Page 167 of An Empress of Fire & Steel

She could sense something.

Torin’s stomach dipped.

“Don’t question my authority, wife. Not now.” He threw her a dismissive look. “I have come here to advise on matters regarding our agreement,” Viktir informed brazenly, looking at Emara. “As commander of the Blacksteel name, I have reviewed our clan’s current situation and made some changes. Times have evolved so unstably that I find myself looking for loyalty more than ever.”

Torin scoffed at the word loyalty.

“Made some changes?” Naya repeated. “To what?”

Gideon walked in a little further, closing the distance between the three Blacksteel males. He folded his arms around his chest and listened.

Viktir walked into the middle of the room, stopping just before Emara’s bed. “I have been doing a lot of thinking, especially now that the magic community is in tatters, and I need to look at where my priorities lie.”

“Get to your point,” Torin spat out.

Viktir turned slowly, looking over his shoulder at him. A strange likeness drifted between them, reminding Torin of how cold both could be and how alike they could be.

Turning around, facing Emara again, Viktir placed his hands on the bed frame. Torin instantly wanted to remove them. “I have been thinking of your marital treaty to the clan.”

Emara sat up on the bed, her face as white as a spirit. “What about it?” she asked, her voice a little less hoarse than before and a note higher than normal.

Torin stiffened.

He looked over to Emara, her eyes wide as she looked at the commander.

“I have made amendments to it.”

Torin shifted. “You’ve amended what, exactly?”

A sinking began nudging his heart.

Viktir dismissed Torin, continuing to stare at Emara. Naya stiffened beside her.

“I have changed which son I present in offering my alliance to House Air.”

“What could you possibly mean?” Naya gasped. Gideon stepped forward—well, it was more like a stumble.

Viktir dragged his eyes from his wife. “What I mean is that I no longer present my eldest son to your coven, Miss Clearwater.” Viktir’s tone changed in a way that rose the hairs on Torin’s arms. “I am no longer wishing to present Torin for a marriage alliance in the name of the Blacksteel Clan and of House Air.”

“What are you talking about?” Torin couldn’t hide the brash tones of his voice.

Viktir placed one finger into the air. “I feel like I moved hastily with that decision, and now that times have changed and we are all in a vulnerable position, I believe that my second son is a better suitor for you. He is more reliable and disciplined.” The control with which his father said those words was like how he used to control the whips of punishment. “And he should provide a steady alliance now, when your coven so desperately needs it.”

“Your second son?” Emara’s words flew off her tongue as she gripped the blanket.

“Father—” Gideon tried to interject.

“We don’t need to be blindsided by instability,” Viktir added. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Clearwater?”

A vicious, burning roar took over in Torin’s mind.

When Emara never answered him, Viktir raised a hand. “I can replace the name on the treaty between our clan and your coven in order to instate an agreement between you and Gideon.”

“But you said before that couldn’t happen.” Emara gawked, wide-eyed. “You said—”

“What I said no longer matters when your head witch was a traitor and she is no longer here to interject with the terms of the treaty. It is in my hands.”

Torin moved, and this time Naya flung herself between the commander and her eldest son before he could reach him. Torin’s body was rigid as he found the words. “You can’t do that!” The words ripped from his mouth.

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