked Pike, and Gellert pressed his lips together, giving Pike a very irritable look. Pike was smirking at him, knew damn well how disgusting he was being as he advanced, and without Gellert answering him, he slipped his hand under the waistband of Gellert’s trousers, squeezing his arse cheek.

“I’ve been molested in here now,” said Gellert, and pulled his wrist up again. Pike’s hand, huge as it was, was cold to the touch, and the flesh was hard in Gellert’s grip. “For fuck’s sake, Pike — ”

“What’s the point in them shirt stays if your shirt gets messed up anyway?”

“Shirt stays aren’t intended to inure one against physical harassment, Pike,” muttered Gellert, awkwardly tucking the back of his shirt back into his trousers and making sure it was flat, that the clips for his stays hadn’t come undone. As he stalked around the table, Pike picked up Gellert’s suit jacket from where he’d hung it on the back of his chair, and didn’t just hand it over: he held it out and helped Gellert on with it, letting him slip his arms in.

Pike had a funny idea of chivalry.

Against Gellert’s better judgement, he did let Pike fuck him.

“Why are you early?” asked Gellert.

“You think it’s good to be early for appointments, don’tcha?” asked Pike, dropping heavily into the reinforced leather chair at the end of the meeting table — Pike was six foot six and stacked with muscle, was unbelievably heavy owing to the density of flesh shared by all vampires, and Gellert had gotten very tired of him breaking chairs early on. He sat back in it, his elbows settling into the arms, and began to swing back and forth, staring Gellert down with his red-tinged brown eyes.

Lucien Pike was half-fae, and it showed in his appearance: he had pale brown skin that had a purple undertone to it, the sort of colour that looked more at home on a mushroom than a man, and his hair was long, fine and silky, the dappled colours of birch bark. His ears were pointed, and he wore a golden shell around one of them; his canine teeth, naturally, were pointed as well.

He was the sort of man that seemed too big to be handsome, but handsome was precisely what he was with his statuesque bone structure, his clefted chin, his carved lips and his deep-set eyes. There was no delicacy whatsoever about his features, but there was something about feeling his gaze on you that made your heart beat faster and your mouth go dry — Gellert often heard Pike’s parade of admirers whispering about this, and much as he was loath to admit it, he really did know exactly what they meant.

“I do think it’s good to be early for appointments,” said Gellert, beginning to set a paper copy of the agenda before each place around the table. “You’re typically on time, Mr Pike, but rarely early, let alone twenty minutes early. Your girl run out on you?”

Pike sighed, crossing his arms over his heaving chest. He wore his shirt collar splayed, and resting against his neck was a gold plate chain matched to the one he wore around his ear. He liked gold, did Pike.

“Had a pregnancy scare,” he said scornfully. Pike was originally a Londoner with a typical gangster’s accent, and he put a great deal of emphasis on the “g”. “Wanted to use a condom.”

Gellert started laughing, and Pike’s pleased, self-confident look was replaced with one of remembered irritation as he swung in his chair like a child. “It didn’t occur to you to poke some holes in it?”

“Not worth fucking through the fucking latex,” he said in a low grumble, folding his hands over his belly. Pike had an aversion to condoms and any other forms of contraception — more than this, he had a very particular fetish for pregnancy, and the idea that any woman should be anything but pleased to carry his baby often baffled him, not to mention pissed him off. Pike fucked a lot of women and quite a few men besides, but either way he often had breeding on his mind.

It was obsessive, to say the least: Pike was mentally unsound in more ways than one.

“This the agenda?” asked Pike, looking down at the page Gellert had placed in front of him at the table, and he scowled down at it, his mouth twisted in thought. Much as they had never had minutes, his meetings had never had agendas before Gellert’s introduction to the team. Pike could read, but he didn’t read very well, and he certainly didn’t enjoy it. It would take him a minute or two before he reached the part that made him growl: “Hey. Hey.”

Gellert glanced over to him from the edge of the room, where he’d been setting out glasses of water.

Pike’s expression was stony.

“The invitation came through earlier this morning,” said Gellert in a quiet, even voice, projecting calm and hoping against hope that Pike would follow his lead. “The envelope is in my briefcase there.”

Pike immediately hauled up Gellert’s briefcase from his chair, rifling clumsily through it until his fingers touched the handsome parchment of the paper. Gellert couldn’t help but contemptuously think that the vast majority of the invitations had been dispatched not by physical delivery but by email, or perhaps by some sort of social media DM.

Pike dragged the envelope out, and Gellert heard not with approval — but not with surprise, either — the tear of parchment as he pulled it open too roughly, dragging out the card paper with its beautifully calligraphic handwriting.

Dear Mr Lucien Pike, it read, you are cordially invited to attend St George’s Hall on the evening of 19th September at 7pm to celebrate the engagement of Margaretta Renn and Bran Sorrel.

