Chapter Text
***
All you knew about your family business growing up was that when you asked your older brother, “Are we good people?” he said “no”.
He used to tell you stories about how the family once lived in a small apartment above a convenience store, a hole crammed into the busy streets of Tokyo. How mother used to stretch a pack of instant ramen to feed three people, and father would be out all night. He came home stinking of cigarettes and gun powder. And not because he was a smoker, but because he worked in the gambling dens and illegal casinos.
Your older sister was born after father took out a rival gang leader and made a deal with a generous benefactor. Almost overnight, his black market gambling rooms turned into a luxury casino, the jewel of the Tokyo skyline. The apartment above the convenience store became the penthouse suite of a skyscraper.
You were born when the Okami family lived in a mansion, far away from the city, nestled in the mountains. The estate once belonged to a feudal lord and your father spent millions renovating and modernizing it. The casino was now an empire of swanky hotels, venues and race tracks across Asia. Your brother was the heir, your older sister the spare, and you…well, you were somewhat of an accident. The spare of a spare.
And so you were mostly overlooked. You knew that in Father’s office was a portrait of his benefactor Mr. Le Bail. That your brother was being trained in secret meetings where sometimes you heard gunshots ring out across the property and you found him later washing blood off his hands. Your mother spent most of her time preparing your sister for a political marriage. You were mostly ignored. You spent your childhood with tutors, playing by yourself in the mountains, and feeding the stray cats.
You were sent away to Switzerland for an international boarding school. When you turned eighteen, you went to university in England. You rarely came back home, where it was clear you were an afterthought. Sometimes the only reminder you had of your family was when someone referred to you as “Miss Okami”.
For a long time, you didn’t think Mr. Le Bail was real. But Father made some sort of deal, an update to his arrangement he called it, and the entire family needed to be present. You were confused, because normally a business meeting involved a small army of people, but gathered in your Father’s office was just your family and one man – who referred to himself as Mr. Le Bail’s attorney. There was chanting, you tried not to giggle when your Buddhist Father somberly declared “Hail Satan”, and you were disturbed when he signed an addendum to his contract in blood.
But then you saw flames rush up from the empty seat at the head of the table, and a spectral figure of a man with glowing red eyes nod at you. And you realized you had seen the devil.
The willful blinders you’d had over your eyes dissolved quickly after that. You realized many of your family’s business associates were other families who made deals with Mr. Le Bail. That the entire world, in fact, ran by the High Council’s machinations. Your wealth, your privilege, even if your life had been lonely it had been easy, these were all due to a dark cult.
You tried to distance yourself from your family even more after that. Your brother seemed relieved that you finally saw the truth, though it broke your heart to realize he had been preparing to sell his soul all your life. The kind boy you had grown up with had always been meant for the devil. He was disappointed when you grew distant, but no one really made an effort to keep you close. Not when your Father had his ambitions set to attaining a High Council seat.
All you know was that he made some sort of gamble. Father had built an empire off taking risks and betting it all. But this time, he lost.
You had gotten into a cab to meet a friend for lunch. Someone opened the door and before you could react, a needle went into your neck and the world went black.
The next time you woke, you were face to face with Titus Danforth.
You didn’t know that was his name in that moment. But it cut through the fog of the tranquilizer, the steely gaze of an apex predator and the arrogant smirk of someone who knows they’re about to play a game they will win.
He looks at you like you’re a piece of meat. Not a person, just something to bite into and chew.
The Danforth’s and other High Council families ae there, along with Mr. Le Bail’s attorney. You are on your knees, hands bound behind your back, in a line with the rest of your family. Father, Mother, your brother, sister, and you – the black sheep at the rear.
“You bet double or nothing, and you lost.” Le Bail’s attorney doesn’t look sympathetic at all. “The conditions of the wager must be honored. The High Council families will take over all of your assets. How the estate is divided will be with a game: they will hunt you and each of you represents a percentage.”
