Mayfair Manor

[XCandy and LunacyX]

At Cian's thoughts, Lawrence suddenly went rigid, his wet, red eyes staring incredulously at the boy first, and then Antha and finally Stefan's body. Khayman? But it wasn't the time for that; they were in mourning, and Lawrence wasn't going to go digging up pieces of their vast web of secrets.
When Cian went to her, Antha was not herself. There were too many things pounding in her head, matters of life and dead, and it was just short of completely unbearable. "I'm so sorry," she whispered between her sobs, taking Cian's hand firmly within both of her own, her eyes not daring to meet his, "I didn't mean...I never wanted to drag you into this, I never really thought---" And then her own choking sobs silenced her as Courtland went to her, lifted her by a gentle guiding touch on her arm and shoulder and led her out into the hall.
"It will be alright," he whispered into her ear as the other Mayfair children said their quiet goodbyes and filed out after them, following them into the library where Courtland sat Antha down on the loveseat against the glass wall, which showed only rain and darkness beyond. Even the limbs of the great, gnarled oak trees were not visible five feet from the balcony. "Listen to me," he continued, kneeling down before her with her hands in his own, "It's all going to be fine."
The others, all settling into their chosen places quietly, drained of all their energy, watched anxiously. Jack had drawn Cian out with them, closeted him in the library behind lock and key with them, and now went to sit in his favorite chair, his face wet and drawn. It was only then, with the door closed and the rest of the family at a distance beyond it, that her eyes met Courtland's, going dark, and she was able to whisper in the smallest voice, "What if it's like ours?"
"It won't be," Malakai said firmly from across the room, nodding his head at her and trying to offer a smile, "It won't, Evie, it can't. The Calais don't share our blood, it is not warped as ours is. The child will be perfectly fine, we'll make certain of it."
Antha glanced at him, those dark eyes gone hard and steely, and for a moment she played the cold voice of harsh reality, "What if it's a boy?" No one had anything to say to that---this was their only chance, they all knew that, and if it was a boy then it was all over---so Antha began fumbling through Courtland's coat pockets, finally drawing out his pack of cigarettes and holding them up for Vittorio as her eyes met his, questioningly.
"It won't hurt anything in this stage, no," he answered quietly, shaking his head, "Not one, or two, but take them in extreme moderation, Antha." The girl said nothing, only fumbled with them and brought one to her lips, breathing through it so that fire began to eat at the tip like some brilliantly executed parlor trick.
"Father will need me," Lawrence murmured in a daze, only half aware that he was heading for the door, "There will be preparations, the funeral and the burial and the doctors---we have to have his death declared---"
"To hell with that," Antha shouted, quite to everyone's surprise, looking up at Lawrence with that incredulous gaze, "Uncle Barclay can call the doctors, if he hasn't already, and everything else---it can wait until tomorrow, Laurie! We need you now, need you to be here with us, not running around making calls and filling out paperwork!" The cousins had all fallen into shocked silence at this outburst, staring at her as she grew steadily more livid and the words began to flow more rapidly, "You always do this, always busy yourself with more and more work to distract yourself, to forget the pain, but not this ******** time! Stefan deserves better than that, better than being treated as business to be taken care of, a press release and a stack of insurance forms, I mean Jesus, Lawrence, it's Stefan!" She said his name with a new gravity the last time, as if that in itself was some complex explanation of things.
"He was the only one," Cyrus murmured, settled on the edge of the couch with his hands clasped and pressed against his lips, "He knew everything, all the awful things we did, but he didn't look at us like everyone else. He didn't think we were monsters."
"He raised half of us when our parents couldn't be bothered to do it," Pierce chipped in, the tears still fresh and hot on his cheeks, "Tried to double the love and attention he gave to us when uncle Louis died and we were all moping around like suicidal zombies ready to follow him loyally to the grave."
The youngest of Stefan's grandchildren, Dolly Jean, who was still shaking as she sat between her two brothers, whispered, "He was the only one who would take me in when mom died. No one else wanted me, to deal with my condition, and I couldn't take care of myself."
"He was the rightful head of the family." This from Nicolae, stony faced and still as he leaned against the desk, and though his eyes were perfectly normal there was no hiding the streaks of crimson upon his cheeks that they had emitted earlier. "Louis' rightful heir."
Courtland, drawing up to Cian's side, his arms crossed over his chest and clasping his waist and shoulder as if he would hug himself, whispered beneath their words, "I'm sorry you had to be alone with him when it happened. Death is...not an easy thing to witness. Being quiet only makes it that much more unnerving."  

