Boone bowed even though the King wouldn’t know it. “Thank you for seeing us.”
In a lower voice, Wrath said, “Where’s the other half of this?”
Rhage spoke up from by the door. “Out in the waiting room. I think he was talking to Saxton.”
Boone hadn’t paid any attention to Marquist when he’d arrived, and he’d been very aware of being shuffled in here quick, as if the Brothers on duty were worried shit might go down.
Then again, Boone was packing three auto-loaders, several extra clips of ammunition—and he’d even wrapped his length of steel chain around his shoulder. You know, just in case he felt like strangling something.
“You really okay, son?” Wrath pressed. “And answer me honestly.”
Boone dropped his stare. Even though those wraparounds weren’t covering a set of working eyes, he couldn’t look the King in the face as he fibbed.
“Oh, yeah. I’m good. It’s all good.”
“You sure about that.”
There was a knock on the doorjamb, and Boone glanced over. Saxton, the King’s solicitor, was hovering in the open archway.
“My Lord, may we enter?” the solicitor asked.
“Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”
Saxton came in with a thick document in his arms, and after nodding hello to Boone, he settled behind his desk. With his tweed suit, contrasting shirt and tie, and jaunty pocket square, he looked like the aristocrat he had been born and bred to be. But his gray eyes were sharp—and grew sharper as Marquist entered and the doors were shut.
Boone took a couple of steps over so he wasn’t too close to the butler, because guess what? The sight of that fucking male in his father’s clothes made him want to empty a clip into Marquist’s frontal lobe.
“My Lord,” Marquist said to Wrath in the Old Language, “it is my supreme honor to be in your presence. Allow me to pledge my fealty unto—”
As the butler took a couple steps forward, Wrath shot a look at Rhage, and the Brother was on it, jumping over and clapping a hold on Marquist’s shoulder.
“You’re good,” Rhage gritted out. “You stay back here.”
Marquist seemed honestly affronted. “As a civilian, I am entitled to pay respect unto my King.”
Rhage took the male by the upper arms, picked him up like he was a toaster, and carried him back to where he’d been standing, setting him down on a pair of loafers that Boone remembered his father buying about six months ago.
In a bored voice, Rhage said, “Consider your respects paid. Moving on.”
Marquist blinked, his brain clearly having to recalibrate the way he had expected all of this to go. And Boone was not surprised. The male was behaving as if he had social station. In reality, he had a borrowed suit and an attitude, at best.
Well . . . probably also had an inheritance.
Saxton cleared his throat. “We are here to settle the estate of Altamere, son of Himish. As you will recall”—the solicitor glanced at Boone and bowed his head—“the gentlemale passed unto the Fade two nights before last, and this previous night, as per standard custom, a Fade Ceremony was properly performed with witnesses. With that formality having been met, it is now appropriate for the last will and testament to be read and certified. A copy of what is purported to be said document was provided unto me by Marquist, son of Merihew, and I am holding it in mine hands at this time.”
Boone stared at the solicitor, aware that his breathing was shallow. “What does it say,” the King demanded.
There was an awkward pause, and Saxton looked down at the inchthick bundle of pages that were held together on the left side by a binding cord. Down the front of the book-worthy construction, satin ribbons in orange and brilliant blue denoted Boone’s bloodline.
Boone spoke up. “My sire cut me out of the will. Didn’t he.”
Saxton’s eyes were sad as he cleared his throat. “Yes, it appears as if that is the case. The codicil was added approximately a year ago.”
“And he left everything to Marquist.”
“Yes.”
The butler did a double take. “I’m sorry . . . forgive me, but what exactly was I left?”
“Everything,” Saxton replied. “If this document is indeed the final version of the will, it provides that you are to receive all of Altamere’s property, tangible and intangible. Further, all trusts are updated to reflect you as beneficiary as well.”
Marquist’s shock was slowly superseded by a satisfied smile. “My master was more generous than I thought.”
“Was it forged,” Wrath demanded. As the butler opened his