“Bloodlines. You talk just like Tiberius.”
“And you talk like a child, because you don’t understand.”
“Just because the families who come here are loups-garous like us doesn’t mean they’re worthy. Like that Russian girl—”
“What about her?” Quentin bent lower, showing his teeth.
“You like her, don’t you? I saw the way you looked at her. Just because Grandfather’s arranged it so you have to marry her in a few years. But she and her father have something wrong with them. I saw him hit a stableboy and call him a serf, and that girl is wicked and vain. She said when she comes to live here, everyone will have to do as she says.”
Braden tried to picture that delicate, exotic face spouting such threats. Surely not. Milena had smiled at him, made him think she liked him, too…
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
“Maybe not now. But I don’t think she will find Grey-burn at all to her taste.”
The tone of his voice put Braden immediately on alert. Quentin’s exaggerated, too-innocent expression was one Braden had seen many times—just before his younger brother pulled a prank on some hapless and unsuspecting victim. They weren’t dangerous, his little tricks, and never mean-spirited. Except on those very rare occasions when he didn’t like the recipient…
“What did you do?” Braden demanded, grabbing Quentin’s collar.
Quentin only grinned more broadly, but Braden hadn’t long to wait for an answer. There was a shriek from somewhere inside the house, loud enough for nonhuman ears to hear even through the thick walls. Braden let Quentin up and gave him a shake.
“If you hurt her—”
“Remember those flowers in the garden that made her sneeze? I just made sure she had plenty to decorate her room.” Quentin cocked his head. “She won’t look very pretty with a runny nose.”
Braden closed his eyes. “Why, Quentin? Do you know what Grandfather will do to you when he finds out?”
Quentin knew. He’d been punished before. But he’d never played a trick on one of the family delegates.
“You had best go to the wood for a while,” Braden said, shoving Quentin away. “Ro, you as well.”
Rowena, at least, had the wits to be frightened. She tugged at her twin’s arm. “Come, Quentin!”
Quentin stood his ground. “You’ll peach on me anyway, so why should I bother—”
Braden snarled and charged at Quentin. “Get out of here!”
Under any other circumstances, Braden might have been pleased at how quickly Quentin obeyed. The power of Braden’s will was growing, and he could feel it coursing through his veins like the magic of the Change itself.
But he was nothing against the earl. He swallowed and walked back to the house, reaching the broad steps just as Grandfather came charging out. His white hair was on end, his eyes blazing, and such was his fury that Braden expected to be knocked from his feet.
But Tiberius stopped short, fists balled at his sides.
“Quentin,” he growled. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Braden said. “He was—”
“Do you realize what he has done? The count’s daughter has been insulted, and the count himself—” Grandfather’s will bore down on Braden like a stifling weight of water, making it nearly impossible for him to breathe. “The Russians have threatened to break the marriage contract. Because of that boy, the alliance itself is at risk. Tell me where he is.”
For a moment Braden wavered. Quentin had to learn. But Grandfather’s way of teaching was harsh at the best of times; in his current temper he might do far worse than administer a beating.
“I apologize, sir,” Braden said. “I don’t know.”
There was something far more menacing about Grand-father’s sudden stillness than in his short-lived rage. “Do you think to betray me as well?” he said quietly. “No. I would kill you first.”
Braden shivered in spite of himself. He’d been raised from leading strings to believe that nothing mattered more than the Cause, that all else must be sacrificed to it. He had seen that principle at work in his grandfather’s marriage to the woman he had chosen for her pure blood, and again with Maman and Father.