Lykan
“May I remind all parties that these minutes are being recorded in strict adherence to official protocol for every discourse between members of the royal family.”
Nadir’s voice is crisp, professional, as his pen hovers over the leather-bound ledger. The secretary’s dark eyes remain fixed on his notes, refusing to acknowledge the tension crackling through the conference room like a live wire.
I sit motionless, my expression likely as hard as the slab of granite that a Sharasan sculptor has artfully turned into a table for twelve and has since been installed in the royal jet.
But inside, I’m fucking reeling.
One of my secret dreams since childhood was having a sibling. Any sibling. Someone who understood what it meant to carry royal blood, to live with the weight of a crown you never asked for. Someone who could stand beside me instead of behind me.
But why did it have to be him?
Why did it have to be Vaughn fucking Fuller?
My gaze slides to Scarlette, seated rigidly beside me.
Every line of her body screams tension, her spine straight as a blade, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles have gone white.
I can feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the faint trace of her perfume mixed with something sharper.
Fear.
I want to ask her what she’s thinking. The need claws at my chest like a caged animal. But I’m a coward, because I might not be ready to hear the truth.
The worst-case scenario loops through my mind on repeat: Scarlette rejoicing at the chance to trade up for a husband she actually chose. A husband she might have wanted all along.
“Discourse may now commence,” Nadir announces, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
I turn my gaze to Vaughn, my mind already racing ten steps ahead. Time to systematically dismantle this bastard’s argument. My greatest advantage should be my intimate knowledge of Sharasan law—
“Let it be noted for the record,” Arav interrupts smoothly, “that due to the royal commission entrusted to me by His Majesty, I am duty-bound to represent the interests of Mr. Fuller in all legal proceedings.”
Fuck .
There goes my advantage. Arav is one of the kingdom’s sharpest legal minds, and what should have been a piece of cake just became an uphill battle. My back is against the wall now, but the pressure only sharpens my focus.
Arav will soon know what my opponents have learned to their misfortunte.
I’ve always fought better when cornered, and I don’t intend to let today’s battle to be an exception.
Vaughn leans forward, his expression so damn pompous, it just fucking hurts to think of him as my brother.
“Let it be officially acknowledged that I desire to have Scarlette Hood as my wife.”
“I raise no objection to that.”
The words make Scarlette jerk in her seat while my idiot of a brother smiles triumphantly.
But Arav clears his throat. “Secretary, let the petition be officially amended to indicate Mr. Fuller’s interest in making Scarlette Qahiri his wife.”
Vaughn’s face flushes red as his rookie mistake sinks in. “You think this is some kind of game?”
The petulance of his tone makes me grind my teeth. How can this be my flesh of blood? How, dammit?
“I’m serious about Scarlette.”
What the—
“Did I ever say I wasn’t?”
Brother or not, annoying or not, I will not let him question my feelings for Scarlette—
“Do you love her then?”
But neither will I let him force me into making any admission until I’m good and ready.
“That’s immaterial to the discussion,” I snap.
“On the contrary,” Arav interjects, flipping through his leather folio. “Article Twelve of the Royal Marriage Statute clearly states that emotional attachment supersedes birthright in cases where the union has been consummated.”
Damn you, Arav.
Vaughn straightens in his chair. “Then I invoke Article Seven—the Right of First Blood.”
The Chief Steward has always been an excellent tutor, and Vaughn speaking like he’s always been an expert on Sharasan law is proof of it.
“As the elder son, I have primary claim to any woman of my choosing, regardless of her current marital status.”
Too bad for him, though.
“Article Seven has been superseded by the Marriage Protection Act of 1847,” I counter coldly.
Arav was my tutor, too, once upon a time.
“It’s specifically designed to prevent forced dissolution of consummated unions—”
“Unless, of course—”
What the hell, Arav?
“The union was entered into under false pretenses, which would then bring us to Article Twenty-Three.”
Great, just fucking great.
Article Twenty-Three deals with coercion and fraud in marriage contracts.
Where are you going with this, old man?
“My client wishes to formally challenge the validity of this marriage on the grounds that Scarlette Qahiri was not given full disclosure of her rights as a Sharasan citizen.”
My jaw clenches when I finally understand what Arav is leading to.
