A WEDDING OF LIES AND LOYALTY
SABIA
If there was one thing I hated more than Clan weddings, it was the chaotic pomp and circumstance in the days leading up to one.
Even on Sanctua Sirena, the Protectorate Clan’s secret island on which few outsiders had ever been allowed, the preparations had escalated into full-blown tulle explosions that scratched my skin whenever I passed a massive bow, checking every protective rune three times over, sharpening the Sentinels’ blades until the entire island quivered with the hiss of metal, and making sure the wine cellar was fully stocked with every sweet and dry spirit this side of the Malhaven continent.
But the ruckus and the surge of power coating the entire island–in a Protectorate blue sheen that smelled metallic and vibrated against my skin with each salty gust of wind–was nothing compared to the guests .
Intruders with egos bigger than their gold vaults and infinitely more vast than their common sense–but good enough to distract me from the way my heart tried to beat itself out of my chest, even while the grand space turned suffocating with their endless complaints.
The foul cream of the Serpent Clan had descended upon our island before the wedding, the rest of their sour fellows soon to follow. From the shadows of the castle’s ballroom, I watched them raise their too-thin noses at the servants and grimace that their glasses weren’t gold plated.
You'd think that after a few decades on the dangerous continent of Malhaven, ruled by ruthless Clans that loved nothing more than to protect their territories and secret powers, even the peacocks among them would have learned how to handle their sweet wine.
Honestly, secret missions needed to remain secret for a reason, not recounted loudly on the terrace, so that every Clan member, midnight star, and bat would hear them.
Moustaches trembled, snakeskin lapels shimmied, and golden canes struck the marble with a vengeance.
Still, no sign of him .
Not that I was looking for him. I simply wanted to be prepared for any potential awkward encounter, that was all. Hence standing in the farthest corner of the room and watching.
Waiting.
I knew I was being ridiculous.
This whole wedding was ridiculous.
The gods must’ve been laughing their divine asses off at the audacity of Fabrian Bazin marrying Evelina “Evie” Vegheara.
The Evie Vegheara.
Lost Daughter, former heir of the Protectorate Clan, vanished sixteen long years ago and thought dead until only a few weeks past.
Evie should have been the one leading us all.
Instead, she was tying her life to Fabrian’s, the Serpent heir, who was nothing more than a heinous pit of wickedness with too much gold and not a shred of conscience.
Then again, who was I to judge? I'd been drooling after a gorgeous, infuriating Serpent bastard for way too long, and he was way more dangerous than Fabrian could ever hope to be.
"I just don't get it," I whispered into my third glass of wine, balancing my weight from one foot to another. The dagger strapped to my thigh swayed with the motion barely grazing the blue gauze of my dress. "Evie seems…nice. Allie says she’s smart. What is she doing with that lump of a man?"
Fabrian was, to put it plainly, horrible.
He’d somehow found the perfect mix between drinking his liver away and sowing fear, even among his own Clan. He was the kind of man who slashed throats first and never bothered asking any questions.
Ruthless, with no morals and no supreme goal other than protecting his own hide, even against imagined slights.
A man who clung to power with such a bloody fist was not fit to rule his own life, let alone a Clan.
But nobody said that out loud.
Xamor help those poor bastards he'd end up leading into an early grave. And Xamor help Evie.
Clarissa “Clara” Vegheara, the Protectorate’s Clan Code specialist and my sort-of-ruler-in-the-Clan-hierarchy, definitely-best-friend shrugged, her silky blonde curls bouncing. "The heart wants what it wants."
Did it, though? Because Evie had been back for weeks, professing her newfound love for the ruthless lump, and I’d never seen them so much as look at each other, let alone kiss.
This wasn’t the bashful tenderness of early love.
This was suspicious.
"You're her cousin, did she tell you anything?" I pressed on, even though I should have let the matter drop already.
But when did I ever ignore anything?
They always told me I was too curious for my own good. Like a cat that had shed its fur and sprouted human fingers, grandma always used to say.
I just couldn't help myself.
I needed to know.
Constantly.
Especially now.
I came from a broken family in everything but the public condemnation. An only child to two very unhappy people who should not have married each other. Or reproduced. And they'd dealt with that unhappiness by shouting and cheating whenever the other wasn’t looking too closely.