[Okimiyage]

As he listened to them, Cian began to understand how the man had commanded such powerful loyalty. It was the strength of his personality, a personality which could inspire trust within the span of moments. There had been something within those flickering blue eyes that had made Cian want to hold tight to this individual in this struggle against his end.
And yet oddly, he felt Stefan had made some measure of peace there, at his end, knowing that for a further generation the Mayfair name would live on. Cian pushed a hand up through his hair, watching the family whisper and mill about--and then he was whisked away to the library by his elbows. There, he found a place just on the corner of Antha's vision, and watched solemnly as she lit her cigarette. God, what he wouldn't give for one of those now. A shot of vodka, a breath of nicotine, anything--anything--anything to assuage the nauseating headache of sobriety. Leaning back against the wall, he sighed. He supposed he'd have to give that up to, now that he was going to be a father. He ought to be--responsible, after all.
Courtland's condolences only elicited a blink from Cian. Touching a finger briefly to his lips, he blew the thought between their minds like a kiss. Perhaps it was the Calais curse.
Then,
I apologize--it is in poor taste to make jokes at such a time. What I mean, is--I'm sorry, too. For your loss. That I was the only one there when he died. I only knew him for a few moments, but--it was enough to understand why everyone here grieves so.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Looking at Cian, sorting quietly through his mind like some box of unfamiliar objects, one thing was very clear to Antha: she could not---would not---stack her chips with Cian. She had already failed in that resolve of her youth, that her child would not grow up without her as she had without hers because she would be dead before the child was ever properly born. Knowing this, it seemed terribly foolish to put her trust in Cian.
This isn't a normal situation, she whispered through his mind, tossing the pack of cigarettes at him, I don't expect anything from you. You can carry on with your life however you want. Her eyes found Courtland's then, and the same thought seemed to pass between them. It would not be the first time a substitute was set up as the father of a Mayfair child.
But this wasn't the time to be thinking of something that was so far no more than a very small cluster of cells. There was too much going on, too many more pressing matters at hand, and she pressed the matter of her child temporarily out of mind. "We should join the rest of the family," she murmured, standing. Really, she just wanted them to go away, to have some bit of time to herself. She was sick of them suddenly.
"Whatever you want," Vittorio said quietly, turning and filing out the door with the others. Only Malakai and Courtland stayed behind, closing the door behind their cousins, and Antha made no protest. She only fell over onto her side, curling up on the loveseat with her eyes closed, seeking out Vikteren and calling to him, willing him to her side.
It was Courtland who sighed, leaning against the desk, and said, "What in the hell are we going to do?"  

[Okimiyage]

Cian went to her, touched her curls, her cheek--and at that brush of flesh against flesh, he made his desires known. If he had spoken, the words would have been at the top of his lungs. If he had written them down, they would have been so deeply engraved into the paper that they would have torn it. I want to be the father of our child.
And that was that. Cian didn't often make firm decisions like this--he didn't like the feeling of being pinned down to much of anything--but when he did, it was final. He could be as stubborn as Rynn when he wanted to be.
Handing her back her cigarettes--an action that hurt him far more than his expression belied--he left the room, not waiting to be kicked out. He felt rather unfathomably disgruntled with the entire affair, suddenly. He didn't want to be just a--a sperm donor to Antha. He supposed this was what it was like to be one of the many girls whom he'd left over the years. He never imagined that he would be on the receiving end.

Vikteren did not voice his protests. Now wasn't the time. He took care to move at the speed of a mortal, to let his weight press down with a creak upon the steps of Mayfair Manor. Even if he fooled none of the Mayfairs as to his identity as an immortal, at least it was apparent enough that this bloodied ghoul did come to their house with intentions of aggression. He moved through the rooms slowly, conscious of the multitude of gazes that fell hard upon his back. He did not turn his own eyes away from his path, did not gratify their curiousity with that acknowledgement. He found Antha in the house straight-away, curled up upon the couch in the fetching black-and-white frock she had donned before they left the house. Vikteren hadn't had the chance to tell her that she looked--beautiful. Now didn't seem like the moment; and besides, Antha most likely knew it already. The vampire went to her, where she lay on the loveseat, and knelt down beside her. He could see that she'd been crying--like most everyone in the room.
Vikteren was no good with tears. But he reached out for her nonetheless, his concern overriding any anxiety of his own the matter might have aroused within him.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