“The fuck?” growled Pike, and Gellert walked back over, setting a glass in front of him and pouring it full. “I don’t want to drink any fucking water.”

“Drink it anyway,” said Gellert, and before Pike could crumple it up in a huff, he plucked the paper from his hand, neatly folding it back into the envelope.

Pike picked up the glass and drank from it, swallowing it down in four gulps, but the pause was enough to head the oncoming tantrum off at the pass, and while no one else might notice the slight change in his demeanour as he slammed the glass back down, Gellert noticed that his shoulders were no longer quite as stiff, that his neck wasn’t quite as hunched down, that his lips were twisted, but in a close-lipped scowl rather than an open-lipped snarl, which was ideal.

“Getting married? Which one is Margaret? The fucking pornstar?”

“She’s not a pornstar,” said Gellert patiently. “She sells intimate photographs and videos of herself in lingerie on an online subscription model, and in any case, that’s not Margaretta — you’re thinking of Leticia. Margaretta is the spokesperson for a brand of designer water and sells a great many dietary supplements, as well as doing yoga tutorials online.”

“Lingerie or yoga,” said Pike. “S’the same either way, people only watch ’em to wank over.”

“… And Bran Sorrel markets enchanted armours and self-defence devices,” said Gellert. “Watches, jewellery, belts, bags, all with patented enchantments to allow for personal shielding, limited explosive capability, electric shocks, aural shocks.”

“Oral?”

“Aural,” said Gellert, making sure Pike was looking at him as he gestured to his ear. “Enchantments that emit high frequency sounds that don’t affect the wielder, but will cause any would-be attacker to clutch their ears in pain and allow them to flee.”

“What, he’s too much of a pussy for a fight?” asked Pike — he did not well know any of the juniors of any of the four other crime families in Lashton apart from one another (frankly, he did not often recollect the differences between his own children), but the Renns and Sorrels he had the least patience with.

For some four hundred years, the Pike family had reigned as the kingpins in Lashton; the Kings had begun to take over some significant territory midway through the 19th century, the Laithes making a name for themselves a little while after that. The Renns and Sorrels respectively had only risen to notable power in the nineteen-eighties, and Pike still didn’t think of them as real players at the table, no matter that they very much were.

“Bran Sorrel is a thrice-crowned champion of Loegr, Mr Pike,” said Gellert. “They would have been four times crowned were it not for their being matched against Valorous King in their first bout. They are a tried and tested warrior of some renown — which is why people are so willing to purchase self-defence ephemera with their name attached.”

“They,” repeated Pike suspiciously.

“They,” agreed Gellert, knowing where this was leading.

“Got a cunt or a cock?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Gellert, and then, sardonically: “Didn’t they say on the invitation?”

“Is Margaretta a dyke?” he asked next, this being the next crucial part of the puzzle from his perspective.

“I really don’t know, Mr Pike.”

“Bran Sorrel a dyke?”

“Pike.”

“How the fuck are they getting married?” Pike slammed his hand down hard enough on the table that it made a ringing sound echo through the room, the water making an audible sound as it shuddered and splashed on the table in its jug. Gellert neatly stacked the rest of the glasses and another jug in the centre of the table. “A Renn and a Sorrel. That’s fucking… dangerous. Them two families consolidating assets.”

“Yes, Mr Pike, that’s why it’s on the meeting agenda.”

“Did you know this was going to happen?”

Gellert considered the question, not answering it right away. He hadn’t thought it was a real concern, but once as he’d read the invitation, having received it by courier alongside their actual post this morning, he somehow hadn’t been surprised either.

It was known that the most recent generation of Renns and Sorrels, all of them Gen Z children, were closer together than any children of any of the other families were. Certainly, it was natural that many of them intermingled, when they went to school together, and those Kings not involved in the family business certainly worked alongside Pikes who were similarly disinclined, but —

Not like the Renns and Sorrels did.

Gellert didn’t keep up with social media, didn’t use it, and of course, nor did Pike, but he’d heard some of the youngest lieutenants talking about it, often discussing Renns and Sorrels appearing side by side, collaborating on commentary videos or online appearances, filming short videos, doing podcasts.

The Renns were known for the broadness and diversity of their online media empire, and the Sorrels weren’t so far behind. Gellert didn’t read them, but he did get little pop-up articles on his phone at times, various gossip rags and clickbait magazines…

In retrospect, it was really quite obvious that this was a concern. Blatant, even.

“I didn’t know it was a risk,” said Gellert, “but I ought have. I should have anticipated this.”

“Did anybody bring it up to you?” asked Pike. There was no particular anger in his voice at this — he was used to the fact that people broached topics with Gellert they would never broach with Pike, which was partly why he had hired Gellert as an extension of himself in the first place.

