Page 142 of A Heart of Bluestone

It doesn’t happen often. The child of an aristos family, an empire, being demoted to gentry. Not unheard of, but strange enough that it seems Father is still tossing up the decision. Weighing pros and cons.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he just decided against any marriage for me, and simply kept me as a home daughter for the rest of my life.

He would of course accept that, if it’s what came to be. He would never throw me out.

Hell, most families would have thrown out their deadblood child to live in the krum world, memories gone, and no ties to their witching family anymore. That’s usually what happens when a deadblood is born into aristos. Banished. Forgotten.

Discarded.

Father kept me.

I love him for that.

I owe him everything.

And so if he decides I marry no one at all, that’s just fine with me. If he picks Eric, I’ll speak my vows with a smile.

And if he does send me off to be with monopoly man, then I will swallow my words and simply accept what it is, the way that Father accepts what I am.

I am just too defeated to fight.

So when he says, “I received word that you were intoxicated on school grounds”, I just let a sigh slump me.

“Yes, Father.”

“This is true?” His voice is stone. “You deemed it appropriate behaviour to be sick in public, to fall over yourself, and to then pass out on a couch in the common areas?”

“Yes, Father.”

The silence that crackles through the line is fraught with tension.

I expect sharp words, cutting punishments, shouting. I don’t expect this—

“Sometimes,” he says after a pause, and though his voice is soft, there’s nothing kind about it, “I wonder where we went wrong with you.”

My lashes shut, tight.

The pang in my chest is enough to spur a singe of nausea through me.

The sharp whisper of my mother’s voice slices through the background, “Hamish.”

Just his name, but a hiss all the same.

She chides him.

But it’s too late.

I open my eyes, and the warmth of a salted tear falls down my cheek. “I’m sorry.” My voice wobbles. “I went to a party on the grounds—and I had too much. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t,” Father says, sharp. “If I hear a single word,a whisperthat you have stepped out of propriety again, I will send you to Grandmother Ethel’s for the season.”

My throat swells into a sudden, steel ball.

My eyes widen.

“Do you understand me, Olivia?” he asks, darkly.

“Yes, Father—”

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