“So you wish to tie Dasha to me, so unfeeling as you stated, so she can be miserable? How will that in any way appease Zarethiel?” he argued, cursing himself for allowing a hint of fury leaking through.
“You will be obliged to make her happy. Does that make sense?” His sister cocked her head to the side, studying him in a way that gave the impression she thought him stupid.
“Like Stadiel does to you?” The moment the words left his lips, he knew they were the wrong ones to say.
The Koron rose to his full height and stomped toward the Issaraeth.
He merely held his ground and lifted his chin in defiance. He’d done so much for them, and he couldn’t believe they wouldn’t let him refuse the one thing he never wanted.
“Your sister is plenty pleased,” the Koron hissed in his ear.
The Issaraeth didn’t flinch, merely shouldered past, headed toward the exit doors. “I do not need to know how you fuck my sister, Stadiel.” Why they always flaunted their sex life in front of him, he would never understand.
The Korona was on her feet and racing after her brother a moment later. Her nails dug into his arm as she tried and failed to stop his retreat. “If you don’t marry her, I will take away all memories of our mother.”
Still, he stalked away, dragging her with him.
“Except for the final one where you watched her die.”
The Issaraeth froze, crimson tinting his vision while his stomach plummeted. “You wouldn’t.”
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect our realm from those beasts,” she snarled. “Unlike you.”
He whirled on his sister, large frame vibrating with barely contained violence. “You have no idea the sacrifices I have made, Iaoth. How about a fucking thank you every once in a while?”
“I’ll say thank you when House Räviel’s sigil ring sits on Dasha’s finger,” she hissed under her breath. “Stadiel is certain of this path. I tried to dissuade him. But my position is fragile at the moment. He’ll blame me if you disobey. And you know what he does to those who disappoint him.”
The Issaraeth raked his hands through his hair, messing up the perfect knot. He had a duty to protect his family. And his sister was all he had left.
She looked up at him with eyes like a doe’s—fearful and pleading.
“I’m sorry I threatened your memories.”
The Issaraeth knew she wasn’t sorry. In fact, her words were pure manipulation.
The words branded over his heart burned with a phantom pain.
“Herr Elyriane and his daughter, Dasha, to see the Koron and Korona,” a male servant spoke in the distance.
“Please, Vaeron,” his sister begged one last time. But beneath the cruelty she wore like a shield, desperation cracked through.
The doors opened. The Issaraeth dipped his eyes closed and dragged in a long breath. He bowed to no one—not in spirit—but his father had beaten compliance into his bones long ago.
“Fine.”
The word tasted like ash from a funeral pyre. He agreed, even though he knew it was a silver cage closing over him.
Brother and sister broke apart just as the clicking of heels echoed across the marble floor.
The Korona returned to her throne, her husband already seated and waiting, not a hair out of place and no frustration decorating his cheeks.
Father and daughter approached while the Issaraeth waited off to the side, taking in the female that was to be his wife.
The Herr, his robes fine and dripping in silver thread, knelt at the feet of his monarchs. Beside him, his daughter did the same. Her gown—a white so pure it signaled only one thing—pooled around her. Even her skin seemed to shimmer as the midday sun peaked through the clouds and fell over her.
He felt nothing at the sight of her striking beauty. No spark. No pull. Only the weight of inescapable inevitably. Of shackles clicking into place.
“Herr Elyriane, I am pleased to offer you an exciting match for your daughter,” the Koron said.
