Page 99 of A Cruel Kindness

I was pretty sure I’d stopped breathing.

My sanity withered away with the paper disintegrating in my hand.

“I can’t marry him,” I said, the words falling from my lips and horribly true.

I couldn’t. The Bond was making that fact very, very known, angered by the simple utterance of the word marriage if it didn’t concern Soren.

Oh my god, Soren.

“You will,” my father said.

My head snapped up to find him leaning against his desk with a smug expression on his face. All of the sudden, things got very, very clear to me. “You wanted this,” I said, not quite believing the words.

My father just shrugged. Shrugged. “I must say you did me a wonderful favor deciding to run off to the priestesses. I had intended to push Muli into doing something desperate by ignoring their pleas. There is no better way to figure out someone’s weakness than to see them when their patience cracks.” I’d known my father was maniacal, but this was an entirely different level of apathy that I hadn’t known him capable of. “Once I found out that you would be absconding to Muli, I’d considered the best way to utilize your talent. Had the Prince not reached that decision himself, I would have eventually extended your hand.”

“I’m … I can’t—my hand isn’t available.” My defenses were weak, but I was still trying to wrap my head around this.

My father cocked his head, considering, “Are you married? I can have a priestess issue a quick divorce.”

I shook my head, forcing down tears. “I’m a paranima. I can’t get married.” Panic pushed out a rush of other suggestions. “I can be an emissary. I can travel back and forth and try to negotiate a peace treaty.”

“And why would I trust you when you broke into my office? For all I know you were the catalyst for this new suggestion.” My father’s face was entirely void of emotion, which was his scariest, most threatening form. That told me that he had no qualms throwing me in a cell for treason if I didn’t cooperate.

Or worse, go after the people I loved. "You wouldn't," I gasped.

My father simply chuckled. "Oh, but I would. I orchestrated Soren's drafting in the first place. That young boy was a bit too charismatic for my liking. Something I'm sure you've noticed." My cheeks heated, my father calling out how deeply Soren affected me like it was a bad thing. "I have no problems doing it again."

I'd always known my father was to blame, but now he'd admitted it. Now, my family was actually responsible for Soren's pain. I refused to cause him any more.

Well, it seemed like I would hurt him regardless. I would just pick the lesser of two evils.

“In fact,” my father said, pushing off his desk and walking toward me. His hand lifted to my chin and I forced myself not to flinch away. “I think your status makes you the perfect candidate. I certainly couldn’t bear sending my only daughter away with no way to return to me. Let alone the fact that you would certainly suffer side effects of Crossing, one of which might affect your health so much you wouldn’t be able to carry on the Edelstenne line.”

My father pushed my chin away, forcing me to stumble back a step. “Now,” he said, rounding his desk and taking a seat in front of a stack of Empire letterhead, “In the absence of a woman of Royal Vir blood who is able to Cross by themselves, I will be accepting this engagement.”

Something in his words forced me towards searching for another solution. There had to be some other way for me to fight this. I opened my mouth to protest, to say anything, but he cut me off with a raised hand. “And understand that if you refuse, I will simply remove the individual you deem an impediment to this situation.”

Terror, more potent than anything I’d ever known, poured into every inch of my body.

No. No. You must protect him. You have to protect him. You can’t —the Bond was wailing, begging me on its knees to keep Soren safe.

My father wouldn’t kill him. No, he was smarter than that. He wouldn’t risk me following Soren into death.

He would lock him up, likely in a form of abhorrent torture, if I didn’t agree.

“I—” I had to cut myself off and clear my throat to make sure I got the words out. “I accept.”

“Smart,” my father said with a horrid grin. He picked up his ink pen and I watched in terrified silence as he inked a response to the Prince, promising him my hand.

How was the Prince even okay with this? Surely Elijah had told him I was Matched.

Maybe that didn’t mean all that much in the face of war.

It certainly felt like it did.

When my father was done, I watched as he pressed a letter opener into his thumb, drawing a drop of blood before placing it into hot wax and transferring it to the enclosed letter in front of him.

With the press of the family seal to set it, my fate was decided and the blood seal finalized.