Chapter Text
Marcus de Clermont had always held a near-sacred reverence for human ideals of liberty and free speech. These were the ideals espoused by Thomas Paine. These were the ideals that drew him to the American Revolution. These were the ideals that led to him meeting Matthew. These were the ideals that had, inadvertently, made him a vampire. These were the ideals that he’d spent over 250 years defending.
He’d fought for them once, bled for them. And he would always stand up for liberty and justice for all. Thankfully for him, there were always Revolutionary War reenactments in New Haven.
That evening, in a silver wash of moonlight, Marcus found himself on the edge of a public park near Fort Nathan Hale. The benches were mostly empty, the shops shuttered for the day, and the streets hushed in the evening’s quiet. A perfect stage, he thought, for a little civil discourse.
Dressed in jeans and a colonial-era greatcoat he’d dug out for dramatic flair, Marcus mounted a low stone bench like a makeshift podium. “Hear ye, hear ye!” he called, voice raised with playful pomp. “All creatures—vampire, witch, daemon, and human—deserve the truth and the freedom to speak it!”
The speech wasn’t a full revelation of the supernatural world. He wasn’t naming names. He was careful. Mostly. Otherwise, he would be in violation of the Covenant’s core tenets and that would earn him more than just a scolding. No, Marcus was too clever for that. Instead, he cloaked his points in metaphor and implication, toeing the line like a tightrope walker over a pit of fire.
“I’ve lived a long life,” he declared to a trio of curious pedestrians lingering nearby, “and I’ve seen too many truths buried in shadows. The time for secrecy must end. People deserve transparency, not fear. We have the right to speak and to be heard.”
The word we hung in the air. He didn’t say vampires. He didn’t say witches. He didn’t say creatures. But the implication danced around every word.
A passing couple stopped, their expressions oscillating between amusement and concern. Street theatre? A late-night protest? They weren’t sure. Marcus, ever the showman, took their interest as encouragement. He began pacing under a lamppost like a tenured professor mid-lecture, quoting the First Amendment with all the flourish of a man who could recite it in his sleep.
“In the United States,” he said, voice ringing out into the cold, “the right of free speech is sacred. Congress shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech or of the press. We are protected. We are entitled to speak—even when our truths are inconvenient.”
And that’s when a bright flashlight beam cut through the square. A town police officer, drawn by reports of “some guy shouting about creatures and secrets in the park,” approached with a puzzled smile.
“Evening, sir,” the officer said politely. “The park’s closed after dark. You’ll have to wrap it up.”
Caught mid-rhetorical flourish, Marcus planted his feet as if he were defending the ramparts of free expression and responded earnestly, “But officer, I’m exercising my First Amendment rights. This is a public square, a public forum. Surely free speech doesn’t end at sunset?”
The officer raised an eyebrow, more amused than angry. “I’m not here about what you’re saying, pal. It’s just past midnight and we have a noise ordinance. Also, this park is city property and officially closed. You can’t hold a rally here at 10 PM without a permit.” He gestured to a sign listing the park hours: 6AM-9PM.
Ah.
This wasn’t content-based enforcement. It was a neutral, evenly applied rule—what constitutional lawyers might call a time, place, and manner restriction. As such, it only needed to be reasonable and serve an important interest—like public order or peace and quiet. It had been a few centuries since he’d practiced law. Not since Matthew and Philippe had finally let him attend medical school. And he’d never practiced in America, so he was a bit rusty on some of the finer points of the existing jurisprudence governing the First Amendment.
For a moment, Marcus considered using a little charm to compel the officer to forget the whole thing–a trick he had admittedly relied on during past mischief. But tonight he decided to handle it the human way. “Ah… I see. My apologies, officer,” Marcus said, hands raised in surrender. “I’ll wrap it up. Freedom can wait until morning, I suppose.”
The officer chuckled and tipped his hat. “You have a good night, strange one. And maybe save the vampire rights speeches for daylight, or at least get a permit next time.” With that gentle admonition, the policeman moved on.
He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. The United States government hadn’t silenced him. They hadn’t even tried to censor his message. In fact, thanks to the First Amendment, any law banning him from talking about vampires specifically would be presumptively unconstitutional. Instead, it was a neutral law–closing a public park at night–that curtailed his grand speech. That rule wasn’t about what he said at all, just when and where.
