Meanwhile, Reynard found himself reluctantly mingling with a group of noblemen, all fathers of sons about to join the navy. He politely listened to their concerns, sipping a muscat-scented white wine that he had absentmindedly picked up from a passing servant’s tray. It was a drink Valentin enjoyed, but not one that suited his tastes. He preferred heavier spirits like brandy.  

As he set the glass back on the tray, a small, delicate hand slipped into his own, the sensation immediately familiar.  

“Father.”  

It was his beloved daughter, Layla, looking up at him with her big, expressive …