Page 65 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

The chief commander. The man who had the ability to seal his fate with just one signature. The man who represented the hunting faction in the prime.

“Yes, he agreed to the alliance a few moons past.”

Torin’s temper boiled. “And you didn’t find it relevant to inform me sooner?”

“As advised before, I would tell you when both parties sent word on the matter.” Viktir picked up a letter, scribbled with black ink, and began to read, which irritated Torin to the underworld and back.

“So, I guess this is my final warning not to seduce her sister before the wedding of the year?” he taunted.

His father put the letter down and locked eyes with him. Finally, the reaction he had been waiting for. Torin hid his smile beneath his icy exterior.

“Maradia.” His father’s lips curved into a smile. A smile that dug into Torin’s heart as the name of his bride was announced. “She doesn’t have a sister.” He raised one eyebrow. “She will be at the annual uplift and we believe that it would be of your best interest to make her feel special.”

Torin almost growled at the word. He could make any girl feel special, that wasn’t a problem, but that didn’t normally have to involve a Gods-damned wedding.

Viktir smirked, victory sparkling in his eyes. He pulled open the drawer that lay within his mahogany desk and sat a small black box atop it. “Open it,” he instructed.

Torin knew what it was. He didn’t need to open it, nor did he want to. It was his mother’s wedding ring that had been passed down through centuries. Torin swept his feet from the desk and took the box in his hand, quickly removing it from his sight. His father waited for him to open it, but he clamped his fist around it tighter.

“I want you to give her the ring at the uplift as a gesture of your intention,” his father instructed. “This is a momentous occasion for the clan and for Maradia’s coven.” Viktir’s gaze fell to the box that was now almost cracking under the constraints of Torin’s grip. “Your mother has given her blessing that the ring be used. She looks forward to meeting your future wife at the uplift.”

The uplift was an occasion held to bring the magic community together, allowing alliances to form from covens, clans, and packs around the kingdom. Normally, he preferred to use the event to get blindingly drunk and end up in bed with at least two of the witching covens.

Last year, it had been a toss up between the House of Fire and the House of Spirit, and in the end, he had taken both. A glint in his eye twinkled at the memory.

Now that was the kind of alliance he needed right now. Not to be giving his mother’s precious ring to a woman he had met just once. A woman he wasn’t attracted to. She was beautiful, but there was no instant spark.

“Torin, you are promised to the Empress of the House of Air,” his father reminded him, as if he could see the clogs of his mind turning. “Do not do anything to ruin this alliance.” His father’s brows were low. “We need her— the coven—to strengthen us for when the time comes. The witches are more powerful—”

Torin cut his father short, “I understand the importance of the alliances with the witches.”

He had heard enough about how crucial it was. He had heard enough on how valuable it was to be aligned with a woman who held magic. He knew any decent witch could create a ward of magic that acted as an invisible shield to protect hunting grounds, such as the tower. An empress of a coven could channel enough power to protect a clan for years. So at least by marrying into a Witching House, the Hunters could rest easy at night.

“Well, then, now that we are clear, you can see yourself out.” Viktir’s hand gestured a dismissal and Torin felt his fist twitch.

“You have made yourself very clear, Father,” Torin said, with dangerous intent. “It’s clear you have no issues with the fact that I am being whored out for an alliance that we could have without a marriage proposal.” He kept his hand from flinging out in anger. Instead, he tightened it around the box. “I think we need to look at our priorities as a clan instead of playing a game of marriage.”

“You always knew that your marriage would be one of political stance.” The bitter part of Viktir’s personality broke through. “The head of the Blacksteel Clan can’t afford to be married in matrimony for love.” His father spat the word like it had been created by Veles himself. “The head of the clan requires power which the witches can provide. The most powerful alliances are ones that are established in marriage.”

“Just like you and my mother?” he threw in.

Viktir ground his teeth.

Gods, he was hitting everyone’s nerves today. He was impressed.

“Can’t I focus on strengthening the wards through a treaty with the witches instead of marrying one?”

The wards around the Tower were weakening. Their current Witch too old…

“There is no treaty stronger than a marriage,” Viktir snapped. Torin begged to differ. “And as for the wards,”—he paused—“they are not your concern.”

“I think you will find it is my concern.” Torin leaned forward. “The clan are my men as well as yours.”

Viktir Blacksteel shot to his feet. “For as long as I am in command, I will decide what is your concern and what is not.” A blue vein protruded from the side of his neck as he leaned across his desk. “When my bones turn to dust, then it will be your concern to decide what you see fit regarding the wards. Until then, you rank under me,” he snarled through his teeth.

Torin could feel a rumble in his core, the infernal anger threatening to appear.

“The sooner your idiotic brain registers that I am your commander before I am your father, the clan will be a stronger unit.” He stood for a moment more before walking over to a glass unit. He removed a crystal glass and sauntered back over.

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