“What a boring party. Dad keeps saying we have to socialize and ‘get ourselves out there’, but I don’t see him talking to a bunch of windbags all night!”

Bryon swayed in place a little as Scurlock ranted, still lightly buzzed from the vintage the host of the affair had handed out. Whatever it had been, it had been potent and unlike his older brother, his slight form couldn’t handle liquor that strong. He closed his eyes as Scurlock went on, enjoying the way the breeze cooled his flushed face.

Behind them, the mansion of a much older Vespire flooded light into the backyard garden they had fled to for some relief. Even then, Bryon heard others muttering and talking in low murmurs elsewhere in the garden. Dim fairy lights illuminated the small patio they had found, catching the gilding on the ornate bricks beneath their claws. In the distance, Bryon could still hear the violinist playing a slow, elegant tune.

“At least this gala isn’t breaking out into a fight like the last one,” Bryon said at last, snorting as he thought back to two weeks ago.

“Hey, I’d give anything for a fight!” Scurlock replied, flexing his large claws. “Maybe if someone challenged me to a duel in dad’s honor, we’d actually get somewhere tonight.”

“No one would challenge you, Scur,” Bryon said, this time laughing heartily. “You scare half the nobles just by walking into a room!”

The violinist’s song drew to a close, and Bryon felt the air of the party start to pivot behind them. He rolled his shoulders and butted his head against Scurlock’s burly shoulder.

“Come on, I think the party’s winding down. Let’s say our goodbyes to the host and then we can go for a round of Cliff Swooping before we go home.”