Sadly, they were still married.
Both of them had feigned illness to come to this wedding.
But I knew father was off to the family farm up north with his blonde of the week, still chasing the youth which had left him along with the hair on his head, and mother had left the back gate open for the town baker to knead her into blissful ignorance.
I gulped half of my glass, loving the sweet tang as the alcohol slid down my throat.
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with their whispered shouts in the back garden for a few days.
They'd been embarrassing me in the Protectorate for twenty-two years, I deserved a break from their endless bickering.
So, no, I did not like weddings–and I didn’t want any children Evie might have to suffer a similar fate.
"You're her cousin, too," Clara said in that sing-song voice of hers. The sky could fall, but she would still be smiling while it happened. That was Clara, a petite ray of sunshine—which could turn vicious whenever the Clan Code was broken. And she never, ever let any culprit get away.
“Fifty times removed,” I said. “I’m as related to that Serpent criticizing our roses as I am to Evie.”
Clara, however, was First Family. Practically royalty, if the Protectorate had ever bothered with those pretentious titles some other Clans obsessed over—like the loathsome Blood Brotherhood, their worst, fiercest enemy. And everyone knew the cousins in the Vegheara First Family stuck together.
Loyalty ran deep in the Protectorate.
To protect is to endure was our motto, drilled into us ever since we left the cradle.
“Good thing you didn’t inherit his bushy brows, then,” Clara said.
I snorted a laugh.
Sure, I played at proper and polite during my duties as a Clan negotiator—and loved it when my voice echoed in those big Clan war rooms—but I had a wild streak.
Which I definitely needed to keep hidden if I had any shot of becoming the Protectorate's leading negotiator before she turned twenty-five.
“Let’s hope Evie’s children don’t inherit Fabrian’s…anything.” I sighed.
"Maybe Evie and Fabrian are lovey-dovey behind closed doors," Clara said, but gave the same resigned sigh. "All she's done since she's been back is gush over him whenever anyone’s listening."
Ah, yes. Evie's triumphant return back to the merciless Clan world.
Her reappearance had shocked the Protectorate and was still only whispered about. When Evie had been only a child, her parents had taken her and ran away, hiding somewhere in the mountains. Why and how, I didn't know. Nobody did.
It was a First Family affair, and you didn't interfere in those matters if you knew what was good for you.
But something felt off.
About Evie's return.
About her turning up bloody, crying about her dead parents.
About her wanting to marry Fabrian, who was busy picking his teeth with a knife, in front of all the guests.
Charming. But if Clara thought Evie was in love, I must've been imagining things.
After all, I had every reason to be antsy—and nobody needed to know why.
Especially him . And those sharp eyes of his never missed anything.
I downed my glass in one large gulp, the sweetness coating my mouth.
I was embarrassingly close to getting tipsy.
But no matter how many fancy glasses I picked off the serving trays or how hard I tried to concentrate on anything else, even the "happy" couple, my nerves were still all over the place.
"Bia, you need to stop fidgeting." Clara placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, her golden bracelets clinking. "He's not here. I haven't heard anyone mention him. His name isn’t even in any of the ship logs, I checked."
The mere mention of him sent a cascade of shivers down my spine. I leaned my back against the silvery stone walls of the castle to at least try to ease them, cursing my traitorous body.
Worse still was the disappointment drumming through me, chilling the nerves and anticipation into frustrated numbness.
He wasn’t here?
Would he even bother to come?
Surely. This was his Clan’s grandest wedding in two generations, maybe more.
He’d fought me–well, the entire Protectorate negotiating team–for each scrap of silk and silver spoon in Fabrian’s fortune.
He had to come.
"I have no idea who you're talking about," I said primly.
Clara narrowed her dark eyes.
She knew I was lying.
Of course she did.
I’d been craning my neck around all day, dreading the moment I'd see him.
But there had been no sign of the sharp, handsome face that haunted my dreams. Nobody had even mentioned his name until now.
I didn't know if I should be glad or furious he hadn't shown up. I would have loved to throw some wine into his face. The red kind, too, to know it would stain those decadent dark green shirts he insisted on wearing, always with the top button loose, so I’d have a crystal clear view of his clavicle.