It was a minor setback, but Marcus felt proud that in a way, his rights had been respected. The officer didn’t arrest him for mentioning vampires; he only enforced a general safety rule. In his mind, Marcus half-quoted to himself the principle he learned long ago: “The government has no power to restrict expression because of its message.” At least not without a really, really good reason.
But the vampire world? That was another matter entirely.
He gave a parting glance to the now-empty square and offered a salute to no one in particular. “To be continued,” he whispered, and disappeared into the dark with preternatural speed.
He’d avoided trouble with the police. But back home—where the enforcer wasn’t bound by the Bill of Rights—Marcus had a feeling he was in for a very different kind of scrutiny.
And probably a very uncomfortable conversation with his father.
Unfortunately, word traveled quickly. If the moonlight manifesto had been Marcus’s moment of glory, the summons to his father’s study felt like being hauled before a judge. Or worse, a disappointed parent who could cite Blackstone and Brandenburg in the same breath.
He trudged down the hall of the Orange Street house, hands stuffed in his pockets. The heavy door to the study stood ajar. Marcus pushed it open and stepped into the scent of leather, paper, ink, and centuries of disapproval that smelled quite a bit like cinnamon and cloves.
Matthew stood behind his desk with unquestionable authority, arms folded across his chest, expression stern, one eyebrow arched in the universal paternal way that said: Start explaining. Now.
Settling his face into what he hoped was a charming grin, Marcus greeted his father. “Matthew. You wanted to see me?”
“Close the door, Marcus.”
Judgment rendered, Marcus sighed, shoving the door shut hard enough to echo. Marcus turned back around to find Matthew now seated behind the desk. On the wooden surface lay a worn volume of American Constitutional Law.
Oh great, Marcus thought. I’m about to get a legal lecture before the actual lecture.
“I hear you gave quite the speech,” Matthew said evenly. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Marcus squared his shoulders. “I spoke the truth. Isn’t that what you and I both fought for—liberty? In the human world I have freedom of speech.”
“Mind your tone,” Matthew growled in warning, brow furrowed. He leaned forward, palms on the desk. You’re invoking human laws to justify endangering our family? Yes, the First Amendment protects speech–but that’s human government. It doesn’t mean I can’t punish you for your reckless words.”
“So you admit it—you’re punishing me just because you didn’t like what I said,” Marcus snapped. “That’s viewpoint discrimination. The worst kind of censorship.”
Matthew’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Quoting Mosley to me now? You are right. The First Amendment means the government can’t censor you just for your message. But let’s get one thing crystal clear. I am not the government.” Matthew’s voice hardened. “The Constitution’s free speech guarantee only restrains government action, not private actors. That’s the state action doctrine in a nutshell. In this house –in our family–I set the rules. The First Amendment doesn’t shield you from my discipline.”
“So I have no free speech at home,” Marcus said petulantly, crossing his arms.
“Not in the constitutional sense,” Matthew said flatly. “If a teenager insults his parents at the dinner table, the First Amendment won’t save him from consequences. You, my son, are no different.”
Marcus opened his mouth to argue, then caught sight of the glower on his father’s face and thought better of it. He squirmed, moving to pour himself a glass of wine from the bottle sitting on the table, mostly to do something to occupy his hands rather than linger under Matthew’s stern gaze.
Matthew rose slowly and walked to the hearth. Above the mantle, hung one of the original printings of the Declaration of Independence. Matthew had given it as a gift to Marcus on the tenth anniversary of his rebirth. He looked up at it thoughtfully before speaking.
Eyes darkening dangerously, Matthew said, “I hope you understand how serious this is, Marcus.” His voice was measured, but his tone carried the authority of a father and a patriarch. “What you said could have exposed all of us. One careless sentence in front of the wrong ears, and every creature in the world could be in danger.”
Marcus blew out a breath, half exasperation and half guilt. “I was just speaking my mind. Since when is that a crime?” he muttered. There was a defiant edge to his tone, but also a flicker of remorse. He hadn’t intended to endanger anyone–he’d only let slip a family secret while passionately arguing with a friend. In Marcus’s view, he’d been honest. But Matthew saw it differently.
“It’s not a crime to speak, but it can be a mistake,” Matthew replied, stepping closer. The firelight threw shadows across his stern features. “You of all people should remember that free speech isn’t absolute. There are limits when safety is at stake.”