Your Father spits at Chester Danforth’s feet, calling the old man a snake. Your mother cries, screaming out for mercy. Your sister pleads with the cold smiles of the High Council, that she isn’t responsible for her father’s actions, that she shouldn’t pay for his mistakes.
You are the only one who is silent. Frightened tears roll down your cheeks, but you know that no amount of begging or pleading will change what’s about to happen.
The attorney smiles at your father, “You represent fifty percent.”
You see the blood drain from your Father’s face as all eyes turn to him. Ursula snickers as Titus whispers something into her ear, letting out a little snort of laughter. It’s obvious who has the largest target on their back.
Mother is twenty percent. Your brother, fifteen. Your sister is ten and you…
“And the youngest represents five percent.”
Strange, how a part of you feels ashamed of that number. It feels so small, measly. Your family spent most of your life making you feel less than, and this crowd of strangers, they also look at you and see nothing.
You feel a flicker of anger, and you don’t look away as Le Bail’s attorney measures you and declares you worth only five percent. You make sure not to break eye contact, glaring back at him with a quiet rage. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Titus’ head tilt to the side, like he’s trying to get a better look at you.
The attorney ends with this proclamation, “By dawn, the entire Okami family must be eradicated, or Mr. Le Baill will be very upset. You will have to the count of one hundred.”
The zip-ties that bind your hands are cut by a stone-faced bodyguard. The first chime rings out, one, and you get to your feet and run. You don’t look back.
***
Titus didn’t know much about the Okami family, though Ursula had given him a brief rundown. Honestly, there were a lot of people who wanted to make deals with Mr. Le Bail, and a lot of them were fools. Tried to renege on a deal or didn’t read the fine print well enough, and had their contracts end in a bloody mess sooner rather than later.
This new family had been the first candidates in a while who looked like they could be savvy enough to win a High Council seat. Not the high seat, that sigil ring still rested on his father’s finger, but a seat at the table. Ursula had made some vague comments about how she might have to marry their son, a prospect that annoyed her. Titus had made fun of her for years that she would have to cradle rob and marry Daniel Le Domas, and the Okami son was even younger. Ursula had very little patience for boys. She used it all up on her twin.
There had been some general anxiety among the other families about how a new player would change the game, shift alliances, what have you. Titus didn’t have the inclination for politics, something that disappointed Chester. It was just slow, inane, a waste of his fucking time. He was a man of action over pointless chatter.
So when the Okami’s failed their wager and it turned into a hunt? His blood was singing with anticipation.
He had only been told about the heir and a daughter. You were a surprise. He had his eye on you when the family was presented in front of the High Council, trying to discern what about you made you a dirty little secret. A quivering, innocent little lamb.
You were scared, of course. They were always scared.
But you were quiet. He noticed that about you, how the rest of your family wailed and screamed, but you refused to make a sound. Did that defiance come from ignorance? A misplaced confidence?
When you glared at the attorney, Titus decided you were fun.
You bolted first and everyone ignored you, set on daddy ‘fifty-percent’. It took far too much longer for the rest of the hostages to get wise to the game. The older daughter had to drag their mother out of the room. The father finally made it off the floor with forty seconds to go.
Amateurs.
Titus and Ursula had already worked out a game plan to herd off the other families, lead them away from the real prize. The El Caido’s had that stupid high velocity rifle – benefits of joining the Le Bail organization in the twentieth century – but it would be useless indoors. Titus hefted the Danforth war pick in his hands, ready.
“Ninety-nine…” The attorney clasped his hands and addressed them all, “…one hundred. Happy hunting.”
As the council families prepared to run after the Okami patriarch, Ursula set off a smoke grenade. She winked at Titus, already stationed by the door, as they slipped out – leaving a confused mess inside the board room.
Titus could feel his heart pounding in his ears, the adrenaline spiking in his veins. Senses attuned to every movement, every sound – this is when he felt the most alive.
