Page 24 of Worthy Promises
“He’s gorgeous,” Noirin responded. “Aren’t you glad Rafe didn’t make him wait at Court Wells until you got your ass up?”
“As I expected, Rafe is a fantastic High King.”
“Maybe even better than you,” Dravyn teased.
“This is what happens when you’re around Killian the Dwyer constantly. You get mouthy,” Aleksander accused.
“All right, gentlemen, we can swap insults later. I have lunch to prepare, and I expect Their Highnesses to attend,” Noirin said.
Rafe threw up his hands. “Can’t you just call me Rafe?”
“As I once told Killian the Dwyer: eat my food,” Noirin told Rafe as she bussed his cheek. The High King’s cheeks went pink, and a small smile graced his handsome face. “Do that and I’ll call you whatever you want, Your Highness.”
“Like I’m not sick of microwave dinners,” Rafe muttered.
Aleksander laughed as he guided Rafe toward the door. “Let’s get some work done.”
“He says that like we’re going to continue to give them quiet,” Worth remarked, following the pair across the hall. Like his fellow Dukes, he was happy to be back in the large space, and he eagerly sprawled in the closest chair to talk to Aleksander and Rafe. Everything was as it should be in the D’Vaire household again.
Chapter 9
One year ago
St. James, New York
Oliver’s phone rang, but after a quick glance at the screen, he ignored it. The number was the cellphone of the snowy owl leader. That didn’t mean it was the man himself. Often, Count Scandiacus had some unfortunate underling contact Oliver. The conversation was always the same, and Oliver was sick of the man’s games.
In the past few decades, Oliver had grown into an extremely wealthy and influential man. Instead of respecting how hard Oliver had worked or being grateful for the large percentage of money funneled to both the snowy owls and the Council, Count Scandiacus wanted control of Oliver, or at least of his business.
Sadly, it appeared Oliver’s destiny was to disappoint the people around him by insisting he follow his own rules. The Count’s tenacity in trying to worm his way into Oliver’s large bank accounts was matched only by the same efforts made by Oliver’s parents. His folks were furious that Oliver continued to refuse to throw lavish parties or build some monstrosity of a house.
Although many improvements had been made to expand and update the home he’d purchased in 1914, nothing satisfied his parents. He’d grown more generous with them as his wealth expanded, but it was by no means enough for the pair. Oliver supposed if he was being fair, he’d have to give them credit for being less persistent in the past seven years.
Fate had granted them a second child, and Orion was the center of their universe. They were outspoken about how much they wanted him to differ from Oliver, and he rarely interacted with the boy outside of meals. Their parents insisted on allowing Orion to do whatever he wanted, which was fine with Oliver. He wasn’t an ogre, and he happily paid for classes in theater, dance, singing, and acting. According to their parents, Orion was a child prodigy and far from the disappointment of their eldest son.
Oliver was impressed the child had time for all his extracurricular activities, but he wished Orion’s friends weren’t limited to Felicie and Osmo. No other child ever visited the sprawling house, and Orion attended his many classes with his parents at his side. As for his scholastic pursuits, their parents boasted Orion was gifted and should go to the prestigious Spectra Wizardry Academy. Yet they never had him complete the entrance exams and instead kept him home so they could control the subjects he studied.
Oliver wouldn’t have been surprised if they refused to teach Orion anything close to mathematics or art since those were the sources of Oliver’s revenue. His galleries stretched from one coast to the other, and Oliver’s name was synonymous with prestige in the art world.
But there was one artist who had refused to take his phone calls, and Oliver was determined to showcase Magister Duke Jeremiah D’Vairedraconis’s exquisite paintings and drawings in his galleries. While it was a smart business decision given the splash the dragon shifter had made after his talent wasfirst discovered, it was also personally important to Oliver. It wasn’t rare for Oliver to be moved by the beauty of artwork, but he didn’t often splurge on buying paintings for himself.
A few years ago, he’d taken a single look at the Magister Duke’s collection inspired by the Fae realm, which had been destroyed fifteen millennia ago. He had decided on the spot to add one of the paintings to his collection. Not a spontaneous person, Oliver had wondered at the impulse, but when his eyes landed on a beautiful landscape in the purples, blues, and grays of the lost homeland of the Fae, he’d sought the gallery owner and made the purchase. In between two tall trees, there was a tiny cat-like creature in deep pink and black. Oliver couldn’t explain why that was his favorite part of the painting, but the playful animal never failed to make him smile.
That was why the painting was kept in his bedroom. It allowed him unfettered access to the stunning piece. Glancing up as he straightened his tie in his favored shade of pink and pulled on his suit jacket, Oliver grinned at the kitty poised to pounce and hoped for a moment to ask the Magister Duke more about what had inspired him to paint that image.
Since it was late in the evening, Oliver didn’t pass anyone as he stalked through the house. Once outside, he climbed into his car and drove the short distance to the closest Dérive station. The druidic company was a lifesaver for Oliver, and he doubted he could manage his business as efficiently if he had to fly to every gallery he owned each time a problem reared its ugly head.
His business was far from the little art deals he’d started pursuing over a century before, but Oliver refused to step back and allow it to be run by anyone by him. He mostly handled things from his office, but he wanted each of his curators to know he’d aid them however necessary. His team was extraordinary, and he paid them well for their expertise.
After a quick teleport, Oliver walked around the corner and stepped into a busy art installation. Ninety minutes had passed since the thing had started, and it appeared most of the important patrons were long gone. The Emperors and many prestigious D’Vaires were often found at the Magister Duke’s openings, and Oliver doubted he’d get a minute with the man if they were present.
Which was why he’d carefully planned to be more than a little fashionably late. Refusing a glass of champagne from a roving server, Oliver searched for his prey and discovered the blond Duke standing in between two sentinels. Oliver had made it his mission to learn what he could of the secretive and secluded D’Vaires, and he easily placed Skeleton Lords Gavrael and Gedeon D’Vaire as the Magister Duke’s companions. Plus, he’d encountered the mated pair before in his pursuit of convincing the Magister Duke to work with him.
“Your Grace,” Oliver called out as he approached the brilliant artist.
“Good evening, Mr. Toivonen,” the dragon shifter said, his smile not reaching his arresting eyes. Like his art, the man was uniquely striking. His dragon was a mixture of white, black, silver, and gray, and his gaze glittered like diamonds. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much welcome in it. That didn’t bode well for Oliver.
“I commend you on another beautiful collection, Your Grace.”
