A BLOOD STAINED I DO

"You're giving me to him?"

I asked quietly as if whispering could dull the blade of betrayal already slicing through my chest.

My Father didn't answer right away.

He poured a generous measure of brandy into his crystal glass. The soft sound of ice against cut glass filled the silence like a slow, deliberate countdown.

"It's not giving," he said at last, without looking at me. "It's strategy."

I stayed barefoot on the cold marble, wrapped in silk that had been picked for softness, not for war. "You're marrying me to Kaelen Dravik. The son of the man who tried to erase our name from history."

"Yes."

"That's all you have to say?"

He turned now, brandy in one hand, the weight of our name in the other. "If I don't do this, there won't be a name left to protect."

I gave a hollow laugh that didn't feel like mine. "So I'm the solution. A bandage with a heartbeat."

"You're the key."

"I'm your daughter."

He looked at me then. Looked. But I saw it the calculation still in his eyes. It was never going to be just me and him again. Not now. Not after this.

"You're both," he said. "You're Sereya Valtore. Born with duty in your veins. Born with the weight of survival."

"You used to tell me I mattered."

"You do."

"You told me I was more than a name."

"You are."

I shook my head. "Don't say those things now. Not when you're trading me like gold on the losing side of a war."

He didn't flinch. He simply set the glass down and walked over to me. His steps were slow but sure. I could feel the age in his bones. I could feel the exhaustion in his breath.

"If there were another way," he said, "I would take it. But the Draviks control everything we don't. The ports. The banks. The borders. We are bleeding, Sereya. This alliance stops the blood."

"You're not protecting me. You're protecting your legacy."

He didn't speak. But his silence said yes.

"Kaelen is not his father," he said after a pause. "I've met him. There's something in him. Not soft. Not weak. But possibly... reasonable."

"I don't want reasonable," I said, my voice low and sharp. "I want out."

"You don't get out," he replied. "You were born into this. That means you die in it or learn to rule what remains."

I stared at him this man who had raised me taught me how to fight, how to lie, how to carry a blade beneath the silk.

And I realized something I never wanted to believe.

He loved me.

But not more than the Valtore name.

The bells rang at dusk.

Not for celebration. Not for joy. They rang like a countdown to something that couldn't be undone.

The ballroom shimmered with gold and glass and danger. Beneath the chandeliers, the empire smiled. Guests whispered over champagne. Musicians played something soft enough to hide the tension in every corner.

Kaelen stood beside me, silent and composed. We hadn't spoken since the ceremony. His eyes stayed on the room not on me, not on the music, not on the cake carved with our initials.

He scanned faces. Measured hands. Mapped exits.

Like this wasn't a wedding.

Like it was a trap.

"Our guests seem pleased," I said, voice flat.

He didn't answer right away. Just moved his gaze to the far archway where another set of guards stood posted.

"They're waiting for one of us to slip," he said.

"And when we do?"

"They'll feast."

I stared at the rim of my glass, resisting the urge to crush it in my palm. "You always speak in riddles?"

"I speak in what matters."

"A simple 'thank you for marrying me under duress' would've worked."

He looked at me then, just for a moment. His expression didn't shift. But there was something behind his eyes. Something I couldn't read.

"You didn't have a choice," he said.

"You did."

He gave no response. Just turned his head again and watched the room.

Lord Teravon approached, reeking of arrogance and spiced wine. "My lady," he said, bowing too low. "You outshine your name this evening."

"Careful, Lord Teravon," I replied. "You might cut yourself if you reach too close."

He laughed as if I hadn't meant it. Then wandered off, forgetting I was more blade than bride.

Kaelen stood like a statue beside me, unmoved.

"This is the part where you tell me I handled that well," I muttered.

"I would," he said, "if I thought you cared."

"I don't."

"Then you handled it perfectly."