Marcus tensed. He had invoked the First Amendment in his own defense not long ago, and clearly his father had picked up on it. “So now you’re lecturing me on the First Amendment?” he asked, a wry, incredulous smile tugging at his lips despite his frustration. “What are you going to do, take me to vampire Supreme Court?”
A hint of dry humor passed over Matthew’s face. He began to pace slowly, hands clasped behind his back in professorial fashion. “No need for that,” he said. “But since you brought up freedom of speech, let’s explore that. Consider this a teaching moment–vampire constitutional law, if you will.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “A teaching moment,” he echoed. “Great.” His voice was sardonic, but beneath it lay genuine curiosity. It was just like Matthew to turn a scolding into a scholarly discussion. Marcus suspected his father was enjoying this far more than he let on.
Matthew stopped and faced him. “Think of me as the government for a moment–the enforcer of our family’s laws. And think of your mouth as, well, you.”
“That’s an awfully benevolent view of government,” Marcus interjected, unable to resist. “And a rather high view of your parenting style, Your Honor.” His blue eyes sparkled with defiant amusement.
Matthew fought off a smile at his son’s courtroom quip and pressed on. “In American constitutional law, when the government wants to regulate speech, courts apply different levels of scrutiny–different levels of intensity in reviewing those regulations. I find it’s not a bad analogy for how I handle your… outbursts.”
Marcus folded his arms. “Alright, I’ll bite,” he said. “Lay it on me, Dad. What level of scrutiny am I under tonight?”
“Strict scrutiny,” Matthew answered immediately, his tone matter-of-fact. “The highest level. The kind reserved for the gravest of situations.” He fixed Marcus with a stern look. It’s what courts apply when the government targets speech because of its content. These laws are presumed unconstitutional. The state must show a compelling interest, and the law has to be the least restrictive means of achieving it. For our purposes, it means I won’t muzzle you unless I have a damn compelling reason.”
Marcus nodded. “Content-based restrictions. Highest bar. Almost always struck down.”
“Exactly. For example, if Congress passed a law banning any speech about vampires, it would almost certainly fail. It targets the subject matter and the viewpoint. That’s a red flag.”
“Unless they could prove it was necessary to prevent mass hysteria and there was no other way,” Marcus offered, sounding like a student trying to impress the professor.
“Even then, it’d likely fail,” Matthew said. “Because the courts distrust that kind of control. But some interests do meet the standard. National security, for instance. Election integrity. And in our world? The secrecy that protects all creatures. That’s our compelling interest. The rule against revealing our existence? That’s our least restrictive means.”
Marcus tilted his head, processing this. “And I’m guessing you think protecting our family qualifies as a compelling interest,” he said quietly.
Matthew’s expression softened just a fraction. “Absolutely. Keeping our family safe is as compelling as it gets.” His voice lowered, the personal stakes behind the analogy clear. “What you did–blurting out something dangerous in public–is the kind of speech no government would ignore, either. It creates a clear and present danger.”
Marcus winced, more at his own conscience than at Matthew’s description. He hated that his lapse might have put those he loved at risk. Still, he couldn’t resist needling a bit: “So, you’re saying my park tirade earned the strictest scrutiny you’ve got. Maximum enforcement. Guilty as charged.”
“In effect, yes. You broke a fundamental rule and you did it in a way that endangered lives. I had to step in swiftly and firmly–just as the law would in the human world under similar circumstances.”
There was no real argument there, Marcus thought sourly. He had crossed a line. But Matthew wasn’t finished.
“Not every infraction calls for such a heavy-handed response,” Matthew continued, resuming his gentle pacing. “That brings us to the next level–intermediate scrutiny.” He glanced at Marcus to see if he was following.
“This is a more moderate approach, used when the concern is real but not an emergency. In First Amendment terms, it’s used for content-neutral rules–regulations about how or when you can speak, rather than what you say.”
Marcus couldn’t help but smirk. “Content-neutral… like your rule that I shouldn’t argue with you in front of Grand-mere?” he offered. He remembered countless times he’d started to get into it with Matthew or Baldwin during family dinners, only to be shushed for the sake of decorum.
