It wasn’t until they got a little older that Father started taking an interest. And by “taking an interest,” Max meant destroying toys of Seb’s he deemed too feminine. Or seizing an apple strudel Seb had helped the cook make and hurling it against the wall in the dining room.

And then Max had refused to go to boarding school. What a row that had been. In addition to guaranteeing his presence at home, that blowout had taught him the efficacy of diversionary tactics. Being a bigger disappointment than Seb was a surprisingly effective strategy for drawing his father’s attention—and anger.

But somehow, that early closeness between the boys, that sense of being allies, had faded away. Max studied his brother, really looked at him, for the first time in a while. Sebastien still had the close-cropped hair and too-big nose of his youth, but gone was the easy smile that used to be his signature.

“You’re right,” Max said, needing to clear his throat. “I don’t treat you well.” It was an uncomfortable thing to admit, to confront within himself, especially given that the first ten years of Seb’s life, everything Max had done had been in service of Seb. It was just so frustrating that after all Max had done to get Seb out, Seb boomeranged right back. Still, they were brothers. “I’m sorry. It has to stop. It’s going to stop.” Max continued to study Seb, who had the same blue eyes as Max—except Seb’s had gone wide with shock. “I did ask you here because I wanted something from you. I’d like your advice if you’re willing to give it.”

Max wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Seb’s eyes grew even wider.

“I want to get a job, but I have no idea how to do that.”

Seb switched to blinking rapidly, and Max chuckled. “I hoped you’d give me your thoughts, seeing as you’re the gainfully employed brother.”

“Well . . . ,” Sebastien started slowly. “I’m certain we can find you something to do at Aquilla. It’s Father’s fondest wish that you join the company.”

Max’s jaw tightened. Here he’d thought they were having a moment. But no. Seb was still Father’s lapdog. If Max had been the type to allow himself to be disappointed by people, he would have felt sadness over the fact that the boy who’d suggested they try to combine their favorite childhood games and play “footie up the mountain” and then pretend to be wizards at the top had come home from university and fallen right into line, asking only “how high” when Father commanded he jump.