“So when did this happen?” Reginald questioned while looking between Angel and me.
“Three years ago,” I blurted before Angel could stop me. I was going to be bound and gagged to his bed later. I just knew it.
“My dear, you don’t look old enough to have been married for three years. How have we’ve never heard about your marriage before?” Reginald directed the question to Angel, but it was I who answered.
“I was only sixteen when our fathers arranged for us to be married against—”
I never got to finish that sentence when Angel picked me up and hauled me over his shoulder before walking away, leaving his perplexed family behind.
He carried me into a room, dropped me on my feet none too gently, and shut the door. He kept his back turned, and his hands braced on the door. His shoulders moved as he breathed in and out deeply. A few moments passed before he turned and regarded me with his back against the door, seemingly calm.
“What the hell was that, Sprite?”
“You insist that this marriage our fathers forged is real, so I’m just playing the part, husband.”
“You think you can play this game, but let me enlighten you, wife, this isn’t a chess board. When you move your pieces, you better be goddamn sure of the play.”
“How can I be sure of anything if you keep secrets from me?”
“Reginald isn’t your fucking concern.”
“Then why does Lucas think I should hear it from you?”
He cursed and said, “What happens to you now is on you. Remember that.” He then ripped open the door. “Go upstairs and wait for me.” He didn’t speak after that, and neither did I. He was wound tight as he held the door open. Upstairs, I held my son and waited for the consequences of what I’d done.Chapter SixteenANGELIT WAS ALL I could do not to follow Mian back to our room and forget about the problem that showed up on my doorstep and the one that waited for me beyond it.
Her stunt had written her fate in stone. Once a Knight, you die a Knight.
There had been a rumor among my family regarding my willingness to produce an heir. Mian was a threat to Reginald and all of Alexander’s line. Not even Caylen was safe, even though the blood of Caylen’s father running through his veins ensured he could never inherit from me.
I found Reginald waiting in the grand library, standing before the original paintings of the Bandits. The ones in my father’s home were copycats he insisted having.
“Tell me why you’re really here.”
“I think I’ve been more than patient, Angeles. I suspect I’ve long had the right to claim your life. No one who carries our name will question my mercy when I do.” He paused as if in thought while an evil gleam filled his eyes. “You aren’t fit to rule, and once I prove it, your head is mine.”
“Since when did your line care for tradition? What do you think will happen to you when you try to sell the book?”
“I’m not as foolish as my grandfather. I’m going to wield it just like you, only for a better profit.”
“Getting fucked in the ass is okay as long as you’re getting paid to bend over, right?” I grinned, but he didn’t share my amusement. Instead, he turned to the makeshift bar my ancestors made out of the bookcase shelving and poured a drink.
With his back turned, he said, “Your friends Lucas and Zachariah are quite good at doing your job. Arturo trained them, did he not?”
I didn’t need to guess what he was hinting at. “They’d never work for you. You’ll be lucky if they don’t kill you if I die at your hands.”
“Every man wants money and power, Angeles. I’d be willing to offer them more than you’ve ever given them. What will happen to me then? Do you think your childish idea of brotherhood will survive when the worms are crawling from your skull, and you have only our dead ancestors to keep you company?”
He turned to face me with a confident grin curling the thin line of his lips. “The more you offer, the slower they’ll kill you.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” He shrugged. “I guess they’ll have to be taken care of as well. I’m a resourceful man. I may not have the muscle or skill for killing, but you shouldn’t underestimate me, cousin.”
“I make a point not to underestimate anyone,” I assured him.
“Hm. So your father did teach you something after all,” he whispered wistfully.
“Fuck. You.”
“Angeles, I am not your enemy nor am I the villain.” He slowly lifted the glass, but stopped just before the rim could touch his lips and said, “I am simply returning the mercy your line showed mine.”
He took a slow sip of his drink before moving toward the door and bumping my shoulder lightly on his way out. I stood alone in the library and pondered my next move. The gazes of all the Knights before me, including my father, bore down on me with expectancy within the gold that framed the paintings, but I only had eyes for Archibald Knight. The painter successfully captured the cold greed in his blue eyes.