Matthew gave him a pointed look. “Precisely. I’m not trying to stop you from expressing yourself, Marcus. I’m simply regulating the time, place, and manner of that expression.” He actually winked, the professor enjoying his lecture a bit now. “You can disagree with me all you want in private, or discuss family business behind closed doors. But discussing creature politics in a public park? Or airing our family dirty laundry in a tavern at midnight? That’s a time/place/manner violation in my book as well.”
Marcus let out a short laugh, unable to hide his amusement. “So do I need a permit to complain about family decisions, is that it?” he quipped. “Should I schedule our arguments between 9 and 5, in a soundproof room, with a notarized agenda?”
“Don’t be flippant,” Matthew chided gently, even as the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying the slight amusement underneath the stern facade. “I’m saying context matters. If you have criticisms or frustrations, fine–voice them to me, or to those who need to hear it. But doing it at the wrong time or place, where outsiders can overhear or where it undermines our unity, is not acceptable. That’s a rule aimed at how you express yourself, not whether you can express it.”
He added, more softly, “The First Amendment allows such reasonable restrictions for the greater good. Likewise, I set certain limits for the good of our family. It’s intermediate scrutiny: important, but not absolute.”
Marcus leaned back, scratching his chin as if contemplating a weighty judicial opinion. “Intermediate scrutiny… So, I can speak freely, as long as I’m mindful of the setting and manner. Got it. Freedom with an asterisk.” His tone was sarcastic, but his eyes were warmer now, the anger slowly fading into acceptance. He did understand what Matthew was getting at, even if he would never admit it outright.
“Exactly. Now,” Matthew continued, raising one finger as if to enumerate, “that leaves the third level: the light touch, everyday rules–what the courts call rational basis review.” He pronounced the term with a slight smile, as if it tasted amusing on his tongue in this context.
Marcus couldn’t resist. “Let me guess–this is the part where you tell me not to put my feet on the coffee table or to remember to call if I’ll be out late, because it’s ‘family policy’?” He did his best imitation of Matthew’s lecturing tone on those last two words, and the effect drew an involuntary chuckle from his father.
“Well,” Matthew conceded, “you’re not far off. Rational basis is the most lenient standard. Under that review, a rule stands so long as it’s reasonably related to a legitimate interest. In other words, if it makes basic sense, I expect you to abide by it–even if it’s not life-or-death.”
He began ticking off examples. “Say, don’t leave blood samples strewn about the lab–legitimate interest: keeping the place tidy and safe. Or don’t tease Corra–legitimate interest: not getting hexed by an angry witch for pissing off her familiar.” Matthew’s eyebrow arched in a playful warning. “Or yes, take your dirty shoes off before tromping mud through Sept-Tours–legitimate interest: your grandmother not skinning you alive for ruining her antique rugs.”
Marcus broke into a full grin at that, a boyish smile that made him look every bit the trouble-maker Matthew had found in the Bennett farmhouse during the Battle of Brandywine.
“Fair. Those all sound rational enough,” he admitted. “And I notice the punishment for muddy boots is just Ysabeau’s withering stare, not exactly this.” Marcus gestured generally between them.
“Precisely,” Matthew said with a laugh. “These are house rules, longstanding expectations. They’re lightly enforced because, frankly, I trust you to have the sense to follow them. I don’t need to come down like a ton of bricks for every minor breach of etiquette. As long as there’s a rational reason behind a rule and you’re not causing any real harm, I’m content.”
Marcus let Matthew’s words hang in the air for a moment. The fire popped softly on the hearth. Somewhere, he heard a clock ticking. Despite the intellectual absurdity of comparing their immortal family dramas to American jurisprudence, Marcus felt a reluctant appreciation. This was Matthew’s way–turning a reprimand into a lesson, balancing sternness with affection and a dash of erudite humor. It was hard to stay angry, even if Marcus still bristled at being treated like a recalcitrant schoolboy.
He uncrossed his arms and gave a little salute. “Alright, I concede the case. I suppose I did violate Article I of the de Clermont Code or whatever we’re calling it,” he said lightly. “Content-based restrictions = strict scrutiny, hardest to justify. Content-neutral restrictions = intermediate scrutiny, easier to justify if there’s a solid reason. Rational basis=unprotected speech, almost always pass.”
Marcus shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. “Only you would discipline me with a lecture on constitutional law.”