The remaining Mayfairs watched Cian go quietly, nervously, until the boys looked at Antha and, sighing, she made a motion after him. Wordlessly, Courtland went after him, clapping his hand down on his shoulder. "She's not kicking you to the curb," he sighed, running a hand briefly through his white-blonde hair, "Put yourself in her shoes---she's terrified. And we're not exactly used to men sticking around to play dad. Ours abandoned both of us." Glancing around, Courtland steered him into Julien's study, closing the door behind them. "Do you seriously want to stick around?" he asked, watching him carefully, looking for any trace of doubt, "You're not the easiest guy to take seriously, you know, and this is no time to be taking risks. But..." He glanced over his shoulder at the wall, in Antha's general direction, "I think we'd all rather go with the truth on this one."
In the library, Antha had fallen gravely silent. Her brother, watching the rain through the window, had tried to make himself as much like a ghost as possible. "One hell of a day, huh?" she whispered to Vikteren, flashing a weak, plastic smile, "Every time I turn around something else falls out of place. What am I...how..." She groaned, rolling over onto her stomach and burying her face against the floral cushions. "I don't know how in the hell we're going to pull this off," she murmured, her voice muffled against the fabric.  

[Okimiyage]

Cian looked at Courtland. The words in his mind, when he made them clear, were small and scratchy, like they came from a long way away on a bad telephone connection. My parents died when I was eleven, he said. I remember what it was like to have a father, and I know what it's like to not have one, too. If--our--child survives, then I want to take responsibility for it. It was funny to realize, as he said it, that Cian absolutely meant the words. He wanted this child. I couldn't lie to you if I wanted to, Cian said, finally. You may not believe me, but--I knew what I was going into, at least a little, and went anyways. I did not make that decision lightly. Although Antha had left out the part where it meant that he got introduced to her family at a funeral.

Vikteren, dripping on the floor, said. "Don't worry. I do." His hands were too filthy to touch her, but he moved around the loveseat until he could see the curve of her pale cheek, and said, "It is inevitable that time will pass, and the child inside you will grow--and from day to day, you will be Antha, as you have always been, and you will go on with your life and--putting the people who care about you into fits." He was smiling; even if Antha could not see his face, it was evident in his voice. Alone, like this, was the only time that Vikteren's expressionless mask slipped. "And before you know it, it'll be over and done with." Time healed everything. Time would take away her fear, when the words of no friend could reach her. This, too, would pass.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Again, Courtland sighed. "Well," he said, pulling an arm around the boy's shoulders, "********, what else is there to say? Welcome to the family." And then, a little quieter, struggling for the right words, "But...how do I say this? Don't get too attached to the kid until after it's born---if we can get it that far---because if it's a boy, we're all finished. You might survive the curse, but the boy, me, Julien, all of us, are dead." It was a peculiar hobby of Courtland's, bringing the subject from point A to point B. A normal, serious conversation to an utterly depressing, deadly serious conversation. But hey, they were supposed to be in mourning anyways, right?
"Evie?" Jack had popped his head in the door of the library, watching his cousin cautiously, "We just got a phone call from Sirius. Apparently Nicholas sent him to watch Rynn, and the kid's not doing so good. You need to go collect him or talk to him or something."
Antha sighed, turning over onto her back and laying her arm over her eyes. "Just go get him," she murmured, "Bring him here, let Cian talk to him or something. If he runs off again, we'll let him die in peace." Jack nodded once, vanishing, and went running to the garage where Vittorio was waiting to climb into the town car and head off to Fifth Street, which was not far off.
"Do you realize I'll never get to see this child?" Antha whispered when Jack was gone, glancing briefly at Vikteren, "Never hold it, never speak to it, never even know if it's a boy or girl or if it survives. I'm going to die before it's ever born."
"It's going to exist inside of you until then," Malakai said from the corner, bringing himself sharply back onto Antha's radar. It was uncanny, how well he could make himself blend into the scenery. "That's something, Evie. And we can find out if it's a girl or boy in about eighteen weeks, can't we? And you can name it then."
"And if it's a boy?" Antha repeated, sharply, sitting up and giving him venomous eyes, "This is our only chance, Malakai, it's all for nothing if it's a boy."
"We'll figure something out," Malakai assured her, going to sit on the couch beside her, to stroke his fingers gently through her hair. "Right?" he said, turning to Vikteren, and he had that tone that demanded to be agreed with for the third party's sake. Antha's psychotic tendencies had been triggered by much smaller events in the past, and the last thing Malakai wanted was to have to drag her out of the pool before she drowned herself again.  

