Page 5 of Point of No Return

She hasn’t bothered to look at me yet, but I’m too busy memorizing every detail to bother with formalities.She’s stunning. Dark wavy hair, piercing green eyes, and a body that would make any man weak in the knees.

The enemy, I remind myself, cataloging every feature I can about her. She catches me looking but instead of introducing herself, she merely raises a brow. A challenge and a question all in one.

I’m in above my head.

I break eye contact first, clearing my throat as I turn my attention to Josie instead. “Show her to her rooms. Have the other servants drop her luggage in the east wing. I won’t be staying in my normal quarters.”

Not with a woman like that sleeping next door all night. I don’t wait for a reaction before I turn on my heel and head for the dining room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Aleks calls after me, but I don’t bother turning back as I call over my shoulder.

“Tyson and I need to have a little chat.” And I know exactly where he’ll be.

I’ve always hated Viserion. The checkered marble flooring is original to the house, and the walls are bright and cream colored. Archaic paintings of every Benenati to ever step foot in this house span every inch of the space. It might as well be a crypt for all the ghosts that wander these halls. The gardens outside, which are clearly visible from the large bay windows of the dining room balcony, are probably Viserion’s only redeemable quality.

Down the main garden path surrounded by ripe cherry blossom trees, there’s a maze of pruned shrubbery. The gardens are the easiest place to disappear in, and I’ve spent more than my fair share of time getting lost here. Especially after talks with Tyson. But today, he’s hunched over a plate of food at one of the outdoor tables.

Two servants serve him as I approach. He hardly spares me a glance, but from the lop-sided grin on his face, I know he’s perfectly aware of why I’m here.

“Were you planning on telling me?”

The man smiles but busies himself shakily carrying a spoonful of food from plate to mouth. Food leaks from the seam of his mouth as he chews, and I take a seat across from him as I wait. The tension in my shoulders puts me on edge, but I pretend to be relaxed as I rest either of my arms on the back of my chair.

“How was Venine?” Tyson asks.

I ignore the comment, loosening the cuffs of my sleeves as I watch him. “She’s Prevyain,” I say matter-of-factly. “Which isn’t the only objection I have in the matter.”

Tyson Benenati laughs, but the sound quickly dies in a fit of coughs. In recent months, he’s gotten sicker. I should’ve known it was only a matter of time before he struck a deal for the future of the empire. I just foolishly hoped he’d take a bit more time before keeling over. The servants rush forward when he continues to cough, but he waves them off, hacking into a handkerchief before pocketing it and looking at me again.

His eyes narrow. “You’d figure it out sooner or later. Whether it be you finding her naked in your bed on your wedding night or you being home long enough to bed her before then.” Tyson swallows a couple mouthfuls of what I can only guess is whiskey before he speaks again. “Either way, youwillmarry her.”

“She’s Prevyain,” I press, unwilling to budge. Not in this. He’s either insane or he has one hell of a game-plan. And I’m not banking on the former as much as I’d like to.

“I’m aware,boy.”

It’s been a great many years since Tyson has had the strength to lay a hand on me and a great many more since he’s had the nerve to. I pride myself in my ability to handle my own in conversation with him now, but somehow he says‘boy’with enough malice to make me question why I started the conversation in the first place.

I’ll marry her- No amount of self-made power or respect is going to change that. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to do it blindly. “How long have you been in bed with the Orlovas?”

They’re the only other family in Westos that can compete with our money, but while the Benenatis are money through and through, the Orlovas are self-made. In Westos, at least.

Enough money might make anyone forget where you came from. When you build an empire on blood though, the world rarely forgets. The war with Prevya is still too fresh a wound. Blood was shed on both sides. And neither Westlans nor Prevyains are likely to forget that.

“The Orlovas are as close to royalty as it gets. There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t kill for a Prevyain wife.”

That’s only part of the problem. The other half is that I practically spat atheron our doorstep just minutes ago. I might as well have drawn a target on my back.

I unfurl my fists, tapping the table carefully. “I know you probably don’t remember your dear wife, Tyson.” The words are bitter on my tongue. “But you’d think you’d remember who it was that killed her.”

The glass in his hands halts halfway to his mouth, and rage flickers in his eyes. It’s the reaction I’m looking for, and it almost works. It almost angers him enough to lose control- until Josie appears behind us. His usual haughty expression falls into place instead, and he finishes gulping down his drink.

She bows to him but her eyes still flicker to me. I always knew my father was still pulling strings behind the scenes, but today is evidence of it. While it’s clear she knew of the plan to move my fiancée in long before I did, that's a conversation for another time.

“Charlotte’s settling in. There’s no sign of any weapons on her.”

I watch my father’s reaction carefully, gauging just how much it surprises him.

“You checked her things- everything?”

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