Paris wasn’t a man ruled by his temper. With every swift step he took away from the gathering, his irritation faded until there was nothing but exhaustion and disappointment left. As was his habit, Paris started to turn over the details of the encounter in his mind. Yes, he decided, his observation of Lisette had taken the wrong time, place, and tone—however true it was. But his father had been equally out of line by shaming his only son in a woman’s defense. Such a discussion should have been a private affair, but instead, his father chose the unseemly route of a public dressing-down. Paris grimaced as his father’s words soured in his mind.

Then there was the matter of Ares. Yes, he once again conceded, jealousy was a useless and silly emotion to indulge. His father was right to recognize his cousin’s contributions to the family, and Paris shouldn’t fault him for it. But Ares…well, his reasons for reservations about Ares were hardly ones he would offer his father.

By the time he’d turned the corner to ascend the stairs, his footsteps had slowed to a more normal pace. Paris decided he’d apologize to his father. Though he believed his father had been entirely out of line in his open criticism, Paris couldn’t control his father: the only actions he could control were his own. But as for Lisette—

“Paris!”

As if on cue, Paris turned with one foot ascending the stairs, eyebrow raised as he crossed his arms.

“Yes, dear sister?” His question was curt, but not sarcastic.

Paris might have turned her away, summoned up some sour rebuke, but instead, he considered Lis’s observation (for lack of a better term) at face value. He thought for a moment, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as he often did in a self-soothing motion. Lis was an annoyance at times and a preoccupation at others, but in the end…she was his sister. Paris sighed through his nose.

“I suppose rude I deserve, but narcissist?” Paris smirked, as if he and Lis were children again, “I believe our cousin is stiff competition for that title.”

Paris huffed with a single chuckle, all but rolling his eyes. Yes, the sun. Surely that’s what Ares saw himself as—perhaps his father too. Luckily for him, Paris thought, in Nevermere the sun was ever so easily obscured. But with the tension between him an Lis broken, Paris was glad to move from the subject of Ares to something else entirely. He contemplated for a moment, a thoughtful frown creasing the corners of his mouth.

“So long as I had some purpose there. Court life in an odf itself holds no interest for me, but if it would serve our family,” Paris shrugged, “Then I’d happily go.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “And you?”

And Paris did. Despite their squabbles, he and Lis remained in step—for family was what they had. All they could depend on.

“It would be good for you to enter society. No doubt Skia has more eligible men than the halls of this estate," Paris was more delicate this time, choosing the way of a joke but the care in his voice genuine and evident.

Lisette scoffed half-heartedly.

“More suitors, perhaps, but not many with father’s approval. Entering Skia society might aggravate an already dismal pursuit.” Lis side eyed Paris, hoping he would have something encouraging for her.

Paris smirked, though the curve of his smile had the unmistakeable form of a patronizing brother’s.

“Dismal but necessary,” Paris said obstructively, “And if given the choice, I’d prefer more options than the few this estate has to offer. It would be good for you. For our family.”