Mr. Okami had made the mistake of trying to hide inside the manor. He may have had to dirty his hands once upon a time, but a life of wealth and luxury had let him grow lazy. He could barely fight back when Titus dragged him out of a closet by the ankle. With a growl and a vicious swing, the pick buried into the top of Okami’s head. The man twitched, eyes wide with surprise as he looked up at Titus, like he didn’t know he was dead yet.
Titus smashed in his face for good measure, blood spraying across his face, the head of the Okami family dying with a wet, crumpled sound.
“You fucking cheating cabron,” Ignacio vented when he came across the scene, hot on Titus’ heels, before running down the corridor to try and catch at least some of the prize.
He quickly linked back up with Ursula, who had already made a quick survey of the other family members. “The mother is headed for the garage. The son is already out of the building and Chen Xin will get to him before we do.”
They both pivoted towards the elevator that would take them down to the garage, perfectly in sync without having to confirm each other’s thoughts.
“Twenty is better than fifteen,” Titus agreed, “and if we get the girls—“
“—we can secure eighty percent of their assets.”
They cut the power to the garage and hunted the mother in the dark. Titus could hear her panicked sobs echo against the cold concrete walls. Now and again he let the pick drag along the ground, the scrape of iron against cement, and she would shriek.
Perhaps she thought she could steal a car and drive away. Maybe she slammed her hands against the steering wheel in panic as she couldn’t find any keys. She was too choked on panic and fear to even realize she would never be able to get the garage door open and it was made with reinforced, bulletproof steel.
“Don’t play with your food, Titus.” But Ursula had a smirk on her face.
“By all means, you do the honors.”
Ursula looked so pleased, she almost purred. She used the dainty stiletto hidden in her riding boots to stab through the mother’s hand. Titus helped drag her out from underneath an SUV, hand wrapped around her neck, ready to squeeze the life out of her.
“Wait,” Ursula had to yank his arm back before he listened, losing himself to the blood rush, “We can use her to draw the daughter out.”
He didn’t like having to stop, especially right as he was honing in for a kill. It was like trying to stop a moving train. But he finally let go, dropping the woman sobbing back onto the ground as Ursula took over.
He thought it was a waste of time. The woman was in hysterics, she wouldn’t be able to pull herself together to even spell her own name. Ursula just wanted to show off that she knew some phrases in Japanese.
Eventually he grew bored of the crying, grabbed the back of the woman’s dress and dragged her out of the garage. Ursula was pissed, but Titus wanted to be efficient. He dragged the mother outside and yelled across the grounds for the daughter to come out.
Ursula was peeved, “That isn’t going to work.”
“Really? ‘Cause I just saw movement by the tree line.”
Like a bloodhound, Ursula found the spot and tracked the movement he had seen. One shot from her flintlock, an explosion of tree bark, and Titus heard it – a wounded gasp. He grinned, that was a hit.
He snapped the mother’s neck and raced Ursula to the trees. He saw the shape of a figure, a woman clutching her arm as she tried to run away, and he tackled you from behind.
You tripped and he fell on top of you. It was dark, so he couldn’t make out your face, but he could smell your blood – the pistol round was buried in your right arm. You fought back, but you were a flurry of hands and useless kicking. You weren’t a fighter, you weren’t a killer. You didn’t have the first clue what you were doing.
Titus thought that was so sweet.
But for a split second his luck ran out, or yours kicked in. Ursula caught up to him, but in the confusion, knocked into his arm. It made him lose his grip on the war pick for an instant – in which you were able to wrestle it back and then swing upwards, burying the tip into his shoulder.
Titus roared, more out of disbelief than pain. Ursula fired her pistol again, but you had wriggled out from under him and ran further into the darkness. She made to go after you, but Titus saw red, he grabbed his sister’s arm.
“I had her!” He spat in her face, “You fucked up my kill.”
“Get over yourself,” Ursula hissed, shoving him back, “And get something on that.”
