Page 3 of Ivory Ashes

“Unfit to what?” Trofim slurs.

Mikhail moves closer. “Unfit to lead and to marry Viviana.”

I should be fighting for breath, but I’m too busy being shocked Mikhail even knows my name.

Why does he care who I marry? What does it matter to him if his brother is an abusive asshole?

“Oh, wait. Wait a minute. Is this—Are you trying to make up for past mistakes?” Trofim chuckles. “Holy fuck. I mean, come on, Mikhail, it’s funny, isn’t it? You standing here talking about me being unfit. If anyone is unfit to marry, it’s you. Look at what happened to?—”

Air whooshes out of Trofim’s lungs at the same time it returns to mine.

Because, between one second and the next, Mikhail launches himself at Trofim and knocks him off of me.

I scramble across the floor as the glass coffee table shatters under their weight. Shards of glass skitter across the hardwood floor.

The door is right in front of me. It’s unlocked. I could run.

But run where?

I’m in a nightgown that barely covers my ass and my father is right down the hall. He’ll never let me escape.

I know all too well what happens when I poke that bear. Daddy doesn’t like when his pawns talk back.

So I just stand here, stranded between one nightmare and the next. I press myself against the wall and watch Mikhail pummel his older brother into the floor.

Trofim doesn’t stand a chance. He can hold his own against a woman half his size, sure, but he can’t keep up with the speed of Mikhail’s punches.

Blood and spit and broken teeth fly as Trofim’s neck snaps one way and then the other.

Mikhail is going to win. He’s going to overpower Trofim, and then…

Before I can sort through the stew of terrible options in front of me, Mikhail wraps his hand around his brother’s throat and drives a knee into his chest. He pins him to the floor.

“Stop fighting if you want to live,” he growls.

It isn’t much of a choice. Trofim is panting, exhausted from just that little bit of fighting. He couldn’t throw Mikhail off if he wanted to. And he really, really wants to.

“What?” he pants. “You want her? Fucking take her, then.”

I shrink back against the wall, but Mikhail doesn’t look at me. Instead, he snatches Trofim’s hand off the floor. The two thrash around for just a moment before Mikhail gets whatever he’s after and lets his brother’s wrist flop back down.

“Leave.” He stands back, power rippling off of him like a forcefield. Goosebumps bloom across my chest. “You so much as set foot on the same continent as me ever again, you’re dead.”

Trofim works his jaw back and forth. “Exile.”

“It’s a better option than death. Take it.”

I think he might lunge at Mikhail again. Argue.

Instead, Trofim stands up, wipes blood from his split bottom lip, and stomps out of the room without even looking at me.

I don’t move. Don’t breathe. Everything is happening so fast and I don’t have time to think about where it leaves me…

Until Mikhail turns to me.

Whatever he’s feeling, it’s still elusive. But slowly, he lifts his hand and slides something onto his finger.

The gaudy ring that cracked across my face less than ten minutes ago settles on his right hand like it’s always been there. Like it belongs.

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