Page 12 of Point of No Return

Josie stands just outside, head bowed, hands behind her back like usual. Her eyes drift between us, the fact that he’s now leaving my bedroom not going unnoticed. Skar winks at me as he squeezes by and strolls down the hall like he owns the place. Which- from what little research I’ve done- I know he doesn’t. At least not yet.

Josie recovers quickly, smiling. “They’re waiting for you in the gardens.”

Summer has hit Viserion with full-force. The scent of honeydew and lemon verbena hangs in the air, carried by a gentle breeze as we stroll the rocky path through the gardens.

Guarded on either side by cherry blossoms and maple giants, the path forks into two. One path goes on for miles and miles with scattered greenhouses and gnome gardens. The other path, which we take, leads right by the gargantuan fountain where a stone dragon treads through rings of aqua blue water. Several paces forward reveals the pergola where a group of women chatter loudly enough to scatter birds from the trees.

Among them, my mother stands and greets me with a kiss on either cheek. I decided to forego the gloves again today, and I know she doesn’t miss the detail as she pulls back to assess me.

She frowns. “I see they’ve done away with your wardrobe completely.” While I know my clothes haven’t been done away with completely, they’ve been buried beneath a colorful array of new styles. And they’re much more suited to summer. “Fashion in Westos is so… revealing, don’t you agree, Olivia?”

“Just Liv.” Another person from the table stands. She looks about my age, maybe a few years older, and though she looks familiar, I know she wasn’t at Midsummer’s. “It’s definitely different from fashion in the North.”

It hits me then: Olivia Hughes. I met her years ago when I was little. Now that I think about it, my family probably still lived in Prevya when we met. She, while not Prevyain, was from a small island nearby. Apparently, in my mother’s eyes, it’s close enough to warrant staying friends.

“It’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” I tell her, and we kiss cheeks as the last two at the table stand and bow. My mother doesn’t bother introducing them- they’ll probably be expected to do most of the dirty work during the process.

“I think the last time we saw each other… you were ten. I think we’ve both grown up a bit,” Liv’s voice brings my attention back to her, and I take a seat as she motions to the table. I don’t remember much of meeting her, but what I do know is that she was personally hired by my mother. I’m still unsure of what to think about that.

Thick stacks of paper are piled across the table’s surface, arranged around a tea service.

“Where do we start?” I ask and something burns alight in Liv’s eyes as she grabs a few swatches of cloth and sets them in front of me. A dull throb is already clawing at my temples.

“Here’s the season’s trending color palettes. Which are your favorites?”

I’m surprised when my mother doesn’t answer for me, but that also means I’m the one left staring at the selections. Bubblegum pink and amethyst. Other slight variations to the classic Benenati red.

Any residual energy drains from me. This wedding is already shaping up to be the event of the century. A wedding fit for a bride of the future Benenati Dragon. Red and gold will likely be spread across every surface in proper Westlan fashion. Something in my gut burns hot at the idea, and defiance floods my veins in one fell swoop.

Maybe I can still use the wedding to my advantage- I can figure out each of the Benenatis’ weaknesses and exploit them. Test them. I smile, tossing the colors aside.

“What do you think of Prevyain blue?”

Chapter Seven

Skar

Nothing is more infuriating than listening to someone grapple for excuses. Especially in my world. The first time someone ever came to me with an excuse, I considered whether I was too strict in my expectations. The second time, the third, and everytime after no longer made me question myself. Now it just grates my nerves. Because it’s usually accompanied with groveling. Begging. Crying, occasionally. And I don’t have time for it.

“Sir, the money just… If we had a little more time…” The statement dies on Lincoln’s tongue the longer I look at him.

I don’t have to threaten him for him to know what’s about to happen. That’s the kind of power my reputation has afforded me. Enough for someone to know when to shut their mouths. Unless they’re particularly stupid.

Things aren’t looking good for Lincoln.

“When was this supposed to be done?”

He swallows, his throat bobbing. He loosens the tie around his neck. “Wednesday, Sir. But-”

“What day is it?”

Lincoln’s eyes are still wide. For a moment, he simply opens and closes his mouth. Like a fish out of water, gasping for breath. He’s deciding his fate without even knowing it.

“Friday, Sir. If we just have the weekend, I know my team can get it done. We just-”

I uncross my arms, leaning forward just slightly, but the movement is enough that Lincoln finally shuts his mouth. “Why am I here?”

From across the desk, I can see the bead of sweat slide down his bald head. The fear, the realization, is only just beginning to set it. “B-because the money hasn’t gone through yet.”

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