What a tragedy. One of the Carringtons had croaked. Of course, they were throwing a funeral that might as well be a soiree without the food.

Zechariah was mainly here to see if there were hors d’oeuvres worth eating, be a prominent lawyer in the disputes that were bound to follow, and to make sure the Fourth was dead.

He turned his gaze politely away from the fainting woman, then squinted and estimated how long the line was to pretend to Magnus the III that Magnus the IV was such a loss.

It was long.