[Okimiyage]

If it's a boy... Cian sighed. Why is everyone so concerned about the gender? Certainly it would not matter to me, but everyone seems to think that if it's not a girl, the world will end.
Now that he thought of the possibility, though, it didn't sound all that unlikely. Maybe the world would end. Courtland seemed to think that if nothing else, the existences of several mainstream Mayfairs depended on their child's sex. Whether it's a boy or a girl, our worry is wasted regardless. We can't change its gender. Unless the Mayfairs were better at playing God than Cian thought, at least. There's nothing we can do for the moment but wait, and hope. he said. But there isn't any use fretting over the subject. It'll only make everyone feel worse.

"I remember--"
Vikteren paused, lifting his eyes to fix upon Malakai briefly--he did not like the fact that he had been distracted enough to overlook the presence of others, even less now that they'd heard him speak tenderly--at least, what was tender for Vikteren--to Antha. Straightening, he went to the window, where lightning briefly illuminated the grounds outside. "When we met, in those catacombs, you spoke with such certainty when you said that Sleet would one day see the end of your family. But Sleet is destroyed now. Let us be uncertain, for the time being." Turning back around, he nodded to Malakai. "As you say, we will figure something out." Vikteren knew enough of magic that he understood that it very rarely dealt in absolutes. Magic was a strange, tricky snake of a thing; and just when one thought they had it well in hand, it was liable to come up from the other direction and bite you when you weren't looking.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

"They didn't explain to you how the curse works?" Courtland whispered quietly, watching him hesitantly through his lashes, "If there is not a Designee of the Legacy, a legitimate heir, the curse will descend and swallow us whole. If Antha dies without giving birth to a daughter, every living being with Mayfair blood, including your son, will succumb to it and die. Swiftly."
"I'm going to die in the next five months," Antha countered, her patience wearing short, "That is a certainty. Few things in magic are so certain, but this is written in stone." She did not speak of the clarity with which she had seen herself, but instead touched his hand and showed him---her torn body, racked with pain so great she wanted to die, to be done with it, her own blood pooled around her and reflecting her own pale countenance, and finally the darkness that ate at her vision, the pressure in her chest as her heart began to sputter and give out, her lungs refusing to take in air, and the heaviness of her limbs. There was no description fitting for actually dying, the moment when a soul discards the dead body, but it was unmistakable when it occurred in the vision, when Antha's life came to a close, and then the vision ended abruptly. "I have seen a dozen different possibilities," she whispered, "Different people fighting and dying, different wounds being the end of me, but it is always the same in the end. I die, horribly. It is completely, absolutely unavoidable."  

[Okimiyage]

The color drained from Cian's face. He said, but why--
So this was the curse of the Mayfairs, the price they paid for their wealth and power. Slowly, Cian lowered his eyes. So she's a sacrifice, he said dully. Just like Mary. Maybe it was a witching family thing. Magic had its price, just like everything else; and it liked blood. Either you made good immediately, or someone else paid for you later. And power did not come cheap. The Calais boy made a kind of choking laugh, a sound that his throat seized up on. This was why I always tried to stay out of the family business. I suppose it was inevitable that I get dragged into a mess of this sort sooner or later. Well, don't worry. It'll be a girl. And if it's not--well, nobody will be around to regret it.

