Page 2 of Black Reign

A private cliff.

Enough embedded security technology to make a head of state comfortable.

Tonight, the Atlantic is black beyond the glass.

Winter water.

Violent.

Cold enough that the entire building groans whenever the wind comes off it hard.

I sink deeper into the leather chair and look at the invitation again.

Another one. Leo was first.

Leo and Jade.

That wedding remains permanently categorized in my memory under events requiring medical intervention.

Not for them.

For me.

I rarely get drunk.

There are practical reasons for that.

Control matters when your family makes its fortune knowing what people do when they believe nobody is watching.

Alcohol compromises control.

Leo's wedding compromised mine spectacularly.

I remember champagne.

A bottle of something clear Tristan insisted came from a private distillery in Croatia.

At some point Drew Travers produced tequila.

I remember telling him tequila was beneath me.

Then drinking it.

The next morning, I woke in a hotel suite with one shoe, Leo's boutonniere in my pocket, and a headache violent enough that I briefly considered ordering myself a brain scan when I noticed several women in various states of dress across the bed.

I shudder.

Never again.

Drew and Isa didn't bother giving anyone the opportunity.

They eloped.

Very Drew.

Very Isa.

No cathedral.