With a grimace, Titus wrenched the pick out of his shoulder, feeling the pain radiate outward in white hot waves. You, a little lamb, had drawn blood.
He was going to take you apart piece by piece.
***
You wedge a long flashlight through the door handles of the security shed and let yourself sink onto the floor. You make sure the lights were off so it won’t look like anyone is inside.
You think that if you needed to cry, right now is a good time for that, but no tears come. Instead, you just feel exhausted and overwhelmed. The inside of your mouth feels fuzzy and sour, like you’re tasting lemons. You had been running, for how long you had no idea, only knowing that every muscle in your body is screaming in pain.
With a precious moment to regroup, you search around the shed and find a first aid kit. You poke around the bullet hole in your arm, gingerly pressing the skin to see if you can find the round, but the wound is too inflamed. Sore. You almost scream when you pry a finger inside to search for the bullet, your vision hit with colored lights. Okay, that’s a bad idea, the bullet will have to stay inside your arm for now. You splash rubbing alcohol over it and wind a tensor bandage around it as tightly as possible to staunch the bleeding.
You’e fairly certain your father is dead. You had seen Titus Danforth kill your mother with your own eyes. You don’t know if your brother or sister are still alive, but if they had armed psychopaths like the Danforth’s after them, you didn’t like their chances.
Distantly, you know you should feel sad. But everything hurts, you’re tired, you feel like your entire body is being stretched apart. You hadn’t asked for any of this. The only emotion that seems to be useful right now is anger.
You’re angry that you were put in this position. You’re angry that you had been dragged here against your will. You’re angry, thinking of your father’s greed led all of you to hell, when you would have been happy – happier, even – if you had all lived in that cramped apartment living off instant ramen.
You don’t mean to, but lying down in a cramped, dark space makes the exhaustion take over your body and you drift off to sleep.
***
There was an hour left until dawn.
The Council families were fuming. The hunt had begun at midnight. No one had expected it to go beyond an hour. Everyone had been killed except for the youngest daughter, who no one had given a second thought.
And now they could lose it all, because of a five percent stake.
Ursula was beside herself, berating him for not finishing the job and letting you get away.
Titus couldn’t hide how amusing he found the entire situation. You, a backup kid that had barely dipped your toes into this world, had probably never handled or even seen a gun in real life, and you had become a thorn in the side of the most dangerous people on the planet.
Somehow you had taken what should have been a night of easy pickings into a drawn out, anxious meeting in the board room over how to flush you out and finish the game. You had dragged the hunt out to five hours and counting, and some of the families were getting nervous that Mr. Le Bail’s anger would be taken out on them.
Titus went down to the control room to view the situation from the camera feeds. For a long time, almost two hours, there wasn’t a sign of you. He wondered if you had made it over the fence, but the laser perimeter hadn’t been triggered. Maybe you were going to win simply by hiding until dawn – an outcome no one had thought possible.
Finally, he saw movement. One of the guards returned to the North gate shed and found the door jammed. Titus watched as you jerked awake, you had been holed up in your little den, and the guard managed to get the door open. You were scared, even on the black and white grain of the security feed, he could see it on your face. Your arm was bandaged, your eyes wide—
--and you brought the flashlight down on the guard’s head. The security camera feed had no sound, but Titus could hear it, clear as day. The way your chest hitched, the panicked sobs coming out of you, the scream that tore from your throat when the guard lunged for you and you had to hit them again. And again. The dull thud of the flashlight hitting flesh and bone, the way it reverberated up your arm, the way the guard’s cheek caved in and blood sprayed on your face.
You spluttered, in shock, hastily wiping the blood from your face and seeing it on the back of your hand. You looked like you were going to be sick, swaying and dizzy. But the guard, now fallen to the ground, weakly reached up and tried to hold onto your leg. Frightened, but with a grim determination he watched as your face steeled and you adjusted the grip of the flashlight in your hand. You brought it down now with purpose, hitting the guard until they stopped moving.