"Sure you don't." Clara scoffed. "I'm really curious to meet this Varen. See if those menacing rumors are true."
They were. He was as skilled, deadly, and charming as everyone had warned me he would be.
"Let's just enjoy these few days for what they are—an opportunity to spend time with family.” Clara smiled, her cherub cheeks bunching up.
“You are enjoying time with your family. I am enjoying this island.”
I planned on spending these days lounging on white beaches, drifting for hours in the crystal blue water, and exploring the small cliff just off the coast which had fascinated me since the first time I’d stepped foot on Sanctua Sirena, more than a decade ago.
I’d had to claw my way at the negotiating table and was still a novice with too much vigor and not enough experience. I couldn’t afford a single day away from Protectorate business.
But there were no treaties or Clan contracts to further negotiate until those cursed I do’s. So I got to breathe until then.
“Better enjoy it while you can. Before all those other Serpents come traipsing on our island.” Clara grimaced. “They’re obnoxiously loud.”
“Maybe their ships will get lost at sea,” I said. Marea Luminara seemed peaceful, but everyone knew its waves could turn deadly with a flick of a Protectorate hand.
Clara waved another servant toward us, eyes lighting up at the rainbow of drinks on his tray.
But I’d had enough for tonight.
Perhaps a bit too much. The back of my neck suddenly tingled and my skin felt hot.
Definitely not the state any self-respecting Protectorate member should be in when surrounded by Serpents.
Nobody apart from the Sentinels had been allowed to bring weapons, but if I had my little dagger hidden underneath my skirts, I knew this loud, overflowing ballroom had more assassins and swords stashed underneath tables than plates and glasses.
"I'm going to get some fresh air," I said.
“You are no fun.” Clara pouted, already picking up a pink wine that wouldn't feel all that great when it hit in the morning. "This is not enjoying your free time."
Who needed fun when I had a bright future ahead of me?
I wound between the stumbling couples, avoiding the uncles and aunts dancing up a storm in the center. Well, not quite a storm. Maybe a light, unbalanced drizzle.
But nobody would ever say that to their faces. You'd be lucky if you came out of it with all your limbs intact.
These elders who'd served the Clan well back in their prime, had taken enough lives to fill more than one cemetery, and now could make fools of themselves whenever the violins and harps started playing too loud.
And after the last few shitty years, the Protectorate deserved a few rowdy nights.
As soon as I stepped outside onto the terrace, the salty sea breeze ghosted across my heated face. But it did nothing to cool me down.
Still, it beckoned me closer.
I hurried away from the curious glances thrown my way, wandered past the rose bushes, and delved into the outer corridors waiting beyond. Good thing the Serpents weren’t allowed in the other side of the castle, or I would have had to face the fearsome Sanctua Sirena maze to reach the shore.
I left the sanctuary of the castle corridors only minutes later, through a small door Clara herself had shown me many moons ago. It led to a small ledge I was convinced nobody but the First Family–and me, apparently–knew about.
As soon as the open air engulfed me, I closed my eyes and took a deep, centering breath.
I truly was being ridiculous, scared I’d see a man who shouldn’t have meant anything to me.
Couldn’t mean anything.
My ankles protested as I carefully stepped on the jagged rocks, with nothing but the stars and silence to keep me company.
As I wandered further down, the delicate scent of jasmine overtook my senses. A wooden pergola dripping with the sweet flowers jutted out on the edge, overlooking the northern shore. The air was so salty here, it coated my tongue and frazzled my hair.
No matter how hard I tried to lose myself in the gentle song of the waves sweeping over the beach, in the calm reflection of the moon and stars, my skin still tingled.
As if someone was watching me.
My right hand patted my dagger underneath the gauze as I turned eerily slow.
I eyed the corridor behind me.
Nothing.
Nobody hid behind the jasmine bush either.
Then my gaze wandered to the edge of the beach, near the cliffs which had tempted me for years.
My heart stuttered.
My pulse began to gallop.
My knees forgot to stand still.
There he was.
The only man whose mere name could make bloody assassins quake. The man who made and crumbled fortunes with one word.
Varen Cirillo.
Fabrian’s advisor and the Serpents' fiercest negotiator.
And he wasn’t alone. He was talking to Alaric, the Protectorate's leader–and trying to be very inconspicuous about it.