Chapter Text
Vassago sat perched at his desk, methodically working through the ever-growing stacks of documents—a burden that had nearly doubled since that fateful day, so many months ago now. As if summoned by the thought, his phone chimed. Stolas’ name lit the screen.
They hadn’t truly spoken since his confession, and that was his fault. He knew Stolas would be furious about his long-standing involvement with Andrealphus, but distance had been his way of keeping his baby brother safe. Love for the icy peacock didn’t equal trust—if anything, it made him more cautious.
Hesitant, he tapped the notification. The screen bloomed with a new image—two tiny owlettes… though not entirely. Nestled together, they bore the faint nubs of future imp horns, their tails twined in a loose knot, impish in shape yet tipped with downy, uneven feathers. Both had their beaks open in what looked like a joint protest—probably hunger.
He hadn’t expected to see them. Hadn’t imagined Stolas would be willing to share his hatchlings with him, not after what he had done. And yet, here they were. A slow smile tugged at his lips, small but unshakable, as he took in the sight of new life.
For a few precious moments, the quiet in his office felt warm instead of heavy. He let himself picture them chittering for food, tiny arms flapping clumsily, and Stolas—beaming with that same, unguarded joy he’d worn as a fledgling himself.
The latch clicked. Vassago’s eyes darted to the doorway just as Andrealphus stepped inside, breakfast tray in hand, his perpetual frown on his face.
“Well,” Andrealphus drawled, shutting the door behind him, “someone’s in a good mood.”
Vassago tilted the phone face-down against the desk, his smile fading into something unreadable. “Just… paperwork,” he said smoothly, reaching for the nearest file.
“Paperwork has never made you happy,” Andrealphus muttered, setting a tray down on the small table where Vassago usually ate.
“You don’t know everything, muchacho” His tone was quiet, almost gentle—too gentle. “And it’s not as if you ever paid much attention to me when we were together.”
Andrealphus’ mouth opened, a retort ready—but it died there. He shut it with a snap, the faint sound of grinding teeth filling the silence before a low growl escaped him. “Is there anything you need of me… sir?”
“No. Gracias.”
The courtesy only seemed to make the former marquis’ feathers bristle. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stomped out, the slam of the office door echoing in his wake.
Vassago let out a slow sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. His gaze drifted back to the phone, and with one finger, he turned it over again. The two tiny faces stared back at him, their open beaks frozen mid-protest, and for the briefest moment, his smile returned.
Andrealphus stomped down the hallway and clattered down the stairs, grumbling and swearing under his breath. Was it not bad enough that he was stuck here? Now he had to be tortured with those secret smiles on top of it?
What was Vassago even smiling about? He knew damn well that documents and paperwork had never earned that expression. No—he had made Vassago smile like that once. Smiles meant for him. But that had been a long time ago. Too long.
“Oi! Pretty boy!” The shrill call cut through his thoughts like a whipcrack.
Andrealphus jerked to a stop, feathers bristling. He hadn’t even noticed the head cook approach until she burst from the kitchen, apron and hair dusted with flour, rolling pin clutched like a cudgel. Overwhelmed by those unwanted feelings still clawing at his chest, the careful mask he’d been crafting shattered.
“What?!” he snapped, the word seething out of him before he could rein it back.
In his old life, that tone would have made an imp jump back in fear. But here, with this imp, it only lit a fire. Reeda’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tight. “Don’t you fucking what me, pretty boy! You answer to me—not the other way around!”
He clamped his beak shut, holding back the cascade of insults burning on his tongue. No. He had worked too hard to make this new life bearable, and he wasn’t about to let these traitorous feelings destroy it.
“I was going to tell you that you forgot the master’s jam,” Reeda said, voice dripping with scorn. “But since you’re in such a pissy mood, you can clean his room instead—change the bedding, collect the laundry, dust the shelves, polish the mirror, and scrub down the bath while you’re at it. I’ll take the jam myself.”
She spun on her heel, heading back toward the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she added, “And if you bring that scary face anywhere near my staff again, I’ll whack you with my roller. Don’t think I won’t.”
Andrealphus stood frozen, body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. His talons flexed against his palms, digging deep. Polish mirrors? Dust shelves? The words he dared not say burned in his throat, seething. Reduced to a housemaid.
And it was all because of him. Because Vassago, with his secret smiles and his damned composure, had found some new source of happiness that wasn’t him. The thought cut deeper than any insult Reeda could hurl.
He didn’t know what to do yet.
But he would figure it out.
He always did.
Blitzø lay sprawled on the couch, boots kicked off, feet propped on Stolas’ lap while the owl read. Friesia and Solaris wriggled restlessly across his stomach and chest, little legs kicking as they attempted to move. “Hey Stols,” Blitzo started but was distracted when Solaris made a determined snap with his little beak at his sister’s leg.
“Damnit! Stop nomming her, you gremlin.” Blitzø scooped the boy up and deposited him higher on his chest, out of range. Solaris squawked his protest, flapping harder.
“Yes, darling?” Stolas murmured, still not looking up from his book.
“Is… is there something up with Mils? She seemed a little too excited to hang out with the kids today.”
“And how is that a bad thing?” Stolas asked mildly, setting his book aside at last. He reached over to stroke Friesia’s head as she kicked against Blitzø’s ribs. “Shouldn’t you be happy our twins are so adorable that everyone wants to spend time with them?”
Blitzø narrowed his eyes at him, studying his face. “Alright, feathers. Spill. What do you know?”
Stolas blinked innocently, his talons still smoothing Friesia’s patchy feathers. “I know that our
children are the most precious, delightful creatures in all of Hell.”
“That ain’t what I asked.”
“I also know Millie is an excellent babysitter, and they already adore her,” Stolas added, wincing slightly when the girl nipped at his finger.
“Mm-hmm.” Blitzø squinted. “You’re dancing, owl. I can smell it.”
“Darling,” Stolas cooed, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple, “if I were dancing, you’d be too distracted to ask questions.”
Blitzø rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Cheater.” Still, his gaze lingered on the owl, sharp and unrelenting. “You didn’t answer me, though. Not really. What’s going on with Mils? She practically shoved me out the door so she could stay behind.”
Stolas smoothed a hand over Friesia’s pin feathers, his expression carefully composed. “Perhaps she simply wanted a quieter day.”
“Bullshit,” Blitzø shot back, jostling Solaris slightly as the boy squirmed in his arms. “Millie ain’t exactly the stay-home-and-nap type. You know something, and I can tell when you’re lying, feathers.”
“Darling,” Stolas said patiently, though his eyes flickered away for the briefest second, “I am not lying. I am respecting her privacy.”
“Yeah but you-FUCK!” Blitzo was cut off when Solaris attempted to eat his finger. “You’re hungry, you little menace, I get it! But I’m not food!”
Stolas chuckled, rising with practiced grace. He gathered the twins into his arms and headed for the kitchen. “Saved by the children,” he murmured as he settled them in.
The imp looked over the back of the couch. “Don’t think this is over, big bird. Just you wait till I get you alone.
Stolas shot him a sultry look, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Blitzy.”
Blitzø snorted at Stolas’ sultry grin, but as he slumped back into the couch, his gaze lingered on the kitchen table. The owl’s laugh drifted back to him, low and easy, mingling with the twins’ hungry squeaks.
And just like that, the irritation in his chest eased. Damn bird. Always knew how to get under his skin.