“No,” said Gellert — Renns had been mentioned, and Sorrels had been mentioned; collaborations and social media had been mentioned. The potential damage of business partnerships, even, had been mentioned, but Gellert remembered that conversation, and it had been him and Yves Bricksden, one of Pike’s personal bodyguards, idly discussing the economy over coffee one particularly bleary and miserable morning.

An engagement between a Renn and Sorrel was different.

This was no longer friendly flirtation in front of the cameras or for the papers, with the knowledge that they went about in groups together as children, because the fact of the matter was that they weren’t children anymore — and even the ones that were sixteen, fifteen, they had burgeoning businesses of their own, in online media spheres, in health foods, in bodybuilding, in fashion, in cryptocurrency, in music.

Children of the digital age — Gellert supposed it was his own fault, not being able to understand them so well.

The door opened behind them, and Gellert was surprised to see a pair of Pike’s twins in the doorway. Cosmo and Damien very much resembled their father, being broadly identical to one another, and they wore identical expressions now, both visibly blanching at the sight of him.

Like Pike, they didn’t typically attend an appointment early; unlike Pike, they had arrived early with a purpose in mind, and judging by the way they both looked at Gellert, then their father, then at each other, anxiety writ clearly in Cosmo’s features and a little less obviously in Damien’s, the topic was the very one he and Pike had to hand.

“Hi, Daddy,” said Cosmo slowly.

“We’re already discussing it,” said Gellert crisply. “I presume the two of you received an invitation?”

Cosmo stared at him blankly, and Gellert watched the way Damien gently pushed his brother through the door, his hand lingering on his twin brother’s hip before he pulled away again.

“How did you know?” asked Damien slowly as Cosmo held out his phone, letting Gellert glance at the DM he’d received on a photo-sharing app.

“Your father has received an invitation too,” said Gellert, holding out the envelope and watching as Damien took it, sliding the paper out of the confines and staring down at it before he and Cosmo leaned their heads together. “They’re evidently intending to make a scene with it — as well as Mr Pike, I expect the heads of the other families have been issued paper invitations like this one. What a party that will be, with all five ruling families of Lashton in attendance.”

It wasn’t so unusual, in and of itself, for the families to socialise together.

The Kings and the Laithes often attended one another’s engagements, and the Renns and the Sorrels were invited less frequently, but not never; certain Pike lieutenants attended other parties, here and there — the twins were popular, for example.

Very rarely did anyone have the gall or the desire to invite Pike himself.

“You knew this was coming?” Pike demanded in a low growl, looking coldly between Cosmo and Damien. The two of them were crossing around the table to sit on the other side, and Gellert didn’t miss the way that with Pike’s heavy stare on them, Damien automatically moved in front of Cosmo, Cosmo standing behind his brother as he lowered his gaze.

“No, Daddy,” said Cosmo as they moved to sit, Damien in the seat closer to Pike’s. Almost without thinking of it, he scooted his seat closer to Damien’s, but the hardening of Pike’s gaze made him freeze with an inch between their seats. “We didn’t know,” he went on. “They did a collab a few weeks ago, just online, you know, with some enchantments for personal health monitoring that included security? But that’s… Not this.”

Damien didn’t say anything, let Cosmo do the talking, as was his nature. His hand twitched on the arm of his chair like he wanted to reach for him, but they rarely touched in front of Pike if they could help it.

“You’re friends, aren’t you?” asked Gellert, not looking at Pike, not wanting to add fuel to that particular fire. “You went to school together?”

“Mm,” grunted Damien. “With Bran, not Margaretta.” His voice had a heavy, hoarse quality to it: when he was a teenager, from what Gellert had been able to understand from the gossip around the family, his father had punched him so hard in the throat that something had split. He didn’t talk much, and he had apologised to Gellert after a family meeting early on when Gellert had asked him a question during and his answer had been laconic. It hurt for him to talk.

“We’re not close friends,” said Cosmo. He was ordinarily flirtatious and confident, always smiling with his eyes glittering with mischief, but this morning he looked very tired and stressed, and he kept anxiously glancing over at his father. “But we see each other at parties, of course we do.”

“This has been brewing for some time,” said Gellert quietly.

He watched Cosmo stiffen, watched the uncertainty twist his lips and square his brother’s jaw.

“I’m not blaming either of you,” he said mildly, pouring more water for Pike and pushing it in front of him. “I ought have noticed it too.”

“I am,” said Pike, and Gellert set his jaw, watching the way the twins shifted closer together, but before he could say anything further, the door opened behind him, and Yves came in flanked by Rachel, another of Pike’s children — they’d been over at the new hospital. Rachel was on guard duty for Gellert’s mother this afternoon, and according to the roster, would have just swapped over with her sister, Raquel.

They weren’t twins, but they’d been born within two days of one another, and they looked surprisingly similar, each of them with lilac-tinted mousy brown hair, although Raquel dyed hers a brighter purple. Pike had once told Gellert, distracted and somewhat drunk, that he tended to forget all his children’s names, and having two of them have such similar ones made them easier to recall.