Vikteren said, quietly, withdrawing his hand from hers--"I have never liked the idea of fate." But hearing it from Antha--seeing it--made it true, somehow, and for a second Vikteren wanted to damn all decency and weep. "I knew you were mortal," he whispered. "But I thought I would be long gone from your life by the time you died." He shouldn't have cared this much. He shouldn't have gotten this involved. As a vampire, he'd killed before. He'd seen the light leave the eyes of hundreds--girls, boys, children and adults, murderers and aristocracy.
I've lived too long, he thought, sick at heart with the realization. He'd seen too many lifetimes pass; and he had only himself to blame for getting caught up in this one. How long had it been since he had cared whether a mortal died or not?--nearly a century. He could count the years. It had left that much of an impression. Vikteren said, in a voice that was low with suppressed passions, "I will not question the matter further."
He wanted to say, Promise me you will not be alone when you die. No one should have to die alone.
But he knew that was a promise he could not demand of Antha. So he kept silent, and his green eyes became unreadable, and the walls around his mind grew tall and impenetrable.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Courtland patted the boy's shoulder, and had to laugh dryly at the comment. "I suppose we won't. But for now...well, you're going to be a father. I think a drink is in order." And he led him down the creaking stairs, into the sea of Mayfairs downstairs, all of them crying, all of them drinking, and procured a bottle of wine to thrust into his hands. As they moved, the eyes of all the family watched him, covertly. Of course Julien had told everyone, he couldn't wait until it was alright with Antha, until the mourning period had passed, he had spread the news like wildfire.
Meanwhile, Antha had shook her head at Vikteren and stood now. The thoughts in his head had made her want to leave suddenly, to be away from him, and she wasted no time in sweeping through the door and down the stairs, just in time to see Jack and Vittorio dragging Rynn through the door, Sirius trailing behind them. "Ah, here you are," she sighed, going to Jack and smoothing his wet hair down, "Sirius, mon cher, you did not need to come along. I'm afraid a house of mourning is not much to entertain."
"Quite alright, darling. I understand congratulations are in order, yes?" Antha merely gave him a look, turning on her heel and searching the crowd for Cian.  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn clung to Sirius like a drowning man to a life raft. He'd never seen so many red-haired people in one place. As Cian was led downstairs, he caught sight of his brother's tousled brown curls through the sea of people. Traitor. Couldn't keep away from a pretty face, even when its owner was responsible for-- She burned down our ******** home! Cian's head snapped up, and his eyes rolled over the crowd until they caught and stuck on Rynn's glare. He still hadn't recovered his color from his previous shock, and this--seeing his little brother here, and in a foul mood--didn't help. As Julien's hands closed around the wine bottle, Cian reached out and, under the pretense of exchange between the two of them, let their hands brush together briefly. My brother is here. He's going to make a scene, if he gets the opportunity. Get him upstairs.

As to Antha herself, Rynn proffered a cold smile. "Heard you had a death in the family, Miss Mayfair. Sorry--I didn't bring flowers. For some reason, nobody wanted to stop at a florist's on their way back from kidnapping me." There was enough venom in the words to poison a whole nursing home. It wasn't as though he could lash out in any other way; not here, not on Antha's territory.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha, listening quietly to the silent words being bandied about, was quick to turn on Rynn, to flash him a sharp, cold smile and say simply, "You tried to kill me. As far as I'm concerned, we are quite even Monsieur Calais." And then, turning to Vittorio and Jack, "Take him to Malakai's room." As the boys hauled him off upstairs, Antha sought out Cian, taking his arm and whispering to Courtland, "Get some food and bring it up."
As Antha led Cian to the stairs, she met the stares directed at him with silent hostility, daring her aunts and uncles to say something, to come up to them and make some remark that Antha didn't want to hear at the moment. Wisely, they gave her space. "You are quite sure you want to do this?" she asked Cian again as she took the stairs, as if she still couldn't believe he would willingly subject himself to her and the family, "It's not too late you know, you can still back out and save yourself the horror of being at the very core of the Mayfair family. No one would blame you."
Upstairs, Vittorio and Jack had set Rynn down on Malakai's king-sized bed, around which was set the alcove of floor to ceiling windows that were black with the storm outside. Sirius, following with a vampire's silent grace, had positioned himself in the corner, leaning languidly against the wall. "We could always throw him in the airship," Jack suggested innocently, giving a little shrug of his shoulders.
Vittorio, wholly unamused, stared him down. "Don't even joke about that," he said gruffly, going to stand beside the door like a guard, "Technically, the kid's kind of family now."
This is when Antha entered, her gaze falling even more threateningly upon Jack than Vittorio's. "Were you in the rain very long?" she asked Rynn simply, going to lean over him, to feel his forehead for any signs of a fever, "You boys should have taken an umbrella, it's too cold at present to be running around exposed to the elements." Slinking in quietly, Courtland went to Cian first, handing him a plate of assorted food, and then gave the second to Rynn.  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn smiled languidly, spreading his hands with a helpless shrug. "Sacrifice, my dear Antha, is not murder in the same way that war is not. Some even think it noble."
As they were led to the stairs--or more accurately, as Cian was led to the stairs, and Rynn was manhandled up them like some kind or obstacle course--Rynn reached out for his brother, demandingly. The sensation of having Rynn inside his mind was a bit akin to having one's headspace treated like a filing cabinet; one's thoughts opened, riffled through, and slammed shut. Tell me, Cian, what have I misseed?--actually, don't bother telling me, I'll find out myself. And the ghost of a laugh made its imprint on the ears of Rynn's brother, and below, Cian did a very--very good job of hiding the flinch.
I want this, Antha. he said. This child, this--mess of inheritances and blood relatives and magic. I know--I may be clumsy at these things, and I can't say that I'll always be this...popular with your family, but if you would have me here, then I would stay. Glancing around, Cian added, Anyways, it's a sight less lonely than Llyr's Court ever was. Although at the same time that he liked it, being in the same room with so many other witches was making the hairs on the nape of his neck rise.

