Page 25 of Worthy Promises
“You also want to discuss the possibility of displaying my next show at one of your galleries,” the Magister Duke replied. “Allow me to save you some time. I’ve been working with the same gallery since my first show. It was His Majesty, Emperor Ellery, who arranged my first meeting with the curator. I have absolutely no interest in working with anyone else. Which I’ve told you several times now.”
“Yes, I know, but—”
The Magister Duke’s gaze swept past Oliver’s shoulder, and he held up a hand. “I apologize, but I’m needed on the other side of the room. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Disappointed, Oliver’s shoulders sagged as the Magister Duke and the two Skeleton Lords walked away. Oliver never even had the chance to explain that he wasn’t looking to steal the Magister Duke from his current gallery. There was no reason he had to sign an exclusivity deal; Oliver wanted everyone to appreciate his talent, and the more galleries he was in, the better.
His mission in tatters, Oliver didn’t march out and head home. Instead, he planned to spend the next hour taking in every detail of the artwork hung up throughout the gallery. If he couldn’t entice the Magister Duke to work with him, Oliver could at least enjoy his spectacular talent.
∞∞∞
Oliver muttered to himself and scribbled a note as he pored through the quarterly earnings of his business. It wasn’t the figures annoying him; Oliver loved numbers and saving pennies where he could without compromising on quality. Nor was it the occupants of his home. His brother was upstairs, presumably playing with toys, reading books, or doing whatever the child did before he retired for the night.
Their parents were off at a parents’ meeting for some upcoming performance—at least that was where he thought they were, but with them, Oliver never really knew. An hour after dinner, they’d stomped through the foyer near Oliver’s office and blown kisses to their youngest child as they rushed out thedoor. As for their firstborn, they hadn’t bothered even saying goodbye.
Oliver was used to their dislike of him, and he no longer allowed it to bother him. What was irritating Oliver was that his curator in Las Vegas had spent the last year exceeding expectations and it’d gone unnoticed by him. The woman was overdue for a raise, and he’d take care of it in the morning. While Oliver was the first to agree he lacked the ability to relate well to others, he wanted none of his employees to feel undervalued.
Someone of her skill and dedication could easily seek a job elsewhere, and Oliver would hate to lose her. Quickly calculating what he believed to be a fair raise, Oliver wrote a note to himself to monitor her. If she continued to excel, he’d ensure she was rewarded for her dedication.
A loud crack of thunder forced a shocked breath out of Oliver, and his gaze immediately went to the closest window. Although the front porch kept the rain from hitting it, the thick rivulets of water were overflowing the gutters. It was pouring outside, and the bright lights turning in the long driveway relaxed him slightly. His parents were home and not driving in the storm.
But his heart thudded strangely when there was a heavy knock on the door instead of his damp parents spilling into the foyer. The housekeeper’s daily duties ended at the conclusion of dinner, so Oliver rose to answer the door.
He opened it and found two expressionless fallen knights standing on his porch. It was the closest Oliver had been to any of the men and women resurrected for the sole purpose of protecting and defending the Council.
“Mr. Toivonen?” asked a tall man standing next to a shortly slighter woman with brown hair.
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“I’m FK20 Torston Verity, and this is my partner, FK19 Trista Wilde. Is there somewhere in the house we can sit and talk to you?”
For some inexplicable reason, Oliver’s throat was thick. He nodded and noted that his hand shook as he closed the door behind the two fallen knights. Since Oliver was most comfortable in his office, he led them there and waved them toward the two guest chairs the decorator had placed in the space. They’d gone unused until now.
“Is your brother home?” FK20 Verity asked.
“Yes, he’s upstairs in his room,” Oliver said, taking a seat behind his desk. It brought him some comfort, though he wasn’t yet sure why he needed it. Their next words changed everything.
“We’re here to deliver some bad news,” FK19 Wilde stated. “There is no easy way to tell you this, but this evening your parents, Osmo and Felicie, were killed in a car crash.”
Oliver gripped the edge of his desk, and his immediate thought was of the small boy upstairs who’d spent his entire life with their parents as his closest friends. How in the world could he tell Orion that their parents were dead?
“Wh-what happened?” Oliver stammered.
“The storm is wicked, and the roads are soaked. About an hour ago, their vehicle appears to have hydroplaned into another one,” FK19 Wilde said. “The accident was a head-on collision.”
“And…um…and the other car. Were they okay?”
FK20 Verity closed his eyes and opened his mouth to say something when the sound of loud footsteps charging down the stairs stopped everyone.
“Mommy? Daddy?” Orion called out. “Where are you?”
“Shit,” Oliver muttered. He was barely able to absorb the reality of his parents’ deaths, and now he had to somehow explain it to a seven-year-old whose entire world revolvedaround the pair. “Orion, can you come in here to the office for a minute?”
The little boy peeked into the room, and his bright yellow gaze—the same vibrant shade Oliver saw in the mirror every morning—was suspicious and uncomfortable. That was hardly a surprise to Oliver. Despite the two of them spending Orion’s entire life under the same roof, they barely knew one another.
Those inquisitive eyes landed on the two damp, uniformed officers sitting solemnly across from Oliver.
“Wow, are you real fallen knights?” Orion asked.
