Page 99 of Gravehouse

He continues. “My ancestors were one of the founding families who discovered Veilarath.”

“Mount Crow?” The folklore he told me when I first came, and how the mountains were named after each founding family and what each of them means.

His eyes darken. “Mine.”

Pretty sure he wasn’t just talking about the mountain.

I think back through time, to when Punk dug through the history of Veilarath and came back with the same polished story everyone gets, a winter resort country open to everyone, so long as they follow a particular set of rules.

His hand flexes at his side. “Say something.”

I take in the pale line across his throat. “Your scar?”

He touches it with a smirk. “An old family tradition. A blood rite, if you will.”

His eyes go in and out of focus before resting back on me.

“When you met me, I was already who I am, Ivy. Fuck. I still am.” He shakes his head with an exhale. “Then my father died, and I took his seat as Le Parrain.”

I need a drink, or twenty, and I need to stop looking so obvious when all I can think about is Parker fucking Lee.

“Le Parrain?” Saying the words out loud does nothing to make them make sense. “Meaning The Godfather?”

MeaningFrench.

Parker… French? No. There’s no way he had any connections there or I would know about it. We would all know. Was Ihisplay all along? Did he know all along? Too late to ask him now, since I certainly didn’t missthatshot.

“Aléia and my father had been pushing me and Camille together since we were fucking children.”

Figured. Arranged marriage makes more sense when I think back.

“Camille’s mother and my father cut a contract before either of us could walk. Her daughter would marry into our line. The two families would merge and, in simple terms, create a power dynamic no one could fuck with.”

I don’t have time to figure this out right now and if I think too much into it, I’m going to be sick.

“So you never planned to marry her?”

His eyes widen like he’s already stated the obvious. “Never. Her mother’smaisonis one of the founding bloodlines. When I was younger, I didn’t give a fuck. I’d do what I had to do to keep the dynamics of La Maison du Mal moving, just like my grandfather did, and my grandmother, and her grandfather...”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. Like he’s not telling me something I feared from the start.

“I never really cared who I’d end up with. My job was simple, as a...” His left eye twitches. “...Delacroix. Control the narrative. Implant ourselves in circles that no one can get into.”

I raise a brow. “So you sit with the assholes who have too much money and waste all their time doing weird shit?”

He glares at me like I’m stupid. “No, Ivy. I’m talking about circles that money couldn’t buy you into. I’m talking about respect. Respect is the only currency that matters. Money? The circles you’re thinking of are spineless. They have nothing else to offer. Money is far easier to earn than respect.”

A chuckle catches in my throat. “Touché.”

Then it dies, and I shake my head. “So, what does that mean? The snowboarding?” Realization dawns down on me. “Fame.”

Asher nods. “Yeah, and before my father, my grandfather, and before him, and so on. We have to remain relevant in the public eye enough to not draw too much attention but also be talented in something to be worth the clout.”

“And your father?” I ask, even though I hate how the words feel when they leave me.

Parker wasn’t good for anything.

“A disgrace.”