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Since she was old enough to ask her parents how they’d met, Romy had known she, too, would have an arranged marriage. She’d known she was the next leader of the Delacroix Coven even longer. Two extremely heavy burdens for a twenty-one-year-old to carry, and she didn’t want either responsibility.
For all the ways Romy complied with her mother and the coven, a piece of her was dying to break free, longing to be more than what was expected.
But for the unforeseeable future… conformity was her only choice.
“Of course I’m going to try. I don’t want Mom blowing a gasket. She still hasn’t recovered from your little stunt with the cinnamon rolls.”
“What can I say? I like cream cheese icing. It’s not my fault if I read Mom’s recipe wrong. Her handwriting is so messy.” Thora’s laughter resonated above them, and immediately, her hands went over her mouth.
“Shhh,” Romy chastised. “You know it’s way past your bedtime.”
“I’m almost a teenager. I should get to stay up past ten thirty.”
Romy clicked her tongue. “Take it up with the boss. I had a ten thirty bedtime until I graduated from high school. Those are the breaks for beingDelacroixroyalty.” She said the last words with exaggerated air quotes.
“Yeah, no joke,” Thora agreed, her voice an octave lower. “So why was Dane the one chosen for you? What makes him unique? Besides his intellectually good looks?”
The answer wasn’t complicated. Something aboutbloodlinesand thegreat and auspicious history of the Delacroix Coven. But it was more than Romy wanted to delve into tonight, especially with her eager sister who—in Romy’s opinion—was a million times better suited to carry on the family name than she could ever hope to be. “A bunch of crap. The coven’s breeding program is an exact art. We’re just the cattle.”
“Better not let your mother hear you talk like that, my little sunrise,” a deep voice said from the hallway. Their father, Cyril Delacroix, stepped inside Romy’s room and sat on the edge of the bed. Thora leaped over the pillows and into his lap when he opened his arms.
Romy smiled at the pet name he’d given her when she was born.My Andromeda is perfect, like the dawn. She’s my own little sunrise.The sisters shared a closer relationship with their dad than they did with their mom. Partly because Cassia’s duties often pulled her from their family but mostly because of Cyril’s gentle and nurturing demeanor. Their family called himFather Earthas an inside joke, a nod to his Element and kindhearted personality. He had been the one to kiss their skinned knees and tell them bedtime stories, and during school programs, they looked for Cyril’s face in the crowd.
Romy surmised her mom wasn’t jealous of the bond. In fact, she seemed grateful. Not only was Cassia the high priestess of the largest coven in Louisiana but she also presided over the High Council of Preternaturals, a demanding and exhausting job that required accountability and confidence in equal measure. All the more reason for Romy to abdicate—or whatever it was next-in-line high priestesses did.
“Hi, Daddy.” Thora kissed his cheek. “We were just talking about Romy’s newboyfriend, Dane.”
Romy’s good humor faded. “He’s not my boyfriend, Thora.”
“Yet.” She punctuated the word with a head nod. “Notyet. Hey, Dad, why was Dane chosen to be Romy’s mate? I think she knows but just doesn’t want to tell me.”
Cyril tapped his wrist, pretending it was a watch. “I’ll tell you, but then you’ve got to get to bed. Not enough sleep makes grumpy witches. Romy should know. She hates sleeping.”
“Maybe youneedto take some naps, sis, for your candescence to happen.” Thora grinned at her simple solution.
“Maybe so.” If only it was that easy for Romy to activate her powers, she would have taken all the naps in the world. No one had hassled her about her lack of skill as a witch, least of all Cyril and Thora. They’d been overly encouraging and supportive with Cyril coaching her every free minute available. Even her mom had reassured her that some of the most masterful conjurers were late bloomers.
But Romy couldn’t help holding herself to a higher standard. A witch had to be able to do more than change the color of a bedspread. A coven leader had to be able to do so much more. “So, Dad, tell this little monster what’s so great about Dane Teche.”
Before Cyril could answer, Thora’s hand went to her chest, and she coughed.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said quietly. “Just a catch in my throat. Tell us, please.”
“You two already know the reasons covens are female-led, I assume.”
“Our capabilities infinitely exceed our male counterparts!” Thora beamed as she recited from one of their sacred texts. Her smile dissolved as a dark thought passed over her eyes. “One day, I’m really going to be more powerful than you?”
Cyril agreed with a nod. “You already are, angel. Like Romy, you’re just waiting for candescence. Dane’s mother, Rosemary is a descendant of the prestigious Teche Coven from Romania and has shown exemplary healing capabilities throughout her life. Then there’s Dane’s father, Percy, he’s a master at controlling his Fire Element. Any of their sons will make a suitable match for Romy, and that strengthens our bloodline. Our lineage is as much about preservation as it is procreation.”
“But aren’t we all, like, related somehow?” Thora made a sour face.
“Distantly, yes, but most of those branches go way back.”
“Did you love Mom when you were sealed to her?” Romy surprised herself with her inquiry. She’d never questioned much about coven marriages because details gave her future as the high priestess validity. For years, she’d subscribed to the belief that disinterest would cause the cup to pass from her hands to another more suitable member, but there she was with a chosen mate and an appointment with an all-to-soon destiny.
Cyril swallowed hard as if he didn’t want to offer the truth. “No, I didn’t love her at the time. Not at all. ItoleratedCassia as she did me.”
