Page 7 of The Pakhan’s Heir

I hear the door unlock and I sit up in bed, watching the door. Oh, thank God. My incarceration is over.

The door opens and my father walks in. His clothes look even more relaxed now—Polo shirt and slacks, tennis shoes that are a little too clean. “Good morning, my dear,” he says.

Maybe I’m too tired to be angry at him for locking me away. Maybe I just don’t care anymore. It’s not like this is the first time. “Good morning, Papa,” is all I have to say.

He smiles, then he walks all the way into the room and presents me with a saucer that has a cinnamon roll on it. “Brought you breakfast.”

He sits down on the bed and places the saucer between us. Out of all the breakfasts that he’s had carted up here, he’s never brought me anything sweet. This is a nice change of pace. I pick up the cinnamon roll and thank him.

“You’re welcome,” he says to me. He watches me take a bite, then he says, “We need to talk about your future, Nona.”

I blink. I finish my bite and start searching for another one as I turn the roll around in my hands. “My… future?” My mind immediately turns to my studies. I’ve been trucking along in Liberal Arts for the last three years and I still don’t know what I want to do once I graduate. I’ve flitted around to a few majors. Philosophy, Education, Physical Education… Honestly, I was kind of hoping that Papa hadn’t noticed.

“Yes,” he says. “I know how important school has been for you… but I think it’s time that you consider a different path now.”

“Papa,” I say, “I know I’ve been kind of vague about what I plan to do after school, but⁠—”

“What I’m saying is that you don’t have to worry about that any longer.” He pats me on my knee. “Things are going to change for you now that you’re home. I’ve already made the arrangements. You won’t be returning to college after your break ends.”

A tiny sliver of terror pierces my stomach. “What do you mean?”

He stands and takes a few steps away from me. “As I’m sure you probably overheard,” he says, “I am trying to broker peace with the Rostov brotherhood, or so I would have them believe. There have been some… developments that have given me a reason to think that they are now too weak to continue in earnest. Their numbers are decreasing. They’re not making as much money as they used to. This puts the Irkutsks in a very good position to crush them once and for all. For once, we may have the advantage against them.”

Oh. My heart sinks a little. He’s not actually trying for real peace with his rival at all. Dammit. I sigh and set my cinnamon roll back down on the saucer, wiping my hands on my comforter.

“Okay. So, you’re planning some kind of coup. What does that have to do with my future?”

“I need a spy, Dochurka. One who can get into their most intimate settings. Close enough to sit as adjacent to the throne as possible.”

I’m still lost. A spy? I don’t understand what that could possibly do with me. He has plenty of spies working for him. He must see the confusion on my face because the next thing he says is, “You are going to be married to Fedor Molotov’s son, Nona.”

I blink, dumbfounded. “What?”

“It’s all being arranged. You will meet him for dinner at a very expensive, very nice restaurant. You two can talk, get to know one another⁠—”

“Wait, Papa… married?” I can’t believe my ears. How is he talking about this like it’s nothing? “I can’t get married. I’m not ready to get married. And I don’t even know Fedor Molotov’s son.”

“That’s why I have arranged the dinner,” he says, his smile fading. “And besides, all you need to know about him right now is that he is Fedor’s top Brigadier, his right hand, and the one among their brotherhood who has his ear. Marry him and you will be privy to every move they make.”

I just gape at him. “But,” I manage to utter, “I don’t love him. I don’t even know if I’ll like him. You want me to marry a man I barely know?”

“This isn’t about love or affection, Nona. None of that matters. This marriage is a political arrangement. Nothing more, nothing less. You will marry him under the guise of loyalty to this brotherhood and to the cause of peace. You will be doing this for the greater good, Nona.”

“But Papa⁠—”

“This is not a debate,” he says, his face deepening into a scowl. I’m on the edge of punishment once more, so I close my mouth. “You will meet him and you will marry him, and once you do, you will spy on the Rostovs for me. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

“Good. I’m glad we understand one another.” He walks toward the door. “Get yourself together. I’m having Nikolai take you shopping. You need to get a proper dress for the dinner. And I do mean proper. I expect you to look like a lady tonight.”

“I always look like a lady.”

“You know what I mean. No man wants to marry a prostitute. I expect a modest cocktail dress for this dinner.”

I have nothing I can say, so all I mutter is “Yes, sir.” He leaves, and I’m left with this information floating around in my head.

Married? Married? Even if it’s fake, I don’t know this man. I haven’t even considered a future where I’d be someone’s wife. At least not this soon.