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“So you’ll be with me at all times?”
“Yes, per Cormac’s instructions,” Alixandra said.
“And after we’re married?”
“I’ll do what he asks me to do. I wouldn’t count on him relaxing the security surrounding you, though, especially once children come along.”
I gagged a little, but managed to cover it with my hand. Children hadn’t been part of our discussions.
“You don’t look excited about having children,” Alixandra noted.
I wasn’t. “Things are happening very quickly. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Cormac will want an heir, of course, and then…” She let her words trail away and didn’t finish her thought.
I wanted her to continue, but I couldn’t stomach any more talk of my future with Cormac. I avoided conversation after that.
“Adelice!” Cormac’s voice calls me back to the present, and I blink at him. “Minister Swander asked you to dance with him.”
“Of course,” I murmur, trying to remember who Minister Swander is. The name sounds familiar, but to my surprise the man who steps forward is young and handsome. I recall the last gala I attended at the Coventry—when Erik reminded me that every official was married. Swander’s wife must be nearby. I take his hand, ready to get it over with.
Minister Swander leads me onto the dance floor, keeping a proper amount of space between us and dancing formally, which is to say, stiffly. For a moment I wish I was dancing with Erik, but I immediately put the thought out of my head. Then I notice that with each careful step, he is leading me farther across the dance floor, farther from Cormac.
“Cormac has finally landed himself a new Creweler,” he says in a light tone.
I study him closely. He’s exactly how I imagine Cormac would have looked at the same age. Too slick, too quick with a smile.
“I suppose he has,” I respond. “Pardon my saying so, but you seem a little young to be a minister.”
“You seem a little young to be a Creweler.”
“Touché.”
“I was born into Ministry service,” he explains to me. “My father was an official.”
“Was?” I ask.
A confused look passes over the minister’s face. “He died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He waves off my regrets with the ease of someone who never mourned the loss.
“You weren’t close?” I guess.
“No, we were,” the minister assures me, “but that’s life.”
But it’s not life, I think. Not for the Guild. Officials don’t just die and ministers don’t forget what happened.
“How did your father die?” I press.
“Old age, of course.”
I can see I’m not going to get far with him, so I change the subject.
“Is your wife here?” I ask.
“I’m not married,” he says.