“Your mother’s doing well, Mr Osgodby,” said Rachel as she came into the room, dropping into a seat one removed from her father’s. “Bad day for pain today, and her breathing was a little laboured, but she was awake, and she was smiling and listening really actively even though she couldn’t talk much. She’s enjoying those Lawrence Kidd books.”

“I trusted Verdance’s recommendation as soon as he made it,” said Gellert quietly. “She likes romances, especially those with a little comedy in them.”

“They’re old books,” said Rachel.

“Like your brother, then,” said Gellert. “Yves, what’s it like over on the northside of the bay?”

“Hectic,” muttered Yves, rubbing his hand over his eyes. He looked tired — he’d been on the night shift, and would be going to bed immediately after this meeting was over. “Cops swarming all over the place, slowed us down.”

“They there for us?” asked Pike, and Yves shook his head.

“Nah, boss,” he murmured. “They found a body.”

“Whose?” asked Gellert.

Yves shrugged. “Dunno.”

More people were filtering in now, and Gellert gestured for everyone to come and sit down, but made a note to look into it on his notepad. Hopefully it was just some domestic dispute, but if it was a player in the game, it would be good to know precisely whom.

— -

Gellert wasn’t tremendously fond of parties.

He didn’t like crowds, and he didn’t like the music, didn’t like being jostled by people or trying to keep up with conversation when there was too much other conversation going on nearby. It made him feel like screaming, made him feel like stamping his feet and flapping his arms and putting his head in his hands and tearing out his own hair.

Of course, he didn’t do things like that any longer. That sort of thing had long since been therapised out of him.

Pike had told him, quite bluntly (surprisingly sensitively, for Pike), that he didn’t have to come if he didn’t want to, but unfortunately Gellert was uncomfortably aware of his position at this point, and he knew it would be made a note of if he didn’t accompany Pike, let alone if Pike brought whatever woman he was currently attempting to impregnate.

When they’d entered the big hall, every eye had been on them, looking over to Pike threatening to burst out of his black tie, shining and splendid with the golden embroidery in his waistcoat, the gold of his rings, his earrings, a few chains around his neck. His hair was tied up in a high ponytail, a few strands of it free and framing his face, and Gellert was almost uncomfortable looking at him, because he really was profoundly handsome like this. He wasn’t uncomfortable because it was more attractive or arousing, but because the effect was so strong as to make one feel it was dangerous to touch Pike or come too close to him, because he looked so unreal one’s instincts screamed to back away.

Or, Gellert’s instincts did, anyway.

As soon as Pike was over the threshold and in the room, a jeweller from the northside had caught his attention and was speaking to him seriously, enthusing on what he was wearing.

He was doing quite the remarkable job of not showing his intimidation, but when Pike turned to face him, he still flinched.

“Hullo, Gellert,” said a voice behind him, and Gellert turned to look at the handsome face of Courageous King. He, too, was handsome in a way that seemed fictional, but it wasn’t quite so elevated in his case — he had the tousled blond hair and cleft chin of a fairy tale prince, and Gellert had always found it very charming. “What bonus is he giving you to come to a party, of all things?”

He had two drinks in his hands, and held out the tall glass of lemonade to Gellert, which he took. The idea that Courageous had bought a drink for him as soon as he saw him cross the threshold took him by gentle surprise, and he smiled to himself as he nodded his head in thanks and took a sip.

“No bonus, Courageous,” he said softly. “I’m doing my duty, that’s all.”

“You always did like to do your duty,” said Courageous, and Gellert watched with interest the way he inhaled, anxiety showing in his features. Courageous was a media specialist, worked in advertising and brand recognition, and yet Gellert had always been so surprised by how much he showed in his features, how much he telegraphed his real feelings, his anxieties, his fears. It made people think he was vulnerable, most of all when he wasn’t. “You’re — settled in? With the new job?”

“More than,” said Gellert. “Working for Mr Pike is really very rewarding. It’s not work I ever would have sought out, I don’t think, this level of responsibility, but I find I’m rather thriving in it.”

“You are thriving,” said Courageous immediately. “I hear your name every other day now. More even now than when we were together.”

Gellert chuckled at that, and as Courageous started to walk, beginning a tour around the room, Gellert fell into step beside him. Walking beside Courageous wasn’t so different to walking alongside Pike: Courageous was a tall man even if he wasn’t hulking, and there was a certain knowledge when being in his handsome presence that Gellert himself was doubly unremarkable beside him. He didn’t know if that was strictly true tonight, wearing the expensive suit that Pike had had tailored for him, doing the measurements and pinning himself when Gellert had refused to let the tailor do it. The lilac-tinted black of the suit fabric, the embroidery that matched Pike’s golden style, was not something Gellert ever would have selected for himself, but that was in many ways the point.

“I hope there’s no hard feelings,” said Courageous.

“For you? Why would there be?”