“Specifically, her right to choose between eligible royal heirs—”
His words make me feel like a trap has started to close around me, and I’m forced to grate out an objection. “On the contrary, Chief Steward. Scarlette was informed of all relevant laws—”
“But only after the ceremony—” Arav’s rebuttal, even though mildly spoken, still has me gritting my teeth. “—which makes the entire union voidable under the Informed Consent Provision.”
“The ceremony was performed under American jurisdiction,” I fire back. “Sharasan law doesn’t apply retroactively to foreign soil.”
“But the consummation occurred on Sharasan territory,” Arav says smoothly, gesturing toward the jet around us. “This aircraft is registered as sovereign soil of the kingdom—”
The noose tightens another notch.
“— and so all acts performed herein fall under Sharasan jurisdiction.”
Vaughn actually says ‘ahem’ at this point, and I have to remind myself that he’s related to me by blood, just to keep me from hitting the Emergency Exit button so I can throw him out of the jet.
“Let it be said—”
Older brother, I remind myself stoically even as I have to fight against the urge to drive my fist in his face, which I begrudgingly admit is still boyishly handsome for someone his age.
Vaughn is still my older brother, his pompousness not withstanding. I must show respect—
“That I can furnish substantial evidence of prior emotional attachment between myself and Scarlette—”
Did he just fucking—
“— predating any contact with Your Highness by several years.”
To hell with respect!
If this bastard thinks I’m just going to let him say anything, absolutely anything about my wife—
“Please just stop this.”
It’s Scarlette’s first time to speak, and silence explodes in the room at the note of pain threading through her voice.
I turn to reach for her, only to find my wife looking at Vaughn with tear-filled eyes.
“I don’t even know why you’re doing this—”
“I was an ass, Scar.”
My lips tighten at the admission. It’s the only way to keep myself from pointing out that Vaughn might have used the wrong tense. As far as I’m concerned, he’s still an ass, and the most pompous one at that.
“I know it now. I was an ass all these years, and that’s why I want to make it up to you.”
“Then why not just apologize—”
“Because it’s not enough! It shouldn’t be enough.”
A part of me wants to tell the other man to shut up. This is my jet he’s on, and my wife he’s talking to.
But the other part of me...
All it wants is what Scarlette really wants, and if letting this whole damn thing play out is what it takes for her to find that—
“Remember how I helped you through your parents’ divorce?”
Then so be it.
“Remember how I taught you to drive? How I stayed up all night helping you study for your SATs?”
But of course, I also need to cover my bases, and so I quietly inform Nadir that emotional manipulation is not admissible evidence—
“Remember how you used to bring me coffee every morning at the bakery?”
—which Arav is also just as quick to counter, as he also quietly points out to the secretary that Vaughn’s words are meant to establish a pattern of care and commitment, this being the very foundation of Sharasan marriage laws.
Damn you, old man!
“Don’t you remember how I made you blush—”
And damn you, Vaughn Fuller!
“—the first time our hands accidentally touched?”
Enough, dammit.
I’m half out of my seat, ready to haul him across this table and beat him bloody—
“You can’t just pretend those things didn’t happen, Scar. You loved me since you were sixteen.”
The words hit like a sledgehammer to my chest. My gaze snaps to Scarlette, and what I see there makes my blood turn to ice.
“You can’t just fall out of love with me like that,” Vaughn presses, leaning forward. “Not after all those years. Not after everything we shared.”
The pen in my hand snaps in half with a sharp crack that echoes through the silent room. The sound seems to bring Scarlette back to earth, and she blinks, realizing I’m staring at her.
“Is it true?” I hear myself ask.
Scarlette’s expression is distraught. “Lykan—”
“Yes or no.” Each word feels like swallowing glass. “Did you fall in love with him when you were sixteen?”
Her lips start to move, and when I realize what word it’s about to form—
No, fuck, no.
My chair hits the wall as I surge to my feet.
“I need a minute.”
I can’t fucking breathe. The air in this room is suddenly like poison to my lungs, and my chest feels like a ticking bomb. I take a step toward the door, but someone pushes me from behind—
What the—
All hell is set to break look as I look over my shoulder. I swear, I fucking swear if Vaughn was stupid enough to push me—
Scarlette?
She’s gesturing frantically to someone in front of me, and my gaze swings sharply back to the front. I want to know who she’s talking to, and—
What the hell?
It’s Nadir, quickly opening the door to the en-suite, and Scarlette is pushing me again from behind, and the next thing I know, I’m stumbling through the doorway just as I hear the distinct click of a lock engaging behind us.