[Continued from here.]

He knew the Carringtons well enough by sight (well, triplets aside). Some better than others; most, not at all. He did not like a single one of them more with increased familiarity – quite the contrary.

But Darius was close in age, seemed kind of daft, and was now the eldest surviving son.

And so a cloud of cologne meandered closer and closer to Darius’ set back chair as he eyed the blocked entrance that suggested Magnus Sr. was still being harangued.

He came up behind Darius and leaned over his shoulder against the chair.

“Any good?” he said, eyes flicking to where the bottle had been secreted away again.