“For Dandy,” said Courageous.

Dandy King, Courageous’ youngest brother, had been Gellert’s manager until he’d overstepped last year, had humiliated a junior member of the Laithes, and Dandy had insisted on fair recompense — he’d wanted to tar and feather Gellert, and Gellert had roundly refused. He would have been killed for that refusal, were it not for the fact that Pike had chosen precisely that moment to snap Gellert up as his new secretary.

He hadn’t even wanted the position, had thought it was a humiliating demotion to be a man’s assistant after his years of experience, but it had been a choice between taking the position and letting the wolves eat him alive.

Funny how things worked out.

“I don’t have any feelings about Dandy one way or the other,” said Gellert. “I did hear your cousin arrested him, though, and I can’t claim I didn’t experience a bit of schadenfreude. How did he enjoy his month inside?”

“It was just as he waited for trial,” said Courageous, not flinching, not even reacting to Gellert’s gentle provocation. “But suffice to say, he didn’t enjoy it. Valorous hasn’t been arresting us more than he has anybody else, but he’s made it pretty clear that family ties won’t stop him arresting Kings in the course of his line of duty.”

Sir Valorous King was a Knight of the Realm, but he’d recently left the king’s court, retired. He was still competing in some tournaments and melees, but he was no longer serving in the army or as an active knight, and he’d joined the Lashton police service, much, Gellert was sure, to the chagrin of his numerous cousins.

“I’m surprised I don’t see him here,” said Gellert, and Courageous hummed, looking thoughtful, his brow furrowing. “Do you know him very well?”

“Pretty well,” said Courageous. “I always liked him. He and Fanciful used to get on really well — Fancy took up fencing probably when he was about ten or eleven? He saw his cousin fighting in the arenas for the king, and he wanted to be like that, and Valorous would teach him and work with him when he was home, encourage Fanciful to come along, to fight here and there. He went more for fencing as a sport rather than the magical melee stuff, but either way, Valorous really helped his confidence.”

Fanciful was a gentle soul, and Gellert had always liked him. He didn’t speak much and was naturally quite shy, but from what Gellert had heard, he was a lot more confident since he’d begun wearing a lace jerkin everywhere, not to mention the rapier that was eternally hanging at his hip.

Courageous, Dandy, and Fanciful were three brothers who were each wholly unlike one another, but where Courageous was charming and very kind, and Fanciful was shy but uncertain, Dandy was… coarse. He was genteel, of course, wore the same expensive clothes and fancy watches his brothers wore, but he wasn’t a people person.

Nor was Gellert, of course, but at least he knew it.

“He’s fucking our old PE teacher,” said Courageous, and Gellert glanced sidelong at him, taking this in.

“Fanciful?”

“Valorous,” said Courageous.

“Oh,” said Gellert. “That why he came back to Lashton?”

“Maybe.”

He’d never met Valorous King face to face, but had seen him once or twice — he’d been in service to the king since he was a young teenager, and whenever Courageous had mentioned him while he and Gellert were involved, he would typically be posted somewhere unexpected, or would be competing in a trial or championship, or occasionally on a quest or similar.

“Was he fucking the PE teacher while he was a student?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Courageous. “There were rumours he was a paedo, Mr Hobbes, but I put out my own feelers, and as far as I can ascertain, he never fucked one of his own students, and when he fucked a student at another school, he was at least eighteen. The biggest rumours that he was a paedo came out after he got nicked, but that was for GBH — he was shagging some lad, and the lad’s stepdad came and had a go at them when they were out at the pier. He’d tried to molest him, apparently, which was the whole reason the lad ended up sleeping in Hobbes’ spare room, and he came at Hobbes and started shouting accusations at him. Hobbes punched his fucking lights out, put him in the bay. He’d have drowned if someone else hadn’t dived in and pulled him out — Hobbes could have, but refused to, which counted against him at the trial.”

“And this, ah, gentleman, he’s your cousin’s new boyfriend?” asked Gellert sceptically, which made Courageous laugh softly.

“I think it’s good,” said Courageous.

“Do you really?”

“He was a weird kid, Valorous,” said Courageous quietly. “Smart and funny, but he was always on his own, even before he got picked out for his majesty’s service. He’s never been good at making friends — people aren’t good at connecting with him.”

“Funny to put the onus on them,” said Gellert, and Courageous grinned at him, eyes glinting.

“That’s the thing, though,” he said. “People always treat him like he’s larger than life, like he’s intimidating. Even his boyfriends usually come off like they’re pleased with themselves ’cause they’ve tamed a dragon or something. Mr Hobbes isn’t like that.”

Gellert wondered if there was some sort of encoded meaning in this particular line of conversation — Courageous had a habit of doing things like that. There was nothing unkind in the obtuseness, exactly. It was just the way he often gently broached topics he thought would prompt resistance, and Gellert didn’t particularly like to admit it to himself, but he’d always found it rather helpful in its strange way.

