“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward one of the chairs facing his massive mahogany desk.
I remained standing. “I’d prefer not to.”
His blue eyes, similar to mine but far colder, narrowed slightly. “That wasn’t a request, Archer.”
I sat.
Father moved around to his side of the desk but didn’t take his own seat. Instead, he loomed over me in that way he’d perfected when Amelia and I were children. The way that made you feel small and insignificant and painfully aware of every way you’d disappointed him.
“Would you care to explain what that performance was about?” His voice was deadly quiet, which was somehow worse than if he’d been shouting.
“I was being a supportive brother,” I said, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. “Sharing information about Amelia’s...uniquequalities.”
“Unique qualities.” He repeated the words like they tasted bitter. “You mean the lies you just told about your sister in front of some of the most influential families in our social circle.”
“Were they lies, though?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “Amelia is independent. She doesn’t like being told what to do. And she did break that guy’s leg last year, though admittedly it was during sparring practice, not some random act of violence.”
Father’s jaw tightened. “You know exactly what you were doing, Archer. And you know exactly why the Pemberton family connection is important to us right now.”
“Because we need to distance ourselves from the Voss scandal,” I said. “You’ve mentioned that several times.”
“Then you understand why sabotaging a potential alliance is not only foolish but actively harmful to this family’s interests.”
I stood up, no longer able to sit still under his disapproving stare. “Maybe Amelia doesn’t want to be sold off to the highest bidder. Maybe she wants to make her own choices about who she marries, if she marries anyone at all.”
“This isn’t about what Amelia wants,” Father snapped, his carefully controlled facade cracking slightly. “This is aboutfamily responsibility. Something you seem to have forgotten exists.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I shot back, feeling my own control slip. “I’ve spent my entire life being the perfect son. Perfect grades, perfect behavior, perfect compliance with every rule and expectation you’ve ever set. But I draw the line at watching you auction off my sister like prize livestock.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Father stared at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read, while I tried to process the fact that I’d just said all of that out loud. To his face. Without thinking it through first or considering the consequences.
“Sit down,” he said finally, his voice even quieter than before.
This time I obeyed immediately, my brief surge of rebellion already fading into familiar anxiety. Father moved to the window, looking out at the perfectly manicured gardens that Mother spent a fortune maintaining.
“Do you think this is easy for us?” he asked without turning around. “Do you think your mother and I enjoy the constant political maneuvering, the careful balancing of alliances and obligations?”
I didn’t answer, mostly because I genuinely wasn’t sure.
“The Voss situation nearly destroyed us, Archer. Theodore’s...choices... reflected poorly on every family associated with them. We’ve spent months rebuilding relationships, proving our loyalty to the right people, ensuring that our children’s futures aren’t compromised by someone else’s scandal.”
He turned back to face me, and for a moment he looked older than his years. Tired.
“Constantine Pemberton represents stability. His family has never been involved in any controversies, they have extensive business connections throughout the magical community, and an alliance with them would secure Amelia’s position in society.It would also demonstrate our commitment to traditional values.”
“Traditional values,” I repeated, the words leaving a sour taste in my mouth. “You mean like arranged marriages and treating women like bargaining chips.”
“I mean like family loyalty and understanding that individual desires sometimes must be secondary to collective well-being.”
I stared at him, trying to reconcile this conversation with the man who used to read me bedtime stories and teach me chess on Sunday afternoons. When had he become so...cold?
“What about what makes Amelia happy?” I asked quietly.
“Happiness is a luxury, Archer. Security is a necessity.” He moved back to his desk, finally sitting down across from me. “Besides, Constantine is a perfectly acceptable young man. Educated, well-mannered, from a good family. Amelia could do far worse.”
“She could also do far better.”
“Such as?”
