Weysh took a fortifying breath. “Yenni Ajani—my Given—has been having some trouble with her magic classes. Despite her best, most valiant efforts, she’s failed her first quarter magic exams and as a result, she’s been asked to leave Prevan Academy tomorrow.”

Montpierre let out a long-suffering sigh. “And you are bringing this to my attention because . . . ?”

Another fortifying breath to cool the anger rising within him at Montpierre’s tone. “Because, I know that your aunt is rectrice of Prevan Academy, which is how you received the contract to supply and repair some of the windows for the school. Clearly you have her ear, and if anyone can reverse this ruling, it’s the school’s director.”

Montpierre chuckled bitterly. “Let me make sure I understand. You would like me to contact my aunt Mathilde, who is busy running the best martial and magical academy on the continent, to have her reverse her faculty’s decision to rightfully expel a student who failed her exams?”

Weysh gripped the armrests on his chair and literally swallowed his frustration before answering. “Would you not do the same for Maman? Sylvie?”

“I am not about to disturb Mathilde with something so trivial.”

“This is not trivial,” Weysh said, letting a slight growl slip into his voice. It was the wrong thing to do, as Montpierre tensed and frowned at him.

“If the school has decided she doesn’t belong, then she doesn’t belong.” He stood. “I will hear no more of this.”

Weysh stood as well. “Montpierre, please—”

Montpierre sighed loudly, cutting him off. “Do you know what I think? This woman may have failed her studies, but she’s smart enough to avoid you and your womanizing ways, and your pride will not allow you to let her go. Have some self-respect and leave her be. Let her find someone more suitable.”

Montpierre’s words hit a nerve, and Weysh’s lips were moving before he could stop them.

“I suppose you’d be just as willing to step aside if Maman were to find someone more suitable, en?”

“You ungrateful bastard!” Montpierre thundered.

Weysh jerked back, shocked. The man’s face was the red of king crab, and he shook.

“I have gritted my teeth and tolerated you for twenty years,” Montpierre said through teeth that were even at that moment clenched in rage. “To think you would have the audacity to ask me for a single thing. I have been forced to raise another man’s son, clothe and feed you, bequeath you my estate, and this is what I get for my trouble. A disrespectful, womanizing beast of a stepson who plans to abandon his family and run off to the Islands.” He fell into a fit of coughing just as Weysh’s maman, Sylvie, and Genevieve ran into the study. Weysh hadn’t noticed, but Montpierre had left the door wide open.