Rosalinda's POV (Present Day)...

"I will not marry him"

The words slip out quiet, almost a whisper. Breathless, really. I say it mostly out of a stubborn need to voice my reluctance to tie myself to some total stranger.

I am not sure that I have been heard but then, Father glances up from his desk, his brows knitting together in a frown. Yes, he heard. And clearly, he had not expected my refusal.

"Rosalinda" he says, in that tone reserved for when he is displeased. "We have discussed this."

The warning hangs there, sharp. Irritation too.

Mother stands behind him, her presence in the study a quiet comfort, like always. Isabella Stratford never raises her voice. She does not need to. Soft-spoken, but when she talks people listen.

"Rosa, mi calita" she begins with a slow sigh. "What really is the issue? You have been ready for this all your life. It is what you were raised for. Prepared for. And now you say you will not marry Alexander? This is a family legacy. It has to be honored."

"I know, Mother" I say too quickly. "But we do not even know him. I do not know him. Should he not have visited at least once? How am I to marry a man when I have no idea what he looks like? Not even a picture. Do you not find it strange?"

I have tried searching for him over the internet. I found nothing. Not a mention of his name. Not a picture. It is like I am betrothed to a ghost.

I do not mention this. Father does not know that I have access to the internet. With the things I see online, I often wonder why my life is so restricted.

I do not have friends, except Betty, my maid. It is her phone I use for browsing. She has been with us since I turned twelve. Seven years now.

Seven years of her quietly showing me glimpses of the real world.

"Those details aren't important" Father says, pulling me back. His voice controlled, as ever.

He stands abruptly, leaning forward, hands planted on the desk.

"Rosa, you have been raised to understand the responsibilities of being a Stratford first daughter," he continues. "I fail to see what your objections are really about. Meeting Alexander beforehand? It is not part of the agreement. To safeguard your virtue. That is a requirement of the contract. This union is important to the family. It protects us. It always has."

There it is again. My virtue, tossed around like a clause in some document.

The agreement demands I stay a virgin until he claims me. That was supposed to happen on my eighteenth birthday. I will be twenty in a month.

"Protection from what?" I ask. My voice trembles slightly, though irritation slips through despite my effort to hold it back.

Father says he does not understand where my temper comes from. Stratfords have always been calm, level-headed. The women in our family history were demure.

Though, to be fair, there have not been women in our family for generations. I am the first girl born in over a hundred years.

My birth was sort of this big event. A miracle, especially tied to this contract with the Matessons.

Mother steps forward then, resting a hand on Father's shoulder, like she is calming him. He exhales deeply and goes on, still dodging my question.

"Everything we have is because the Matessons have watched over our family for generations," he says. "While others lost land and wealth to wars and famine, ours stayed secure."

I shift in my seat. Same old explanation I have heard forever. The Matessons are our benefactors. We owe them everything.

Or rather, the first daughters do.

That would be me. Not just the first, but the only female in ages. The obvious choice to fulfill it all.

I am not totally against arranged marriage, I think. But something here does not add up. It feels like I am missing pages in a story.

The man I am meant to marry does not seem to exist.

My brother Christopher, though, has never had restrictions. Eight years older, always free to do what he wants.

He is away now, on some business. I do not know what kind. Father says he handles family affairs. I do not even know what those are.

We are wealthy but all my life I have seen father more at home than having to leave for work. I do not know what business my family is engaged in.

Father says it is not for me to worry about.

That is how sheltered I have been.

My sole purpose in life, it seems, is to become the wife of Alexander Matesson.

Wife. That is putting it one way. I have heard other terms used that have made me wonder about the true nature of this contract.

I have overhead conversations.

Once I heard Christopher say to father that being Alexander's mate made me superior to them and also a ticking bomb. Nothing must go wrong.

I was just ten at the time, and Christopher had just turned eighteen. He was regarded as a man and spent a lot of time with father in his study.

This was before he started taking long trips away.

Over the years, I also came to realize something.

Father fears Alexander.

I overheard a conversation he had with mother.

