He steps forward just far enough to take it, careful not to touch my hand. Angling it to catch the firelight, he arches a brow. “And what is this now?”
“A Covenant of Stewardship,” I say, sliding the parchment toward him.
His lips twitch into something like amusement. “And why, may I ask, would I do that?”
I don’t raise my voice. I don’t have to. “Because until Katherine is married, the law still recognizes you as her guardian,” I say evenly. “Her property. Her protection. Her future. All of it remains under your authority.”
His amusement falters.
“The Fairchild ranch will remain in our family in perpetuity,” I continue. “It cannot be sold, divided, or seized. Succession will pass through female heirs only.”
I take a step closer.
“The bride price will be paid directly into the ranch for five years. Every worker currently employed will retain their position—or the right to remain on the land for life. Their children, and their children’s children, will be afforded the same protection.”
He says nothing.
“You will sign,” I add quietly. “Or I will make sure the Council learns what really happened the night I ended my engagement to Councilman Grey’s son.”
Lori’s voice cuts through the silence, tight with apprehension. “What is she talking about, Roland?”
Roland. I’d almost forgotten my father’s real name. I haven’t heard it in years.
“Father?” Kat asks shakily.
The practiced mask of a councilman overshadows his features. “Nothing, my dears. Clearly, Selene is not feeling well. Would you excuse us for a moment?” He pats Lori’s hand with a patronizing smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, then turns to Kat. “Come along.”
As they move toward the door, he inclines his head with the courtly grace of a man who’s spent a lifetime turning virtue into theater. “This will only take a moment,”he assures them, pausing by the doorway just long enough to let them through.
When the door closes behind them, he turns toward the hearth, and the fire hurls orange across his jaw. He holds the parchment aloft as if displaying a trophy and then, with a victorious little smirk, tosses it into the flames.
The paper catches instantly, devouring the ink. The seal bubbles and screams like a small animal. He watches the contract curl and curl, as though he’s burning away any chance of bargaining. His thin laughter cuts through the crackling of the fire. “There. Let the embers be the final say.”
A dozen things rise in me—fear, rage, the old reflex to beg Rexen for forgiveness of his sins—but I stay still. I have practiced this silence a thousand times, and I will not grant him the satisfaction of seeing me falter. The room leans toward him like a tide. But I’m done playing his games, and I still have one more trick, one final move to bring this king to checkmate.
“I have the document, Father,” I say, voice low and steady, the words like steel. “You know the one. With your seal. Your signature. And that of the official it was meant to appease.”
For a second, he goes utterly still, like an insect trapped in amber. A drop of sweat slides down his brow in the reflection of the hearth’s heat, and his arrogant smile vanishes. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again, as if trying to recall a line he’s rehearsed a thousand times yet still forgotten at the critical moment.
A soft knock interrupts us, a sound that would be so ordinary on any other day. But now it feels like a herald, a harbinger of the dreadful death that awaits me in the cold tides of the lake.
Neither of us moves to answer. The knock comes again, sharper this time, and a moment later, the door swings inward.
Though Father tries not to flinch, a paleness creeps across his face, tiny beads pebbling his temples. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even blink. For a heartbeat, I seehimagain—not my father, but the man he offered me to.
His hands on my arms. The acrid smell of cloves and smoke. The panic clawing up my throat when I realized no one was coming to save me. How no one believed me.
I snap back to the present, pulse racing, just as the door opens to reveal…
Aaron.
He steps through, clean and composed in a dark, embroidered tunic. His eyes meet mine, and something silent passes between us. He walks in with the ease of a man twice his age, shoulders squared, every step deliberate.
“I believe this is what you requested,” he says, holding out a scroll. “Straight from my father’s estate. Signed and sealed.”
My father’s mouth twitches again, but this time, there’s bitterness beneath it. “What’s this?” he snaps, snatching the parchment.
“As the newly appointed official for all documents pertaining to land inheritance and marriage under the office of my father,” Aaron replies smoothly, “this is a legally bindingcontract confirming that Ms. Katherine Fairchild has my father’s endorsement as steward of Fairchild Ranch and all its lands following Ms. Selene Fairchild’s departure effective midnight tonight. Though still under the age of majority, she is free to take up full residence and, as the beneficiary of a Bloodmoon Bride, receive an annual sum for five years.