Courageous had always been particularly focused on ensuring Gellert was comfortable and content, and although they’d broken it off in a friendly enough manner, it sometimes felt too friendly — Gellert couldn’t shake the feeling, speaking with Courageous even now, however many years on, that Courageous had to either harbour some sort of loathing for him, or keep a shrine to him in his bedroom.

The next question was no surprise: “You and Pike?”

“Pike and I,” Gellert agreed, sipping at his lemonade.

Courageous laughed softly, the sound warm and sweet as honey. “He must really appreciate the work you do for him,” he said tactfully, not pushing it any further. “The Pike family’s changed up so much over the past year or so, and pretty much overnight, they became a lot more difficult to deal with.”

“You sound remarkably unbothered about it.”

“Territory and business disputes aren’t my area,” said Courageous. “I just do the spin on whatever Noble decides.”

Gellert glanced across the room to Noble King, the head of the King family. She and Oidhche Laithe, the head of his family, were talking together, and they looked ridiculous side-by-side — they both wore white suits, but where Noble’s was a thick, bright white one with a black shirt and two-tone shoes, Oidhche dressed in white linens with boat shoes and a pastel blue shirt underneath, his jacket loosely slung around his shoulders rather than fully on.

They were laughing together, but Noble’s eyes were fierce, and there was a dangerous curve to Oidhche’s lips as he loosely tapped them before he spoke. Standing obediently behind Oidhche was his new bodyguard, a big, meat-headed fuck Gellert had never heard the name of, but that he knew by sight — he used to do clean-up in the Lashton Arena.

“You hear about Dunnock Wesson?” asked Courageous.

Dunnock Wesson had been Oidhche’s previous bodyguard — it had been the discovery of his body that had ended up holding Yves up the other night on the northside of Lashton Bay. He’d been weighed down in the water for weeks if not months, his throat slit.

Oidhche wouldn’t have done it himself unless Wesson had overstepped, which Gellert couldn’t really imagine, but it must have been something within the family, or someone else would have taken credit for the murder — and Oidhche would have attempted some form of revenge.

“I really must be careful,” said Gellert dryly. “If I’m murdered too, wherever will the representation be for the future transmasculine henchmen of Lashton’s crime families?”

Courageous laughed, and Gellert smiled to himself at the openness of his smile, the warmth in it. “Well, representation’s important,” he said quietly, but he really meant it, even if Gellert was making fun of him.

If he wasn’t Courageous, Gellert had always quietly thought, he should have been Earnest.

“Alright?” demanded Pike, striding over. He looked furious, his eyes glaring, and although he glanced down at Gellert — particularly, down to his arm and his hand, ensuring he was making no physical contact with Courageous — he mostly looked at Courageous, looking ready to tear him limb from limb.

“Good evening, Mr Pike,” said Courageous charmingly, putting out his hand to shake. He didn’t so much as flinch at Pike’s radiating fury. “It’s nice to see you out for this — you should come to parties more often”

“Why, so I’ll bring him?” Pike demanded immediately, nodding to Gellert, and Gellert exhaled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Mr Pike, why don’t we find our seats?” he said pointedly, and before Pike could growl something else at Courageous, Gellert forcibly put his hand through Pike’s arm, turning them bodily away.

“See you guys,” called Courageous, all warmth, and Pike snarled something too animalistic to be called speech, all but stomping at Gellert’s side as they moved into the other room.

“He trying to get you back?”

“No, he’s not trying to get me back,” muttered Gellert. “That ship has long-since sailed. Do you have any idea what an idiot you look, posturing over a lieutenant of the Kings as if he’s going to steal away your secretary? It makes you seem insecure.”

“I in’t insecure,” said Pike. “But if he tried putting his cock back in you — ”

“You’d tear it off, yes, you’ve made this point clear to me before,” said Gellert mildly. “So once again, I’ll remind you that the Kings would have had me tarred and feathered if I hadn’t left their employ for yours. I can assure you that even in the event I decided to betray you, my pride won’t allow me to betray you for them or for the Laithes.”

“He wants to fuck you again,” said Pike.

“How flattering for me. Nonetheless, it’s unlikely to happen.”

“If anyone else — ”

“Pike, I’m not having this conversation with you again,” said Gellert sharply. “You and Courageous aside, my particular combination of appearance and personality appeals to a very small minority of the population, and everyone finds it baffling that you act so possessive of me with that taken into account.”

Gellert was not a tremendously handsome man, and he knew that. He was a thin man, almost gaunt in some of his features, and his face was dominated by a pair of large, extremely thick spectacles that he was entirely reliant on to see — without them, he was functionally blind, and the effect on his appearance was to give him what seemed to others to be cartoonishly large, magnified eyes.

He was good in bed, and he wasn’t especially insecure about what he looked like — even if he looked half as handsome as Courageous or Pike, the severity of his personality would be enough to put most people off, which was for the best.

