As the scion of both bloodlines, I’m the weapon they’ve always dreamed of.
A tool to be wielded.
A toy to be played with.
“Father.” He inclines his head to acknowledge my greeting, but otherwise remains silent.
Ah. He’s in a mood. Walking to the liquor cabinet in the opposite corner, I pour myself a glass of Louis XIII. It’s not my favorite, but it burns on the way down, fortifying me for whatever he has in store.
“If I’d known you were incapable of completing this task on time, I would have done it myself.”
I swallow a large mouthful of fiery cognac before answering in the same bored tone.
“Perhaps if you had made the request as Councilman it could have been expedited. I’m sure there are plenty of Potionmasters who would have been honored to fulfill the order.” I set the stoppered bottle on his desk and I make my way to the couch in front of the fire with an ease I don’t feel.
“You know very well that would have raised questions.”
“Such as, ‘why would you possibly need a potion capable of inhibiting accelerated healing’?” He turns at my impudence, glaring daggers at me over the rim of my glass.
“I caution you against future delays, Roth. You won’t enjoy the consequences.” He lets his power fill the space between us until the air becomes oppressive with the sinister threat.
“I only ever endeavor to serve House Ignis, Father.” His eyes narrow at my slight. Because whileIam the heir to the illustrious House Ignis,heis merely the consort by marriage—a fact I’ve never failed to remind him of. Which is perhaps notthe most prudent choice given his long-held resentment towards me.
“See that you do.” He reaches for his own glass on the mantle and downs what’s left before sitting on the couch across from me. His red eyes glow with the light of the fire, and his monstrous shadow stretches the length of the room, crawling up the wall—a subtle reminder of my own that his demon lurks just beneath the surface, ready and eager to make an example of me.
Again.
“How are your studies?” he asks—not out of concern, of course—but the first act of our performance as devoted father and dutiful son. He still believes in the need for the song and dance before issuing his next order, as if it’s enough negate the promise of pain if I fail to follow it. After a few stilted answers, he finally gets to the point.
“Calanthe Beauchamp.”
“What of her?” I crook my eyebrow.
“I’ve entered into negotiations with her family for your betrothal.”
He can negotiate all he wants, it will never happen. But I play his game nonetheless. “I’m surprised you would consider her.”
“She has a healthy dose of witch blood and minor cadet branches of both Wrath and Ignis in her pedigree. Your children would be wield fire, Wrath, Lust, and primordial magic. The combination would be quite potent.”
“You think her pedigree is to be believed? This is Lust, after all. For all we know, it’s just as likely she’s a bastard as trueborn.” He waves off my comments, but I can see the seed of doubt I’ve planted take root.
“When the Samhain Masquerade is announced next week, you will invite her to attend as your date. I expect you to make an effort to gain her favor.”
“Should she not be attempting to gainmyfavor?”
“She will be similarly instructed.” Of course she will be. I nod my head in feigned agreement rather than acknowledging the task that’s been set before me.
“How are things on the Council?”
“Soren’s extended absence is becoming problematic. Has Thane mentioned when he’ll be back from his latest ‘honeymoon’?” He sneers at his fellow Councilman’s attempt to father more progeny. Despite my status as an only child, he prides himself on molding me into the man I am today, as opposed to Soren, who fucked off in pursuit of more heirs as soon as Thane could wipe his own ass. “Quality over quantity”, he’d preach during my “lessons”.
“He mentioned summering in Europe, but had no further details.”
My father merely grunts in acknowledgment. “If he wants another Heir so badly he should just follow Preston’s example and leave a trail of bastards in his wake,” he mutters, “surely that’s easier than marrying the women, for Fate’s sake.”
Right. Because Killian’s father is a shining example of success when you don’t factor trivial things like consent into the equation. “I can only imagine his motivations,” I respond noncommittally before standing. “I will speak to Calanthe about the Masquerade.”
“See that you do. If negotiations progress as intended, her family will be joining us for Saturnalia.” I nod, but before I can turn around the heavy office door opens behind me, and I still at the sound of my mother’s familiar footsteps.
