Altair Vespertine could be heard hurrying up the stairs of his parent’s home in a frenzied state, most likely due to the rumors going around what felt like the entire country.

The youngest son of Viscount Vespertine had eloped with some mystery man. A fallen noble, some said. A disgraced knight, according to others. The truth was difficult to find, tangled as it was with a myriad of outlandish claims that almost seemed to get even more ridiculous with each retelling until the whole story had devolved into some sordid affair with some poor Lady’s husband. It was all amusing if nothing else. It was also the sort of thing Aster himself would get a kick out of.

When Altair burst into his father’s study, the older man sitting inside didn’t so much as flinch, sitting placidly in his plush seat before an ornate desk that had been his father’s before him. Not a trace of shock was on his face. Most likely because he’d heard the ruckus caused by his eldest as soon as he’d arrived at the gates of the property. Stomping, he supposed, was a tame word to describe the way his son had rushed up the stairs and down the hall to his study.

“Oh good, I was hoping you’d be back soon. Your mother’s been complaining about your visits being fewer and fewer,” greeted the Viscount, a stocky man with graying hair that had once been the same ebony color as his sons’. He was an affable person, quick to smile, and fond of playing a part in the social scene. It was something that had, unfortunately, not been passed down to his children. Aster, in particular, was a reclusive person by nature, which made all the rumors even more perplexing.

“Are the rumors true?” Altair asked, completely ignoring his father’s words. His hair was a windswept mess and his gray eyes were wild as they gazed upon his father, desperate for an answer.

“I wouldn’t know. There’s so many rumors floating around now-a-days. You know how people love to talk,” said Castor, not above teasing his son, even in the midst of his visible desperation.

“Father.” Altair looked very close to a full blown fit. It was this, for the most part, that made Castor give in and properly answer his son’s question.

“If you’re referring to your brother’s marriage, then yes, it appears to be true.” He couldn’t really blame his son for being shocked. His wife had nearly fainted at the news, and he’d nearly choked on what had been a rather enjoyable bit of wine until the moment he’d been told the news. Ruined his favorite shirt, unfortunately. It was, if nothing else, a memorable occasion. “Your brother sent a message.” He pulled out the envelope he’d received from his youngest son and handed it to his eldest.

Altair hastily pulled out and unfolded the letter within, rushing to read the contents written in his brother’s impeccable script. The Viscount watched with some amusement as his son read on, his brow furrowing more and more as he continued. Clearly, he didn’t like what his brother had to say. The older man almost wished he had a nice cup of tea, at the very least, to watch the scene that unfolded before him.

“Well, clearly he’s being held hostage,” was Altair’s conclusion once he’d read the note. Castor felt his lips twitch as he fought off a smile. “There must be a hidden message pleading for our help within this letter. Maybe the rumors were just to get our attention.” Castor almost felt bad at having to crush his son’s delusional hopes.

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Then you actually believe this?” He waved the letter wildly, an incredulous look on his face.

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes.” Altair didn’t so much as hesitate.

Well, Castor supposed that was fair. Aster had never been particularly interested in people. To hear that he’d suddenly gone and gotten married in some small town when they’d not even known he’d left the city—let alone the tower—was hard to believe. But then again, it was Aster.

“Your brother’s always been a bit unpredictable,” he pointed out.

“He eloped with a stranger,” said Altair, looking seconds away from a stroke.

“We don’t know it’s a stranger. Your brother doesn’t really talk about a lot other than his work.” And that was on the rare occasions in which he left his work long enough to visit. “Maybe it’s someone he’s met before. He traveled to that area last year if I recall. Something about scouting more mages.”

“How likely is it that he’s had a secret relationship for a year with someone we’ve never met, and he’s suddenly decided to elope in a small town in the middle of nowhere?” Castor shrugged. Altair looked very close to pulling out his own hair in sheer frustration. “What does mother think of all this?”

“Oh, you know her. She’s devastated! Can’t believe she missed the chance to plan a wedding.” He truly felt for his poor wife. She’d waited for the chance for so long, even when neither of their children showed any signs of planning to marry anytime soon. Especially not Aster. And then, just when she’d nearly lost hope, he’d gone and surprised them in such a dramatic way. His poor wife had been a mix of elated and absolutely crushed.

Altair let out a deep sigh and covered his face with his hand. Apparently, that wasn’t the sort of response he’d been hoping for. Castor gave him some time to compose himself, merely watching as his son gathered the sad remains of his patience and tried to keep a hold of them for the remainder of their conversation.

“So, what will we do now?”

“About what?”

“About this whole mess!” Altair said, quickly running out of whatever dregs of patience he’d managed to retain. Castor was starting to think his son would end up with far more gray hairs than him if he didn’t learn to let things go.

He supposed it was only fair that one of his sons be so high-strung, given the other was easy-going to a fault. Aster was clever and talented, but for all his virtues, he had a way of simply letting things happen without fighting the flow as it swept him along. Castor wondered just how much of that was due to his son’s gift and the knowledge that came with it. After all, why fight the inevitable?

“Your mother’s written to him, asking that he come home. With his new spouse, of course.”

“And then we’ll tell him he’s insane?” Altair didn’t need to sound half as hopeful as he did.

“We were mostly planning on having a nice dinner and getting to know this mystery husband of your brother’s.” That wasn’t what Altair had been hoping for, judging by the way he seemed to deflate. “Son, I know you worry, but this is Aster. Do you remember what happened when you tried to convince him not to go to the Magic Tower?”

Altair obviously did because he shifted on his feet at the memory of his younger brother casting a spell that had him walking into an invisible wall every time he tried to enter the same room as Aster. That lasted until Aster left for good—two months later. His youngest son may generally be easy-going, but Castor wasn’t about to forget just how stubborn he could be as well. If he were more adept at lying to himself, Castor might claim Aster had gotten it from his mother.

“Now, I suggest you write up your own letter of congratulations. If you’re truly concerned for him, it would be best to try to stay in his good graces.” They would gain nothing from pushing Aster away. Besides, as outlandish as his son could be, Castor trusted him. Aster rarely did things without reason, and for him to make such a drastic choice, there had to be an equally important purpose behind it all.

“I suppose you’re right,” Altair finally admitted, though it almost looked physically painful for him to do so. “Fine, I’ll write him a letter. Maybe I can figure out who this new husband of his is,” he said, muttering the last part. Castor chose to ignore his son’s plotting for the time being.

“Good, now why don’t you go see your mother? She’ll be happy to see you back home, for once.” He shot his son a look to go along with the vague accusation.

Altair had the decency to look abashed at that, all too aware that he didn’t visit nearly as often as his mother would like. Castor didn’t blame him—his son had his own life, after all. Just the same as Aster was making a life for himself without any input from anyone else. He watched his eldest walk out, looking a lot more subdued than when he’d first arrived, and couldn’t help but chuckle. His children would truly be the death of him.

He pulled out a small stack of papers he’d been smart enough to tuck away before his son had barged in and looked at the name printed at the top. Castor Vespertine was an affable man, quick to laugh and always ready to socialize, but that hardly meant he was a fool. As soon as he’d heard the news, he’d done what he could to learn just what sort of person his son had gone and married.

“Calixtus Ducasse,” he said and couldn’t help but look forward to the day they met.