He didn’t really like to be touched.

They were early in taking their seats for dinner, but there were others settled around the room, and Gellert recognised a few of them — some of the younger Renns and Sorrels, on a table together and crowding around their phones; one of the Kings who was an actor in America, and was friendly with Margaretta Renn…

And as he looked, of course, there was Margaretta and Bran themselves.

“Mr Pike, it’s so good to see you’re joining us,” said Bran, and Gellert listened to the precise cadence of their voice, tremendously androgynous as it was — he knew full well that Pike was going to analyse this for quite some time, and Gellert had already decided that as soon as Pike declared his estimation as to what sort of genitals they had, he was going to casually ask, without looking up from whatever he was doing when this estimation was pronounced, “What if they’ve had surgery?”

There were few pleasures in life quite so satisfying as popping Pike’s bubbles.

“Bran and Margaretta, innit?” asked Pike, smiling as he stood to his feet and leaned over the table to offer his hand to shake.

Gellert did not allow himself to openly smile, but he noticed the way Margaretta leaned back slightly on her feet at how large Pike was, even with the table between them — nonetheless, she stepped forward and shook his hand, as did Bran, who to their credit, did not so obviously show their intimidation.

“Congratulations to the happy couple,” said Pike with a savage smile.

“Congratulations,” Gellert echoed. “When, might we ask, is the wedding?”

“Oh, not until the spring,” said Margaretta, smiling brightly at him. “We’re giving everyone plenty of time to get used to the idea, Mr Osgodby. Things change so quickly in Lashton, but this is going to be a big change.”

“Nah, not really,” said Pike breezily. “I’m sure no one’ll give you kids any trouble — a marriage is a marriage, innit? That’s love, that is.”

Gellert studied the expressions of Bran and Margaretta, fascinated — what with the two of them being such adept micro-celebrities in their own right, he had assumed they would be rather better at schooling their emotions, but it was surprisingly easy to see weaknesses in their respective demeanours. A slight furrow had appeared between Bran’s eyebrows, and Margaretta seemed uncertain, her fingers twitching at her sides, the hand loosely through Bran’s arm squeezing their sleeve.

“We don’t anticipate any trouble,” said Bran, their voice even. Lie. “Our families are both incredibly supportive of the match.” Lie.

“And really, we’re very excited about what this will mean for the future of the Sorrels and the Renns,” said Margaretta. That was true, but as she said it, she glanced behind her — her mother and aunts were entering the room, and Gellert could see her shoulders stiffen.

“S’important to have a future,” said Pike pleasantly. “Wouldn’t want to lose something like that.”

Gellert didn’t bother to hide his smile at that, even before Bran’s eyes widened marginally and Margaretta’s lips pursed. They’d never met Pike face-to-face, neither of them — it really was remarkable, how people let themselves make assumptions about Pike, how they let him catch them off-guard.

“Please, don’t let us keep you from your mother,” said Gellert mildly as he poured more of Pike’s drink for him, Pike taking this act of service as a cue to sink into his seat. It had the desired effect, Bran stiffening at this obvious dismissal, Margaretta gripping at their arm to keep them from saying something. “Thank you for the invitation — I’m sure we’ll all have a tremendous time.”

“Of course,” said Bran blisteringly, and as they turned away, Gellert sank into the seat beside Pike.

“Stupid fucking kids,” muttered Pike. “We don’t even have to do nothing — someone else’ll kill ‘em.”

“Let’s not count our chickens before they’re hatched, Pike,” Gellert murmured, pulling in his chair. “I won’t deny they’re stupid kids, but that’s not all they are.”

“Hmph,” retorted Pike, and sat back in his seat as more guests began to filter into the room to sit.

* * *

Gellert had needed a breath of fresh air for some time, and he chose to excuse himself just as the dessert course arrived, knowing that Pike would eat what he didn’t, and that he’d rather take a moment before dinner actually ended.

He thought at first that the balcony was empty, and he stumbled slightly as came out through the doors and saw that wasn’t the case, that Oidhche Laithe was standing there, in the process of removing a cigar from its case.

“Gellert Osgodby,” he said cheerfully, his eyes cold, and Gellert glanced behind him for his bodyguard, but found that he and the old man were alone. “Oh, my boy Friday is still eating. Kid eats like a horse.”

“Does he, Mr Laithe?” asked Gellert, and stepped forward, having removed his lighter from his inside pocket. Pike didn’t smoke, and nor did Gellert, but Gellert liked the lighter, liked the weight of it in his hand — his mother had bought it for him years ago, and he used it to light candles for the post part, but this was useful too.

Oidhche leaned in to let him light the head of the cigar, then leaned back, puffing out a grey-purple ring of smoke. “Want one?”

“No, sir, it’s very kind of you, but I don’t smoke.”

