"Best to lose that scowl," Eamon warned with a sly grin. "Gareth's headed this way—and he's just elbowed the Earl of Brimin aside."

Sure enough, Gareth barreled through the crowd, muttering hurried apologies as he jostled shoulders. He nearly tangled himself in a lady's gown and almost sent a gentleman's glass crashing to the floor.

While most betas stayed in the background, Gareth was anything but a wallflower.

Perhaps it was because I'd spoiled him, given the fifteen years that separated us. 

No one dared belittle him—not to his face, anyway—not with our family's status looming over them.

His curls bounced with every step, cheeks flushed with excitement, and something inside me softened the closer he got. 

Christ, he was a mess—an absolute disaster wrapped in good intentions—but he was also one of the few I still held close.

Panting, Gareth stumbled to a halt before us, and that familiar surge of protectiveness rose in my chest. "Gareth," I scolded, "you'll take someone's eye out if you're not more careful."

He looked up at me with wide-eyed innocence as if he hadn't just left a trail of near-disasters in his wake. "Sorry!" he chirped, not sounding sorry in the slightest, and I had to bite back the grin tugging at my lips.

"It's so good to see you smiling!" Gareth exclaimed, his eyes alight with unyielding optimism. "I do believe you might be enjoying yourself!"

Enjoying myself? 

If only he knew the sheer effort it took to be present for this charade. If Mother hadn't insisted I accompany him, I'd be at home in my study, savoring the quiet and the solitude.

Before I could respond, Gareth turned to Eamon, and I didn't miss the faint blush that swept across his cheeks. "It's a pleasure to see you again," he murmured, his voice tinged with something almost reverent.

Eamon dipped his head in acknowledgment, but I didn't miss how his eyes lingered.

"Isn't it quite something I managed to convince Cedric to attend this evening?" Gareth continued, barreling on as always, never one to let a silence linger. "He usually loathes such gatherings."

Eamon's lips twitched into a smirk. "And how did you manage to drag him here, then?"

Gareth's blush deepened. He shifted on his feet like a schoolboy caught in a harmless fib. "I-I just reminded him that appearances matter," he stammered, his gaze darting away from Eamon's, suddenly fascinated with the floor. "Especially since it's my first season."

"I suppose I should thank you, then."

"N-no need to thank me. I'm just glad Cedric's here, and… uh…" He swallowed hard, words faltering. "I mean… it's nice that you're here too," he finished in a whisper, the last of his sentence nearly lost as his cheeks flamed an even deeper shade of crimson.

Eamon's gaze softened. "It's nice to see you too, Gareth." 

I felt it then—a warning bell clanging faintly in the back of my mind. 

Eamon had watched Gareth grow from an unruly child into the young man before us. There was no way—absolutely no way—he could suddenly be interested in him.

"Should I be preparing for a duel at dawn?" I asked, my voice cutting through the tension in the air.

Eamon's head jerked up, eyes wide for just a fraction of a second before he masked it, his features smoothing into that infuriating grin of his. "A duel? Cedric." He chuckled, but there was a note of unease beneath it. "You know I'd never—"

"I—I mean," Gareth stammered, clearly flustered, "it's just… it's just been a while since I've seen Eamon, that's all. Nothing more to it." His voice wavered, stumbling over his words. "Besides, he's… practically ancient."

"Brat," Eamon muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

I let out a chuckle. "Ancient, is he?" 

Eamon was barely a few months younger than me.

"Compared to me, he's got one foot in the grave," Gareth teased.

Eamon clutched his chest and staggered back against the mantel as if struck. "How will I ever recover from such a mortal wound?" he groaned, loud enough to draw a few irritated glances from the surrounding guests.

Gareth rolled his eyes.

"And you, Gareth," I asked, my tone lighter than it had been all evening, "are you enjoying yourself?"

"Tonight's been wonderful," Gareth burst out, eyes sparkling excitedly. "Lady Bennett fainted right in the middle of the dance floor! And Sir Reginald—he got into this massive shouting match with Lord Ashford, all over some feud no one even remembers! And—oh!" He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a breathless whisper. " Lady Digby found an omega servant in full heat with a mated alpha in the library! Can you imagine? It's all anyone's talking about."

I was exhausted just hearing about the ton's antics, but Gareth wasn't finished. 

He drew a quick breath, his face brightening. 'And Cedric, you won't believe it—Keir might show up!' He looked at me expectantly, eyes wide with excitement.

"And who, pray tell, is this Keir?" I asked, more out of obligation than genuine interest.

Mrs. Fairchild's newest apprentice, Eamon, jumped in. "He's an omega male. Though I've yet to meet him, I've heard he's quiet... captivating."

Eamon needed to find something more productive to occupy his time if he was this up-to-date with society gossip.

"His father was a dominant alpha from a prominent family," Eamon continued, seemingly oblivious to my waning patience, "until a scandal ruined their name. Loxley encountered him and was immediately taken."

Loxley was a classmate from Kingsfurd, always smitten with any pretty face that crossed his path, whether or not there was a brain behind it.

"An omega male? That's rare." Gareth's eyes widened, his curiosity unmistakable.

"A tragic story," Eamon sighed. "His mother wasn't right in the mind."

Gareth's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, not right in the mind?"

"She was mad," Eamon answered bluntly. "She left her mate when the baby was only a few months old. Most believed both mother and child had perished—until six months ago when Lord Keir surfaced in London."

"And his father?" Gareth pressed, clearly absorbed in this tale.

"He left England after his mate disappeared, and no one's heard from him since," Eamon shrugged.

"Who needs the daily newspaper when there's Eamon around to fill us in?" I mocked as the tale came to an end. 

"Well, someone's got to stay informed," he countered smoothly.

"Poor Keir." Gareth's voice dropped to a whisper as his eyes grew misty.

I dragged a hand over my face, sighing as I took in Gareth's expression. "Gareth, you don't even know the man," I muttered, exasperation slipping into my tone.

"It's still a tragedy," Gareth insisted, undeterred, returning to Eamon. "Godfrey's mate was heartbroken when her parents died."

The sound of that name yanked the breath from my lungs, my entire body tensing as if struck. Followed by the familiar surge of anger, of betrayal, roiling just beneath my skin, threatening to spill over.

Gareth remained blissfully unaware, still caught up in his chatter, while Eamon—who knew every sordid detail—swiftly redirected the conversation. "I'm eager to meet Lord Keir as well. No one's managed to uncover much about his past."

"I've heard so many conflicting stories about him."

"Even so, I think…" Eamon's voice trailed off, his attention slipping beyond us, fixated on something—or rather, someone. His eyes widened, and a low, appreciative whistle escaped him, cutting through the crowd's murmurs. 

One by one, heads turned, following his gaze toward the entrance.

"Lord Keir."