Upstairs, on the bed, Rynn rolled over onto his back and stared up at the canopy. He seemed determined, much like a cat, to pretend that none of the indignities that had been inflicted upon him just now had ever occurred. The one concession he made to the other people in the room was to acknowledge their ongoing conversation with, "What's the airship?" If it was suggest that he get put in one, it probably meant it contained some sort of torture device. Even when Antha entered the room, and went to his side, he only rolled away from her and showed her his back, curling up beneath his soggy coat with a sneeze. "I'm fine, leave me be." he said, crabbily. "Just a chill." Through his half-closed eyes, he could see Sirius in the corner; reaching out, he found the space between them abruptly filled with a heaping mound of food. Cian, who had similarly received enough food to feed a small country, pulled out the desk chair and started eating. Rynn put his slowly to the bedside table. He didn't want to sober up, at least not now.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Glancing at one another, something wicked seemed to pass silently between Jack and Vittorio. "The airship is where cursed blood goes to face judgment," Vittorio said quietly, like reading off a pre-decided upon script.
"'Judgment," Antha repeated, laughing without humor, "There is no judgment, only death. The airship is where the cursed go to be tortured, humiliated, fallen lower than ever before, and then sacrificed for the 'greater good'." She turned, rounding on Jack---he didn't like the younger of the Calais brothers, that was clear enough, and he always did have a mind of his own---and hissed, "And if you ever take Rynn to the other side without my consent, it will be your turn upon the altar."
The color drained instantly from Jack's face at these words, his eyes flickering to where Courtland stood, staring him down. He had been the most out of control the last time, the most eager to feed the darkness of the other side, and Courtland had been the one to almost kill him at Antha's command. Make it stop, she had whispered, sobbing, and the next thing Jack knew Courtland had been taking a steel pipe to the side of his head.
Lawrence was the one to interrupt the tension, slipping through the door. "The paramedics are here to claim the body," he said quietly, clearing his throat, "We've made the arrangements for the funeral to be held at St. Louis Cathedral tomorrow morning. Uncle Stefan was very thorough about the specifications in his will, the coffin and the flowers and the pallbearers, and we've spoken with the groundskeeper at the cemetery, he'll have The Clock cleaned tonight and the fifth mausoleum prepped. Antha?"
"Yes, yes, that's all good," the girl sighed, putting a hand gently to her temple and glancing briefly at Cian. Well, if he wanted to be part of the family... "Call the tailor, give him Cian's measurements, tell him we need a suit for a Mayfair funeral." In other words, white.
"What about tomorrow night?" Courtland asked, plopping down onto the foot of the bed beside Rynn, "Whose turn is it?"
"Cian should do it," Vittorio said, firmly, giving a little nod of his head, "If he wants to be part of the family. It's a rite of passage."
"Courtland," Antha called, ignoring Vittorio entirely, "You, Armand and I will conduct the ritual." He nodded, kicking his feet happily in the air.
Lawrence, clearing his throat, interrupted quietly. "We can't forget the small matter of naming the head of the family." He glanced hesitantly at Antha, whispering, "Are you even going to name Julien?"
"It was Stefan's wish that Julien succeed him," Antha murmured, her tone thick with distaste, "Unfortunately, I must respect that."
"I still think Cian should have to partake in the ceremony," Vittorio muttered, stubbornly, to which the other Mayfair cousins rolled their eyes at him.