“No, you don’t,” agreed Oidhche softly. He’d been looking out over the bay, but as he went back to leaning over the railing, his elbows resting on the metal, he kept his head turned to look at Gellert, thoughtful, considering.

It wasn’t in Gellert’s nature to back down from a confrontation, and so he didn’t: he moved slowly forward, his feet feeling clumsy as he settled his hands on the edge of the railing. He squeezed the black metal under his palms, his fingers curling around the solid material.

Oidhche Laithe had a great many children — he’d lost several of them to a car crash many years ago, and he was very protective over the dozen he had left. The youngest of them was Dai — Dafydd — Laithe.

The incident that had got Gellert fired from his old position was in fact when he had thrown Dai down a flight of stairs and into the street; some weeks later, Dai had attempted to confront him over it, and hadn’t realised that Pike was also present. Dai Laithe was a nervous little prick, and he’d been a wreck after Pike was finished with him, shuddering and disassociated, tears on his cheeks, his mind… elsewhere.

“How’s the new job?” asked Oidhche in an even voice.

“I’m enjoying it very much, Mr Laithe.”

“I bet,” said Oidhche, and blew out some smoke. “What do you think of all this?”

“I’m sure it’s not my place to think anything, Mr Laithe.”

Oidhche laughed at that. The sound was low and rich and dark, full of awareness. “I always knew you were one to look out for,” he murmured, and Gellert resisted the urge to set his jaw, not quite sure what the fuck that was supposed to mean. He and Oidhche had never really had a conversation before, let alone a one-on-one discussion like this one — the most interaction they’d ever had was Oidhche giving him a vague acknowledgement when Gellert and Courageous were still involved. “You seem like such an unassuming little thing. Even my kids don’t believe you’re a threat, even the smart ones — Bridie, she won’t hear a word of it. You’ve broken some of Dag’s fucking bones, but it still hasn’t sunken in.”

Gellert inhaled, staring out over the black water of the bay. “And Dai, Mr Laithe?”

“Dai knows,” said Oidhche softly. “Oh, Dai knows full fucking well what you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“A dangerous opponent,” said Oidhche. “Not one to be underestimated.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Uh huh.”

“What do you think of it?”

“I think I should have seen it coming,” said Oidhche. He didn’t look away from Gellert as he said it, their eyes staying matched, and Gellert kept his gaze, unblinking. “I thought there might be something, but this, this specifically… I think I should have seen it coming.”

“I thought something very similar when we received our invitation,” said Gellert slowly, and Oidhche smirked at him.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Funny, that, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry to hear about Mr Wesson,” said Gellert.

“Are you?”

“It’s the thing one says, Mr Laithe.”

“Oh, well, so long as it’s the thing one says,” Oidhche repeated, mocking Gellert’s clipped Yorkshire accent as he said it, unlike Oidhche’s own drawling but publicly educated accent. “What’s your take on it, hm?”

“My take, sir?”

“You’re not a stupid little cunt like most of them in that room behind us,” purred Oidhche. “Let an old man get a taste of those brains of yours, Osgodby. As soon as you heard about it, I bet you thought to yourself how funny it was none of the family went out for recompense, that we didn’t so much as announce it. You’ve made some estimation of what went on, I bet.”

“You have me mistaken, Mr Laithe,” said Gellert quietly. “I don’t make estimations of anything.”

Oidhche laughed quietly, tapping out his cigar — he and Gellert both turned at the same time at the feeling of a man in the doorway, and Gellert stared at Dai Laithe, uncomprehending. He hadn’t realised Dai was present. Dai Laithe never went out to social engagements, never went to parties, didn’t often appear in public.

He looked like a mirror of his father, standing there in the doorway, wearing a dark blue suit that seemed parallel to his father’s white one, and when he looked at Gellert, he arched an eyebrow, looking him up and down.

“Am I interrupting something, Daddy?” he asked. His voice was low and had a slow, medicated quality to it — his eyelids were heavy, his eyes with a sheen over them, but by no means did he seem unfocused.

“No, baby, just talking business with our friend Gellert here,” said Oidhche. “Sounds like he’s enjoying his new place at the table.”

When Dai Laithe put his hands in his pockets, Gellert caught the flash of silver inside his jacket. He’d never known Dai to carry blades before, let alone to a party, and he thought of Dunnock Wesson’s slit throat.

“Things change quick in Lashton, Mr Osgodby,” said Dai.

“That they do, Mr Laithe,” replied Gellert as Oidhche stood. “That they do.”

Oidhche slung his arm around his son’s shoulders, and the two of them strode back into the other room — Gellert heard a server start to tell Oidhche he couldn’t smoke inside but then cut himself off, probably when he realised who he was addressing.

He looked out over the water, pensive.

The waters of the bay were still and black, the skies a smoky grey. He must have lost himself in his thoughts, because he didn’t stir until Damien Pike came to find him, and gently led him back inside.