Page 120 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

Maksim sees it.

I look up. “I’m fine.”

“I know.”

He sits beside me. “By evening, the men who matter will be here.”

The spoon goes still in my hand. “Why?”

“Because they need to hear it from me and see you beside me. You’re not listed collateral, open leverage, or a question for council. You hold the legal body, I hold the operational grant, and our child holds the future line. No ally, council man, or enemy gets to interpret that differently after tonight.”

My throat goes dry. “So this is a meeting.”

“No.” His eyes stay on mine. “It’s a public claim.”

I set the spoon down.

He reaches out and touches my bandaged forearm with two fingers, careful around the gauze. “You won’t be decorative. You won’t stand behind me. You’ll stand where they can see you.”

“And what am I to you?”

His gaze drops to my mouth, then comes back to my eyes.

“Be ready by evening,” he says. “You’re going to hear my answer in front of everyone.”

36

ELENA

Maksim gets up from the bed. “Relax and rest,” he says. “This day is yours.”

He stops talking and looks at me for a long moment, almost as if he wants to say something more. Then he shakes his head quietly and walks out.

I finish my tray, and when I step into the hall, two guards straighten at once. They don’t look past me now. They look at me, lower their eyes, and move aside.

“Morning, Madam,” one says.

I incline my head and keep walking before my face gives me away.

The east corridor is already busy. A maid carries polished candlesticks in both arms, and a footman crosses with folded linens stacked to his chin. Two younger staff members stop talking when they see me, then step aside so fast one nearly backs into the wall. I slow down. Something is happening. No one tells me what.

Lidiya appears on the landing with a small notebook in her hand. Her black apron is tied perfectly today, and her hair is pinned so tightly it makes her look older than she is.

“Mrs. Wentworth asked me to bring you to the morning room,” she says, then swallows. “If that suits you, Madam.”

Madam. There it is again.

I look at her notebook. “Do I have a schedule now?”

Her cheeks turn pink. “Yes, Madam.”

She looks terrified for half a second, so I let it go and follow her down.

The house has its own pulse today. Men cross the office wing with phones at their ears, doors open and shut, and locks click behind them. A clerk from Leonid’s side hurries past with two folders pressed to his chest, then almost bows when he sees me. I don’t know whether to be alarmed or amused.

Mrs. Wentworth waits in the morning room with fabric swatches, flower samples, and a list written in her narrow hand. Lidiya stands near the sideboard with a pencil ready, looking serious.

“We need your opinion before the day gets any further,” Mrs. Wentworth says.