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“We’ll work out the details of an alliance after I speak with my daughter. If she agrees, you can have it all. The alliance, the protection,” Cillian directed those words toward Alex, and he nodded his agreement. Then Cillian’s eyes flicked over to me as he said, “And Rory can stay with you.Ifyou marry her.”
I was glad for it, because no matter Cillian’s response, the end result of this conversation would’ve been the same. Rory would stay with me, with or without Cillian’s permission. And if our conversation had ended in bloodshed and bullets instead of bargains and blessings, Rory still would’ve ended up as mine.
Chapter 9
Rory
I sat downstairswith Ames and Wren, eyes lingering on the stairs long after the door to Alex’s office shut. I wasn’t sure what discussions were going on behind the closed door, but something told me it was important. Wren tucked a coffee cup into my palms, not bothering to try to shift my attention from the conversation that would likely determine my future.
I heard Wren and Ames as they spoke in quiet voices in the living room, but I didn’t process their words, too focused on the door at the top of the stairs. When I was younger, I used to sneak to my father’s study and press my ear to the door to hear his business dealings. I was too old for that now, too big to sneak around without being caught, but I still had the urge.
After half an hour, the door finally opened, and I was on my feet before I consciously told my body to move. My coffee had long gone cold in my hands, but I held it anyway, using it to ground me to the moment. I felt on edge, lungs tight, desperate to run before it all overwhelmed me. The edges of my vision faded away as my ears rang, eyes unseeing until I felt palms on my cheeks, tilting my head back until I was looking into a worried set of brown eyes.
The eye contact allowed me to take my first full breath in an hour, lungs pulling in the air deep enough for my chest to brush his.
“I’m okay,” I said once my ears had stopped ringing, blushing as I noticed everyone’s attention settled on me. I hated seeing the worry in their eyes. It was partially why I liked to run off my anxiety, so that I could have a moment of peace to break down. But I supposed that luxury was gone now, my security more necessary now than it had been in the past. I was thankful my father hadn’t come down with the rest of them, but Ames and Wren’s concern was embarrassing enough.
Dev’s hands moved from my cheeks to my ponytail, and he wrapped the length of my hair around his fist in a movement that niggled the back of my consciousness. He leaned in close enough that our noses almost touched, bringing my eyes back to his, and I felt better focusing on him instead of everyone’s attention on me.
“Your dad wants to talk with you.”
The breath of his whisper brushed against my lips, and I had to hold back a shiver at the intimacy of the moment. I attempted to pull my face further from his, but he only pressed closer, until his forehead was against mine. I watched as his eyes closed, felt his eyebrow wrinkle against my own, watched as his face transformed into one that pleaded alongside his voice.
“Please don’t hate me for this.”
I knocked lightlyon the door as I inched it open, peeking around the corner until I met my father’s eyes. He looked tired, older, and I hated that I was partially responsible. Or at least, the threat against my life was. The chair next to him was vacant,and he motioned for me to take it before reaching out to pull my hands into his. Between his concerned look and the words Dev whispered against my lips, I fully expected them to say I was doomed. So I was surprised when his words were optimistic.
“Their little team has a good idea. A way to guarantee your safety while we continue to look into the threat against you.”
“Great! What is it?”
He winced, and I stiffened, immediately worried about whatever idea Alex, Bex, and Dev had come up with. The three had seemed nice enough, but I suddenly remembered that I barely knew any of them. They could ask for my firstborn, my soul, anything. And I’d probably have to hand it over. I wasn’t stupid, which meant I recognized the three were my best bet at safety. My father’s bodyguards hadn’t been enough the day before, and the security measures they’d put in place when I was a child somehow weren’t enough to protect my identity. My attacker had been standing on my street, and the person coming after me knew who I truly was. All the safety I’d thought I’d been afforded had suddenly disappeared beneath my feet.
“An alliance. A marriage alliance.” Dad spit the words out quickly, as if ripping off a band-aid.
“What?” I couldn’t help but pull back, my spine hitting the back of my chair and preventing me from cringing any further away. “Dad, you promised I wouldn’t have to have a political marriage. I-”
“Parley,” he cut me off before the panic Dev had eased returned fully. He attempted to smile at our code word, but the expression fell flat, tension still tight around his eyes and mouth.
I’d been obsessed with pirates as a kid, which meant Dad had watched Keira Knightley request a parley dozens of times before I finished the sixth grade. I remembered the first time he’d used it, the summer before seventh grade, as I pouted in my room. I’d asked to go away for summer camp, jealous after overhearingsome of my classmates talk about a two-week-long camp for horseback riding.
It was back when I was old enough to recognize my circumstances, but still young enough to resent them. For some reason, the idea that I’d never go to summer camp hit me hard, even when my dad broke the news to me gently. I’d hidden in my room all day, refusing meals and any attempts my dad or Cormac made to speak with me.
Late that night, my father crept into my bedroom with a giant slice of cake, holding it in front of me as he asked, “Parley?”
I’d smiled at his reference to the movies I’d made him watch ad nauseam, allowing him to sit next to me on my bed and share the slice of cake he’d brought me. He apologized for being unable to send me to camp and laid out every safety concern that prevented it. I felt like an adult, hearing him explain his reasoning rather than simply refusing what I wanted.
He promised to make it up to me, and he did, surprising me with a gelding a few weeks later. He even had a trainer come out and teach me to ride it each day that summer.
Ever since, we called parley whenever one of us needed the other to listen while withholding all judgment and comments. Over the years, as I grew up and stopped asking for as many impossible things, it became a rarity to say the word. Dad and I were close, so there wasn’t the need to use our code word.
But knowing the word was around always set me at ease. I’d called it when I decided to move out of the house a few years ago. My father was so concerned about my immediate safety that he failed to listen to all the planning I’d put into it. But after I called parley, he settled down and listened to the plotting Cormac and I had done to ensure my safety.
We hadn’t used it since. And the fact that he was calling it out meant he was serious. Parley didn’t guarantee an agreement, butit guaranteed an open conversation, so I clenched my jaw shut as he continued.
“You’re in danger. That’s clear to everyone. And sure, I could lock you in the house, cover you in security, and hope that was enough. But…” Dad trailed off, and I filled in the unspoken words.
“You’re not sure that it is.”