"We cannot afford to offend the girl, Bella," Father had said. At first, I had not known who he meant. Then he kept going. "When Chris turned fifteen and you said you had stopped your cycle, I was relieved. I thought we had escaped having a child to hand over. Then we found out you were already five months along. Doctors said evacuation was too risky."

I had been stunned. My parents had not wanted me. Had even considered aborting me.

Mother's voice came quieter. "We have no choice. You told me it is a covenant made with them and despite there being no females in your family for generations, they have kept to their end of the bargain. There seems to be no way out. Remember, they were all there during her naming. He will surely come for her."

"I have never been so afraid," Father had said. "Five of them with us. In that locked room."

Even now, that twists my stomach.

Mother replied, "I was afraid too. But Rosa was calm when he looked at her. There was something in his face that night. I knew he would never harm her. That is what gives me solace in all of it."

"He will come for her at eighteen," Father said. "They do not take kindly to mistreatment of what they consider theirs. I love Rosa, but lately she has been... defiant. What if discipline looks like cruelty? What if she tells him we were harsh?"

I never heard Mother's response. Christopher walked in right then.

That talk changed me.

On my twelfth birthday, I asked for a personal maid, insisted on choosing her. After some pushback, they agreed. I picked Betty.

Since then, I have been the picture of polite and proper. I live a pampered life. I get almost everything I ask for.

Betty helps with the rest.

"I understand, Father," I say now, though honestly, I do not. "I just... hoped to have some say in who I spend my life with."

Silence stretches. Thick. Uncomfortable.

"You do," he says finally, glancing at Mother. "We sent word to Alexander that you wanted to wait until twenty-one. Original agreement was eighteen."

But?

There is always a but.

"But?" I prompt.

Mother steps closer, brushing Father's arm. "Colin. She needs to know."

"The Matessons have sent word," he says. "Alexander is returning."

Rosalinda's POV

"Alexander is returning. He has been abroad and will be in the country before your birthday."

Why does this feel like there is more?

"But he agreed to wait until I am twenty-one, right?"

I can see Father's face pale.

"Not exactly. There was no initial response. But in his last message, he said he has waited this long to give you time, but he can no longer wait."

My stomach drops. From fear or excitement, I do not know which.

"So that is it," I say. "He decides to appear now, and suddenly the waiting is over?"

"He has waited long enough," Father replies. "His family has waited long enough."

"I have a say indeed." The words slip out before I can stop them. "But I am not ready Father."

"We cannot afford to offend them. When he arrives, he will claim you," Father says, voice firm. Final. "The ceremony will take place shortly after your birthday. We cannot put it off further."

Claim.

The word lands wrong. Heavy. Possessive. Like I am an object that has been misplaced and finally retrieved.

I stand. My legs feel oddly steady for someone whose world just tilted.

I should be happy that I get to meet him finally. Though there is a part of me that wishes he never comes at all. But I doubt that would release me or give me freedom to do as I will.

"So I do not get a choice," I say.

"You get dignity," he answers "You get protection. You get to honor your obligation with grace, and become the Matriarch to a powerful dynasty."

I nod, because arguing feels useless now.

"May I be excused?" I ask.

Father hesitates then nods once.

I leave the study with my spine straight, hands calm at my sides. It is how I have been trained. Always to maintain poise. To fit into the Matesson world, whoever they are.

Betty is waiting in front of my room. She follows me in and closes the door.

I pace.

Once. Twice. Again.

"Miss," Betty says, worry lacing her voice. "Is everything okay?"

I pause at the foot of my bed. I start hyperventilating. Alexander will be here next month. Alexander is coming to claim me.

The walls feel too close. The bed too neatly made. My eyes shift to my dresser. Alexander is a very generous man. And obviously very wealthy. I get gifts from him every year on my birthdays, special holidays, gifts for no reason. Clothes. Bags. Shoes. Jewelry. Everything a girl could dream of.

Everything of the highest quality and obviously the latest trends. Items I never use or wear because I never go anywhere. But I have the best etiquette and finishing teachers, who come in to teach me how to conduct myself in polite society.