You sank to your knees and retched, Titus murmured “good girl” when you forced yourself not to vomit. Tears sprang to your eyes, but you wiped them away just as quickly as you had the blood – still in a red smear across your mouth. With shaking hands you searched the guard’s body, patting down the uniform pockets. You found a walkie, a set of keys, and a gun.
Titus clapped in applause. He was certain, this was the first time you had taken a life. You hobbled away from the guard’s body and the shed, moving east.
Titus grinned, it was time to move.
He whistled as he made his way across the green, on foot, war pick slung over his shoulder. It wasn’t the time to stalk and ambush, not anymore. He found you trying to punch in codes to the Eastern gate. When you heard his footsteps, you whirled around and fired the gun.
Titus smirked. Your aim left a lot to be desired, but he appreciated your instinct to shoot first.
He swung the war pick, knocking the gun from your grasp. You tried to scratch at his eyes, but unlike your first encounter, you were so, so tired. And he found it so easy to overpower you, catching you by the wrists and pinning you against the gate. You still fought, breath ragged, eyes wild, because you didn’t know how to do anything else at this point. The little lamb, gone feral. Savage.
For the first time, seeing the dried blood smeared over your mouth, your red-rimmed eyes, voice hoarse from screaming, dirt and blood under your fingernails, still fighting – Titus thought you were gorgeous.
He grasped you by the chin and forced you to look up at him.
“Your entire family must be eradicated by sunrise. That’s inevitable, written in blood.” His eyes looked you up and down, curious, “But killing you feels like a waste.”
Your voice shook, confused by his seeming change of heart. “You aren’t going to kill me?”
He shrugged. “I might have to. But there’s one other way to end your bloodline. You leave your family and marry into mine.”
Your eyes somehow grew wider. You couldn’t believe the words coming from his mouth.
“This is a proposal?”
He grinned, sinister, like he was staring down a delicious meal.
“You will become a Danforth. Your children will be Danforth’s. Your family name ends tonight.”
Even though you stood there in shock, silent for a long time, the grin never left Titus’ face. It was the smirk of someone who knew they were going to win a rigged game. Cocky, and sure.
And sure enough, you let him take you by the hand and Titus escorted you back into the manor, with you on his arm.
***
You hold onto the arm of a man who is soaked in the blood of your family. He is terrifying, a true monster who cut down your father and mother without mercy, tried to kill you, and then asked you to marry him. The situation is so bizarre, you can’t process the gravity of it, every time you try to hold onto the thought – it slips away.
Because you are trembling, your knees wobbly and your body suddenly so heavy as you crash from the adrenaline. You cling onto Titus, more so that you won’t fall over, barely registering any of the commotion around you when you enter the Danforth manor with him.
The other Council families begin shouting when you enter the board room. Something about cheating, how it’s unfair – unfair, like they’re bickering over shared toys instead of your family’s bloodied corpses. When Titus announces his intentions, they get even angrier. There’s more yelling, pointing, and you slide off Titus’ arm and sink into a chair, barely able to hold up your own weight.
Eventually, Chester Danforth gets the room to fall silent. Le Bail’s attorney confirms that this will satisfy the terms of the wager. Ursula looks like she swallowed glass. Chester chuckles a little, shaking his head, as if the whole thing has taken an amusing turn.
Mr. Le Bail’s attorney addresses you directly, “Will you agree to marry Titus Danforth and forsake your family name?”
You’re surprised that anyone has asked what you wanted, or that you have a choice in the matter at all.
But you look at the bloodthirsty people surrounding you. It isn’t really a choice.
In a numb haze, a contract is set before you. The attorney uses a sharp pen to cut a line through Titus’ palm, then yours, and both of your blood is collected in a small gold dish. Your mingled blood serves as the ink, where Titus signs the marital contract, then hands you the pen.
Weary, without any of the hesitation you anticipated, you sign your name.
