Then Zane did what he did best and changed the subject. Not to a better one, but at least a different one.
“Do we get to pick the color of the bride’s shackles or—”
“Our beloved,” Ko’s rumble froze him mid-word, “will have the smile of an angel.”
The air constricted as if his words were a black hole, sucking us all toward inevitable doom. Mount Saint Koa was closer to blowing than I’d originally factored. I made a mental note to stop by a bakery after this. He needed cookies. The good kind, too.
“Since we seem unable to move off the topic, how’syourbeloved, Pops?” Zane leaned forward with exaggerated interest. “Sebastian said she’s only four years older than him. You cradle-robber, you.”
“Kaori is very well,” Father replied, his eyes softening to a degree I’d never seen before. It seemed to be the day for shocks. “Adapting to life as queen. She’d like to meet you three, by the way.”
I went perfectly still, my brain short-circuiting for a moment.
Twenty-five years ago, Catalina, Father’s first beloved, had died while giving birth to their son, Sebastian. Then Father met Kaori, a nephilim, two months ago in some half-forgotten archive. The moment their eyes met, he knew she was his second beloved, which was nearly a miracle. Some vampires never found another, or only after centuries of searching.
Father always was a lucky bastard.
“We’ll consider it.” I folded my arms, unwilling to commit to anything more until I’d had the chance to gather more intel on her motives and his.
“Thank you.” Father gave me a curt nod, and for a moment, I almost believed he meant it. That the possibility of us meeting Kaorimatteredto him.
“Let me see the marriage contract before we decide,” I requested, redirecting us back to the business at hand.
He nudged a piece of fine linen paper across his desk. Taking it, I stood to move next to Koa, and Zane joined us on my other side. We all skimmed it quickly, and the terms were simple and exactly what he’d described: A bride of legal age from the house of Arabesque Harrow, a groom of legal age from the court of King Lucian Ro?u, both willing participants, married for one year, cohabitate for one year, alive at the end of one year…
I paused, my finger tapping that last clause.
“Odd. Arabesque’s idea?” At his nod, I frowned. “She expects casualties.”
“Yours or hers remains to be seen,” he murmured.
“Who do you think Arabesquewantsdead?” Zane asked. “Us or this moon-damned girl she’s sending?”
“Time will tell. Maybe both.” I turned back to Father. “Why did you sign as our proxy?”
Not that it really mattered in the end. The bride would learn our names soon enough.
Let her try to survive them.
“Arabesque requested the contract by noon today,” he explained. “I’d never send Sebastian, of course, so if you’d refused, I would have been forced to review the Turned and determine which one has matured enough—”
“To not kill the girl on their wedding night?” Zane interrupted with a fang-filled grin.
“As you say.” Father rolled one shoulder in a careless shrug.
It was a solid opportunity from our perspective. We’d have freedom, financial security, a permanent base of operations, and the opportunity to take down a dangerous Dark witch. The downsides were manageable: A year of our lives, a strange bride, potential danger. Nothing we couldn’t handle.
My brothers and I looked at each other. Three slow blinks from each of us, our oldest silent code, cemented our agreement. Whatever came next, we’d face it together. As we always had.
“We’ll take the job,” Zane smirked, “and we’ll see who dies first.”
Father stood, signaling the end of our audience, and I was already mapping out contingencies, escape routes, defensive measures. A part of me had to admire the elegance of Father’s manipulation, dangling freedom in front of us like bait, knowing we’d bite no matter the hook hidden inside. Another part, the part I rarely let surface, wondered if he cared at all about what happened to us in this arrangement. If we were just pieces on his chessboard, to be sacrificed for a better position against Arabesque.
Irrelevant,I decided.
We’d agreed, and we’d see it through. Not for him, but for ourselves. And if we had to outwit both a vampire king and a Dark witch to obtain our goals? Well, we’d had worse odds.
“Be at your new estate by Friday at the latest. I’ll order the last of your things taken out of storage and shipped there this afternoon.” Father reached for his tablet—apapertablet; he had very little patience for modern technology—and jotted down an address in perfectSpencerian script. “Congratulations on your impending nuptials. Let me know which day to send the officiant to conduct the ceremony.”
