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If she wants to play a power game, she picked the wrong battlefield. Books are my territory. If I keep my head down and rely on my training, I can survive this until I can go home.

“Are the archives organized by chronology or by clan?” I ask, focusing on the bindings.

Solveig stops pacing. “By obligation.”

The answer is so thoroughly kraken that I almost sigh.

She steps closer behind me. “As you can imagine, Valerie, I brought you here for a reason. A librarian such as yourself will no doubt understand the value of these tomes.”

I shut the massive ledger. The cover hits the stone table with a solid smack, and I press my palms against the binding before looking up at her.

“It is a beautiful collection, Madam. The preservation spells on these bindings are remarkable.”

Solveig resumes pacing around the reading table. Her expression makes it clear that compliments about archival maintenance are not the reaction she expected.

“The books hold the history of our house.” Her gaze pins me to the chair. “A history you are now, unfortunately, a part of.”

I keep my hands on the closed cover, bracing myself for whatever archaic legal trap she is about to spring on me.

The steady click of her cane ceases when Solveig steps directly into my line of sight. She leans forward, resting her weight against the smooth stone across from me.

“I can’t say I agree with my son’s choice, but it’s no longer something we can change.”

The contract I signed in Sigurd’s office was a simple, transactional guarantee. I agreed to act as his date at Rakan and Iris’s wedding, and in exchange, Sigurd swore to protect Saltweather. There were rules about what we had to do together, and very clear boundaries about what we didn’t. Things had gone wrong, but after my conversation with Sigurd, I’d believed we had cleared things up somewhat.

Clearly, Solveig didn’t agree.

“The ritual on the mountain was an accident, Madam,” I say. “It doesn’t have to carry any weight.”

“That accident injected abyssal venom into your veins,” Solveig counters. “Intent is irrelevant to the biology. No matter my personal opinions on humans, the ritual was initiated. As far as the laws of this house are concerned, you are married to my son. You are his mate.”

The word lands harder than I expect.

Married. His mate.

For several seconds, I have to bite back the frantic urge to defend myself. I want to tell her about the fraudulent arrangement, the eviction, Cassian’s glowing gold ink, and every clause I read twice before putting my name on the page.

Saltweather is my home, the only true foundation I possess in the world. I won’t forfeit my independence because of a biological technicality in an underwater court.

But shouting any of that at Solveig will accomplish nothing. Human paperwork means very little to a creature who commanded the tides before the invention of the printing press. If I start screaming about contracts now, I won’t sound defiant. I’ll sound like exactly the helpless surface-dweller she already thinks I am.

I loosen my grip on the book and force my expression back into something calm. “I see.”

“As a result, you must now learn how to be a proper kraken mate,” Solveig commands. “I will not have my son tied to a liability.”

She watches me closely, waiting for the panic to set in. She expects me to cry, beg, or break down at the thought of being trapped here. Instead, I fold my hands in my lap and reach for the same calm, professional voice I use on aggressive patrons back in Saltweather.

“Thank you, Madam. I appreciate you taking the time to instruct me.”

For the first time since I entered the library, Solveig looks genuinely taken aback.

“I assumed you would weep,” she says. “Or demand to see my son.”

“Tears won’t change the biology, Madam, just like intent doesn’t.” I sit straighter against the stone chair. “And Sigurd has a maritime empire to run. I doubt he has the time to hold my hand while I read a book.”

Solveig tilts her head. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders as she studies me.

I don’t need to learn how to be a proper kraken mate. I’m going back to the surface the second this magic clears my system. But arguing with this creature is useless, and if she wants to treat me like an ignorant surface-dweller, I can play her game on my territory.