“You are now man and wife.”
Titus hands you a ring. You slied it onto your own finger. Your right arm throbs where Ursula had shot you. You hadn’t thought much about your wedding day, but you certainly never pictured it like this. Shot and covered in blood.
“There is a tradition, whenever someone new joins the family.” Ursula says, waving the rest of the Council families to leave. Their business was over. “We play a game.”
A bubble of laughter rises up in you, though your voice is rough and cracked. “Another game?”
“You draw a card from this box,” Titus presents you with a plain wood box, “and we play whatever game is on that card.”
You want nothing more than for this night to be over. “And if it’s another game like ‘hunt the bride’?”
Titus smirks. “It could be, and you would still die tonight. But I get the feeling Mr. Le Bail’s feeling…generous, about this union.”
The thought of having to run, having to fight, having to struggle at all makes you want to cry. At this point, you think you would simply lie your head down on the table and let Titus chop it off. He was right though, either way you would have died tonight. This is your only chance to live.
With a deep, coiled sense of dread you turn the key on the box and flinch when a card pops out. Nervous, you pull it out, almost afraid to read what it says…
“Tic-tac-toe,” you almost weep with relief.
Titus smiles at you. “Told you so.”
So as the sun begins to rise, you play Tic-Tac-Toe with your new husband, shakily drawing a line of three ‘X’s, and the night is finally over.
***
When you wake up, you find yourself in an unfamiliar bed. But it’s soft, plush, like you’ve been wrapped up in a cloud, one of the most comfortable surfaces you’ve ever slept on.
You realize you are still in your ruined clothes and to your horror, you discover you’ve left blood and dirt all over the pristine sheets. When you stir awake, wrestling with the comforter, the door to the room opens and a group of housekeepers walk in.
“If you like, Mrs. Danforth, we have drawn you a bath.”
You blink up at them in confusion, then see they have come with towels, a robe and a tray of toiletries. You look apologetically the stained sheets, but the lead housekeeper smiles.
“Not to worry. This is only the guest room, so we could prepare your room.”
“Guest room?”
They lead you to the bathroom and when you feel the warmth of steam hit your skin, you suddenly realize that yes, you very much want a hot bath to soak away the grime and aches of your ordeal. You also find there is a new, much neater bandage over the gunshot wound in your right arm.
“The bullet was removed while you were asleep. The family physician attended to it personally, she has advised that you keep it elevated and dry. We brought a stand for you to rest your arm on while you bathe.”
You sink into the water, too hot at first that it makes your body clench, then an absolute balm once you adjust to the temperature. You’re amazed that you don’t recall a doctor seeing you, or feeling the bullet be removed at all, but you were also so exhausted you doubt being pushed out a window would have woken you.
The bath helps you feel more like yourself again. Part of you is still stuck in fight or flight mode. That you’re still being hunted, that there’s a clock that’s running out. But as you slip the robe on, see the Danforth name embroidered on everything, and look at yourself in the mirror it becomes clear. There is no more running. You are either going to remain scared or you are going to accept what’s happened and figure out what life looks like now.
When you exit the bath you find one of the staff waiting and ask, “Where is…” but realize you aren’t sure how to refer to Titus. Where is my husband? Mr. Danforth? The man who murdered my family?
The housekeeper is happy to assist, “Mr. Danforth and Miss Ursula are taking breakfast in the sun room. I’ll show you.”
You are brought to the sun room, a glass terrace with doors that open out to the grounds, with little fanfare. Ursula and Titus are in tight conversation, paying attention to the TV mounted on the wall with a live news feed.
You sit down at the table, feeling awkward, and ignored by the Danforth twins. With a slight chuckle at how familiar that sensation is, in a way it’s almost comfortable, you look at the breakfast spread and begin to pick at things. You’re starving and you eat without feeling self-conscious.
Eventually, Titus’ gaze flicks over to you. He looks amused.
“You’ve got an appetite.”
