The ride to the Council Hall was a study in controlled fury. Caelan sat back against the plush velvet of the carriage, the city of Bellmere a blur of motion beyond the lacquered door with its raven and rose crest. He should have been preparing, strategizing, arranging his arguments like soldiers on a battlefield for the coming confrontation.
Instead, his mind was a chaotic mess of domestic insanity.
He was the Duke of Ravenshade, a creature of five centuries, a being of immense power and influence. And his morning had been consumed by the report of a human pet attempting to flee with a stolen earring, a niece writing a romance novel where the heroine had 'bosoms like ripe melons,' and a younger brother who apparently smelled of cheap wine and mythical creatures. To top it all off, the ancient, possibly immortal, cat had claimed his first-edition grimoire as a throne and declared war on his housekeeper.
It was, he reflected with a profound, soul-deep weariness, a Tuesday.