Matthew moved to the front of the desk. Now, all this talk of scrutiny levels applies to government action. Key point: if it’s not the government doing it, the First Amendment isn’t triggered at all. That brings us back to our situation.”
“If I were a government official and you were a citizen, I’d need to prove my actions serve a compelling interest and are narrowly tailored. Well, consider this: my goal to protect our family is a compelling interest, and I didn’t exactly throw you in a dungeon or cut out your tongue. Instead, I’m going to rein you in without silencing you permanently. You could say my response is narrowly tailored to teach you a lesson while keeping our secrets safe.” Matthew arched an eyebrow.
“It also leaves you with ample alternative channels to express yourself–just more carefully next time, and in private if needed. A human court might call that an appropriate time, place, and manner regulation.”
Flushing brightly, Marcus’s jaw dropped. Only Matthew would analogize spanking his son to a content-neutral time, place, manner restriction. The younger vampire couldn’t help a rueful laugh at the absurdity. “Are you… seriously trying to claim your punishment is constitutional, Matthew?” he quipped. “That has got to violate some amendment.”
Matthew fought to keep a straight face, but a hint of a smile appeared. “Perhaps the Eighth Amendment doesn’t look kindly on what I’m about to do,” he said dryly, “but we’re not under the jurisdiction of any court here.” With that, he placed the law book aside. “Enough debate. Let’s get this part over with.”
WIth that, Matthew seated himself in one of the high-backed chairs in front of the desk and beckoned Marcus toward him with a crook of his finger. Marcus’s bravado faltered.
He paused, muttering “People don’t spank their kids anymore, Matthew. It’s illegal in most developed countries. Including France.”
Matthew actually chuckled. “You are talking to a 1500-year-old vampire. And you, my son, apparently still need an old-fashioned lesson. And you know, this is far gentler than what Philippe would have done. Perhaps I’m too modern.” He gently but firmly took Marcus’s wrist.
Marcus sighed dramatically, attempting one last line of defense: “I’ll appeal to Grandmere! She’ll call this an abuse of discretion.” Despite his protest, he allowed Matthew to guide him over his lap–the indignity tempered by the knowledge that in this family, such discipline came from love (however embarrassingly delivered). He fought back a groan as Matthew’s left arm wrapped tightly around his waist while his right hand thrust his joggers and boxers out of the way.
“At least consider intermediate scrutiny, Father? Maybe a stern lecture would suffice as a less restrictive means," Marcus quipped over his shoulder. "Spanking seems overly broad…”
“At any point in the last two and a half centuries, have you ever been allowed to negotiate your way out of a well-deserved spanking?” Matthew asked, his tone crisp.
“No, sir,” Marcus muttered
He adjusted his son’s position, tipping him forward over his knee, and raised his hand. “Marcus, you’ve earned this. You endangered us with that stunt. At no point have I ever tolerated your recklessness, and you know it.”
A resounding snap echoed through the dark paneled study as Matthew’s palm collided with his son’s bare backside. Marcus hissed as searing pain exploded on the crest of his right cheek. The next swat landed immediately below the first, overlapping slightly. Marcus hated the way he could feel the outline of his father’s fingers as his hand painted crimson handprints across the landscape of his backside.
Matthew brought his hand down again and again, delivering a series of scorching smacks that left Marcus feeling like his backside had actually been burned. Each smack seared his skin, spreading the burning sensation like a river of fire across his bare bottom.
Marcus yelped when a particularly harsh swat landed at the top of his thigh. Matthew’s approach to discipline was much like everything else in his life, methodical and deliberate. He placed the swats in a predictable pattern, just firm enough that his son wasn’t able to retreat inward and disassociate from the lesson that was being taught. He ensured that every exposed patch of skin, from the top of Marcus’s bottom to the middle of his thighs, felt Matthew’s displeasure with his choices.
A fresh burst of heat bloomed across Marcus’s skin, and he bit back a cry. No matter how many times he’d been in this position over the centuries, and God knows it was more than a few, Matthew never ceased to completely and thoroughly blister his bottom. Matthew’s hand continued to fall at regular, agonizing intervals. Marcus clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying to bite down any noise.
As a single tear slipped from Marcus’s eye, Matthew landed an excruciatingly hard smack to the undercurve of his son’s rear. With one more scorching swat, branding a twin handprint on the other cheek, Matthew let his hand rest on his son’s soundly spanked backside. “Strict scrutiny applied,” he declared with a hint of wry humor, before helping Marcus up.