You shrug. “I had a long day.”
Ursula and Titus exchange a look, and then she gets up and leaves. The TV is turned off and Titus sits down next to you. This is the first good look you’ve gotten of him, now that it’s daylight and you aren’t running for your life. The eyes are the same, steely and hungry. He watches you eat, like he can weigh every movement you make.
Finally he asks, “You aren’t going to ask me why?”
He looks like a cat, you think, he reminds you of a tom cat that used to bring you a dead bird and then meow at you impatiently when you didn’t acknowledge his hunting skills.
You pop another piece of fruit into your mouth. “Does it matter?”
It doesn’t, what’s done is done, but Titus looks a little disappointed that you won’t indulge his game. You don’t know the exact reason why he didn’t kill you, but you get the sense he didn’t spare your life – not truly. Your life is still in his hands.
He wants a reaction, fear or disgust, and it irks him that you won’t give him one.
His eyes roam your face and he’s about to say something when there’s a sharp, “Titus.”
Chester Danforth waits by the door. Imposing and severe.
“I would like a word with my new daughter-in-law.” Chester adds, “In private.”
Titus looks like he wants to bite back, but his resentment needs to stay behind grit teeth. Chester tells you to meet him in his office once you’ve gotten dressed and made yourself presentable.
“I had to look into you on rather short notice, usually the vetting process is a bit more involved,” Chester smirks even though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, as he looks over a screen of what is presumably all the intel he found about you. “You studied music, anthropology, economics and minored in Latin. You are pursuing a graduate degree in the military history of pre-steel age civilizations.”
He looks like a wolf, sharp and wizened, and even though he’s a frail man who couldn’t physically participate in the hunt, something about Chester unnerves you more than Titus did.
“This seems rather scattered,” he waves a hand, “someone searching for a specialty without one in mind.”
“It was a way for me to remain in Europe and not return home,” which is an honest enough answer, “and if my family were content to keep paying my tuition, then I was going to study whatever interested me.”
His eyes narrow as he looks at you, as if trying to tell if you’re lying. “And your ambitions didn’t lean towards your family’s business?”
You almost scoff, “My ambition was to be left alone.”
Chester lets out a light chuckle, which again, sounds devoid of any true warmth. “Well, I’m afraid that’s out of reach for you now. You have become very much involved in the family business, though it is not the one you were born into.”
“Why,” the question suddenly tumbled from your lips. You weren’t interested in Titus’ answer because a monster like him only cared about the thrill. But you recognized immediately who the real power of the Danforth family was, the real mastermind that held the High Seat. And you wanted to know. “Why did you let the marriage happen? It would have been easier to kill me.”
Chester regards you for a long, drawn moment. He seems to make a decision, that you don’t need to be spoken down to, that you can take honesty.
“Sometimes the easiest way to control Titus is to let him have his few amusements. He hasn’t thought beyond what a clever play he pulled on the High Council. But if the Danforth family is to continue to hold the High Seat, it needs an heir. You’re the daughter of a powerful family, you know the importance of lineage.”
You do. Even if no one had that expectation of you, being a daughter you were very aware.
“Ursula will not marry. She thinks she can prolong the situation with vague commitments to try, but I know she’s just dragging her feet. My children haven’t thought beyond what happens after I die and they assume the seat. They haven’t thought about after. It requires generations to hold onto generational power.”
You hang your head a little. Part of you knew and yet was still disappointed that it came to this. In a way, you had fallen to your older sister’s prescribed fate: sold off to be a brood mare.
“And you seem smart enough that I think you’ll be useful and not a hindrance. You have a sense of self-preservation for one, something Titus lacks.” Chester’s cold gaze bore into you. “I would suggest you try to keep his interest. He becomes unmanageable when he grows bored.”
You can hear the implicit threat hanging heavy in those words.
“Will you protect me from your son?”
Chester says simply, “No.”
He says it like one would wish “good luck”.
***