Page 110 of Our Radiant Embers

Liam’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t think so, no.”

“It’s one of the two families that set Notre Dame on fire.”

His expression shifted, shadows washing across his face as he leaned back against the worktop. He cleared his throat. “Go on, please.”

I wanted to be closer, yet at the same time, I didn’t want to impose on Liam’s space. So I stayed right where I was and knotted my hands together. “My father mentioned they’re one of the very few families that draw from the ley lines. And that it’s those same families that control all four elements. But it’s apparently not something that’s openly advertised—I guess the intrigue plays into their power games.”

“And they told him?” Liam asked.

His blatant disbelief sparked a glint of distant amusement in me. “Careful, babe.” I offered him a lopsided smile. “That’s my father you’re talking about.”

One of his brows twitched as he tilted his head and pointedly didn’t reply.

“Fair enough.” I paused. “Honestly, he can be very charming when he wants to be. Women like him.” It wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed thinking about. No, he and my mother hadn’t loved each other, but there’d been ample mutual respect. “We came close to an alliance with the Blanchard family, not sure why it fell apart in the end.”

“So you think…” Liam’s jaw tightened even though his voice remained calm. “You think we could be related to them. Because they control all four elements.”

Despite the sunlight washing over the wood floor of my flat, I felt chilled. “In the forties,” I started, quiet, “the Blanchards tripped into a bad feud with another Parisian family. Because that family’s son broke an engagement with Margaux Blanchard—arranged when both were still children.”

For a moment, Liam didn’t say anything. Then he drew a measured breath and met my eyes. “What was his name? The son of the other family.”

“Lucien Duval.”

“Duval.” He repeated it almost absently, just a hint pale under his tan. His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. “I take it they’re the other family from the Notre Dame fire?”

“Yes.” It hurt, having to confirm it.

He closed his eyes, head bent and arms crossed in front of his stomach.

I took a step towards him. “Notre Dame—two people died that day, and it wasn’t the fire that killed them.” The patriarch of the Blanchard family and a daughter of the Duvals. “And that’s not even taking into account the cultural heritage damage, even if they’re making progress rebuilding it. These are…Things in France are still…”

“What they would be like here if not for Archer Summers.” Liam exhaled. “Survival of the fittest.”

“Yeah.” I cupped a hand around his elbow and waited until he looked at me. “Liam. This is an unpleasant family. Power is their primary language, and I doubt they’d throw you a ‘welcome to the family’ party. ”

Up close, Liam’s apparent calm dissolved into an illusion—his shoulders curled in, the faintest tremor to his voice. “I’m aware.”

I slid my hand from his elbow up to his shoulder, grasped the other one too, and held on. Liam uncrossed his arms and covered my hands with his own, and we stood like that for a long moment, together.

“Jesus, Adam,” Liam mumbled eventually. “Nan Jean was right. That’s the kind of family that might object to illegitimate offspring thinning out their gene pool.”

“It’s been so many decades, though. At this point, I hardly think they’d take drastic measures.” I mostly believed it, and Liam nodded, lashes brushing his cheeks as he blinked.

“You said you haven’t read it yet? The section on the Duvals.”

“Not yet, no.”

“Let’s take a look, then.”

“Yeah.” Still I didn’t immediately release him, hands clutching his shoulders. Just as I was about to let go, he wrapped both arms around me and pulled me in for a rough embrace, his nose buried in my hair. I folded my own arms around him and closed my eyes.

“Fuck,” he muttered roughly. “Couldn’t it have been some run-of-the-mill old-money snobs with outdated views instead of…this?”

My chuckle turned out dark because—yeah. That just about summed it up.

* * *

‘In the intricate dance of France’s magical high society, the Duvals hold their own with a flair for the mysterious, comfortably nestled among the elite.’

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