Marcus adjusted his clothes as he rubbed his smarting bottom and shot Matthew a wounded, reproachful look. "You know, as far as punishments go, I’m pretty sure that fails the proportionality test.”
Matthew arched an eyebrow, knowing full well he’d gone relatively easy on his son. “Perhaps you’d prefer I have Baldwin formally charge you before the Congregation?”
Despite himself, Marcus laughed. A paternal spanking in private was a mild consequence compared to what the Congregation might do if they deemed Marcus’s speech a violation of the Covenant. “Alright, alright. And… thank you, Father.” He spoke the last words softly and sincerely.
Looking at his wayward son, Matthew’s expression warmed, just a little. “I’m proud of you for caring about principles, Marcus. Just remember to balance our world’s secrecy with those principles.” With that, he pulled his son into a gentle hug.
In the span of a single night, Marcus had unwittingly tested the boundaries between free speech and familial duty—and come away with a far clearer understanding. The First Amendment protected him from government interference, yes. But it did not shield him from the expectations of his father or the creature community.
And even if the government had come after him for his speech, the level of justification would have depended entirely on the situation. The gravest offenses—like endangering creature’s secrecy—would demand the highest scrutiny and most compelling justification. Lesser breaches, like ill-timed public musings, might draw moderate correction. But outright reckless or harmful speech? That wouldn’t be protected anywhere, not even by law.
Matthew, still watching him closely, softened further. “My son, I hope you understand why I had to do that. Free speech in theory is admirable, but every right comes with responsibilities. Even in the human world, you can’t just say anything, anywhere, without considering the consequences."
Marcus nodded, his eyes downcast, despite his head being pressed into his father’s chest. “I do understand. I got carried away with my ideals.” He managed a crooked smile. “I was so caught up in the ideals that I ignored the context. My words weren’t illegal, but they were dangerous. Even in a democratic system, context changes everything.”
Stepping back slightly and crossing his arms, Matthew fixed a faux-stern glare on his face. “Thankfully,” Matthew said, settling back in his chair, “you now appreciate the difference between public and private when it comes to speaking your mind.” He gave Marcus a sidelong look. “And the various levels of scrutiny I’m willing to apply to your misbehavior.”
Marcus chuckled, rubbing his backside again with a grimace. “Lesson learned… thoroughly. Next time I want to stir the pot, I’ll run it by you or Diana first. Or write a treatise and publish it anonymously in a public forum—see how long it takes the Congregation to notice.”
Matthew gave him another warning glare, but couldn’t suppress a smile. The crisis had passed. Discipline had done its work. As Marcus shifted with a wince, he reflected that both the human and vampire worlds imposed limits on speech—whether by courts or by a father’s firm hand. Free expression was valuable. But so was judgment. “All those lofty ideals—liberty, honesty, transparency—they’re worth fighting for. But they’re also worth handling with care. Even the First Amendment recognizes that.”
Matthew stepped closer and placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder before continuing. “Marcus, all teasing aside, you know why I do this, don’t you? Why I care what you say or do?”
Marcus’s voice was quiet. “Because we have to protect each other. Because we’re family.”
“Exactly.” Matthew’s hand tightened briefly. “I am strict when the stakes are high—perhaps too strict in your view—but I do it because I can’t bear the thought of losing you to a mistake that could be prevented.”
Marcus nodded, all frustration gone. What remained was understanding. And gratitude.
"I’m sorry," he said. "I shouldn’t have said what I did. It won’t happen again."
Matthew’s lips curved into a smile. “Thank you.” Then, with a light clearing of his throat, he added, “Well, not until your next revolution, I suppose.”
Marcus grinned. “I’ll try to schedule it for a more convenient hour. Perhaps submit a Time/Place/Manner Request Form in advance?”
Matthew actually laughed, a warm, deep sound that echoed off the paneled walls. “See that you do.”
With a final pat on the shoulder, Matthew gestured toward the door. “Now, I promised Diana we’d help reorganize the library before dawn. Consider it community service.”
Marcus groaned theatrically. “I should’ve bargained for probation.”
Their voices faded down the corridor, the fire crackling softly in their wake. The matter was settled.
In the court of family, justice—tempered with love and a touch of legal theory—had been served.