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I’m stronger than you now,I hear myself think.I can kill you if I want to.
Strong hands grip my shoulders and neck. The next thing I know, I’m being hauled off the table away from my father. My head’s spinning, there are shouts. When my eyes refocus, I realise Ben and a few of his security guards are in the room now, reviving my father, shouting at me.
Jeffrey is gone, probably scared off like the coward he is.
Ben holds a gun to the centre of my forehead as I lay on the ground, panting. I spit in his direction. There’s blood in my mouth, somehow—did my father punch me there? I can’t remember. I touch the side of my face and it comes away wet and sticky. The ache from where he smashed the glass against my skull has gone deeper.
I’ve felt worse.
I’m not sure how long I lay there, Ben glaring at me with his finger on the trigger. His body’s so huge I can’t even see what’s happening with my father behind him. Part of me hopes he dies. It would solve all my problems. Fuck the Empire. Alize and I can rebuild something better.
“What are your orders, sir?” Ben asks, his finger twitches on the trigger.
I grin, a sharp yelp of laughter slipping from me. “You’d better fucking hope I die the first time,” I tell Ben.
He sneers, and there’s the flash of some sort of remorse in his eyes.
Of course, Ben is just a pawn in my father’s game, like everyone else. But I’m certain Wesley wouldn’t hold a gun to my head, even at my father’s behest. There are levels to the trust I can give these people, and Ben deserves none of it.
“Leave us.” My father’s voice is weaker, winded.
Ben turns to look over his shoulder. “Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes I’m fucking sure, dimwit. All of you, get out! I want to speak to Alexander alone.”
Speak?He has a death wish, it seems.
Reluctantly, Ben and the other soldiers leave. Leaving me alone with my father. He’s still in his seat, bruises forming by his collar and on his cheek where I punched him. I catch a glimpse of myself in the polished brass coat of arms hanging behind him between two bookcases.
My grey shirt is speckled with blood and my lip is swollen. Crimson soaks the side of my head. It’s matted in my hair, and from the looks of it, it’s still pouring. I’ll need to see the doctor after this—what fucking irony when I planned to take Alize there for her cold.
“You may think our situation and your election win have changed things around here, but it hasn’t,” my father begins. He stands on shaky legs, walking over to the bar cart to make himself a drink.
He’s brave to turn his back to me after what just happened. I try to move, but the whole world sways. I’m hurt worse than I thought, it seems. So I settle into the chair, blinking until my vision clears a little.
“You’rejustmy heir. You don’t run the Empire, or anything else that happens around here for that matter. The quicker you remember that, the simpler things will be for you and that bitch.”
I clench my fists. “Call her by hername.”
“Shut up and listen.” He slams his glass on the table. “You have a week to call off that sham you’ve got with her and send her back to whatever crevice you extricated her from. You’re going to marry Ottilie. I planned to marry her off to you all along, since she has one thing we’ll always need.” He finally turns back toward me, and there’s venom in his eyes. “Clean money, andbillionsof it.”
It's ridiculous that he wants me to marry her when we don’t needmoney. What we need ispowerwithin the criminal underworld if the Empire is to be saved, and Ottilie will never give me that. All the money in the world can’t buy back the territory we’ve lost to the Beneventis, or even the loyalty of our allies.
I have my own plan for that power—the Kingmaker Society.
My father keeps talking before I can interject. Is he speaking slower than usual? My vision starts to swim. I rub my eyes with the back of my hand.
“There’s no room for negotiation, boy. I’ve made up my mind, and this is what you will do.”
“Or else what?” I slur. I would sooner die than marry Ottilie, or anyone elseapartfrom Alize. I love her more than life itself, and I want a future with her, whatever it will look like. “I’m not going to marry Ottilie.”
“Oh, but you will,” he says pulling a smile. “If you don’t, I will cut you out of my will. You’ll be destitute. Let’s see how much she likes you after that.”
“I don’t need your money,” I spit. “Mum left me plenty.”
My father’s laugh fills the room. It’s grating, like nails on a chalkboard.
“She did, but who do you think is the trustee of her estate, stupid boy?” he hisses, taking a long sip of his drink.
