His Mistress knew exactly what she owned. She made him, after all from his cunning and charm to his inability to shut everyone else out completely. She just didn't know what to do with him once she had him as finished as he could have been in her care.
"Biologically, only," Hermes said softly, gaze on the floor in front of his knees. "I don't know her name or what she looks like, only felt her thoughts touch mine once. She stands to inherit a great deal if they haven't ruled on her illegitimacy and collared her. She has no father and her mother is dead." It was nearly the same for Hermes growing up, but Carrick knew that as well. The fae had been unmoored his whole life, shut outside from everything else for fear of what he was instead of brought in from the cold so he didn't have to stare longingly through the windows anymore. There was some sort of irony in the fact that the first true warmth he'd known was at the hands of a vampire who stopped being so thousands of years ago.