Kivrin breathed out slowly. He withdrew a cigar from inside his sharp black suit. He used a flicker of fire magic to light the end and took a deep inhale. He let the smoke out in rings before answering, “Many years ago, I was to have my own Season. As with your Season, it was the same year as what I assumed would be my dragon training. I was an eligible bachelor, and my mother wanted two things from me: to join the Society and marry to a station befitting my heritage.” He wrinkled his nose. “Mistress Enara ran a tough household.”

Kerrigan had never met her grandmother, but besides her genius, not much was said about her. She imagined the cold, hard green eyes from the painting downstairs and believed wholeheartedly that she had been a tough mistress.

“Unfortunately for her, I fell in love with a commoner.”

“Scandalous,” Kerrigan said.

“It wouldn’t have been if I’d had taken her as my mistress. No one cared about status when it was just sex.”

Kerrigan held up her hand. “I don’t want to know who you’re sleeping with.”

He laughed softly and nodded. “Fair. But it was more than that. I was in love with her, and I wanted to marry her. I thought I could get away with it if I won the tournament and forsook my Season.”

“But you didn’t win,” Kerrigan whispered.

“No,” he said, taking another puff on his cigar. “I didn’t. Nor did I marry.”

“Well, what happened to the girl?”

“I brought her to the tournament. I got her accommodations in the Square so that she could be near the mountain. We ignored the warnings of her family and the distaste from mine. We were young and stupid.” He shrugged. “You have that propensity too, I hear.”

Kerrigan shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

Kivrin breathed in the smoke again. “Behind my back, she began to see another man.”

“No,” she gasped.

Kivrin nodded. “By the end of the tournament, she broke my heart, married another, and left me with nothing. I lost the Society and the girl I’d believed to be the love of my life in one fell swoop.”

“That’s terrible,” Kerrigan murmured.

He laughed mockingly. “That man was Lorian Van Horn.”

Kerrigan blinked. “Wait, Alura’s mother is a Bryonican commoner?”

“Yes. Anya Van Horn used to be Anya de Leland. She’s from Lillington in fact.”

“Gods, no wonder you hate Lorian.”

Kivrin tipped his head at her. “He’s earned every ounce of my hatred.”

“Mine too.”

“Ah, yes, we would have that in common.”

“But… how does this explain why you abandoned me?”