I am so polished, you would think I have lived in a different era.

I need to get out. I need air. I need to breathe.

"Betty," I say suddenly. "I am going clubbing. Help me get ready."

"What!"

"I said I am going..."

"I heard you, Miss, but I cannot help you. It is too risky. A club is no place for someone like you. You are too pure. There are bad things out there."

I burst into laughter. "Betty... what do you mean, bad things? Oh God, you sound like Father." My shoulders shake with mirth.

"No, Miss," she goes on, trying to dissuade me. "There really are horrible things and people out there. It's nothing like what you se online."

I am already searching through my wardrobe for something appropriate, telling her to check online for the nearest club. Something classy.

I pull out a short black, body-hugging A-line dress. I look at the daring deep V-neckline and ask myself how I even have such an outfit. Everything I own comes from Alexander, and from what I know, I doubt he would have approved of something like this. But hey-good thing I have something to wear to the club.

I change without thinking anymore about it. I turn so Betty can help me with the zipper.

"Miss, please don't go out," Betty says as she zips me up. "I have a bad feeling about this."

I grab a pair of gold heels and sit on the edge of my bed.

Betty kneels in front of me to buckle the straps.

"You worry too much. I need to clear my head... away from all this. Maybe a little fun before I move from one cag to another. Alex is coming next month. I do not have time."

I can see worry and fear etched on her face. Though she is four years older Betty is the closest thing I have to a friend and a sister.

I pull my strawberry-blond hair loose allowing it fall t my shoulders in waves. Its unusual color and the shimmer of my gown set a sharp contrast against my pale skin.

I turn to Betty, stretching out my hand for her phone. She hands it over, and I check the coordinates of the club she has picked ou?¡The Zone.

Hmm.

I grab a coat to cover up with. We then slip quietly through the service corridors. A side door near the kitchens opens out onto the lower gardens.

Outside, the night is crisp and sharp, cold and I welcome it.

We follow the narrow path that leads to the delivery gate at the edge of the property. Betty says it is never locked, and as expected, it isn't.

Beyond it lies the tarred road leading from our estate. We walk until the house is gone. Just around the corner is the cab Betty booked; she quickly checks to make sure.

Whenever I am done, she is to meet me here with the trench coat. She has a small phone she got a while back, which we use to communicate.

I take off the coat and hand it over to her. With a quick hug, she whispers in my ear, "Please be safe, Miss."

With that, I slip into the cab.

"Somewhere loud," I tell the driver when he asks.

He laughs, like he understands exactly what that means.

Max's POV

The Council chamber is designed to remind you of your place.

I always feel it pressing in the moment I enter. Its stone walls are veined with old sigils, their persistent magic vibrating low under the skin

An ancient stone table occupies the center of the room, surrounded by blackwood chairs carved during the Blood Accords. Polished smooth by centuries of bodies that believed power lived in posture. Here, the ceiling arches too high, forcing the neck to tilt, the spine to bow. An attempt, I suspect, to make even kings feel small.

I smirk. The thought always amuses me.

There is also that signature smell. Subtle. Incense and iron. A ceremonial blend meant to evoke reverence and obedience.

Has never worked on me.

I look at those in attendance.

Five of them. All half-bloods or hybrids, as they refer to themselves now. Each one distinct. Each one trying very hard to sound steady. Their human hearts playing a staccato tune in my ears. Each Sanguinari house is represented.

"The line cannot remain vulnerable indefinitely," Lord Virel speaks, without raising his voice.

One of the original Sanguinari offspring. An Aldercrest. He has survived long enough to know volume is a liability. He was old when my grandfather ruled. Old enough to remember when silence carried more authority than speech.

Over eight centuries but looks more like an aristocrat at sixty five.

"You are not vulnerable," I say. "Nor is the House of Aldercrest."

"That is not what I meant," he replies, thin lips curving. "You know precisely what I meant."

I do.

They all do.

The issue of succession sits between us, unspoken but heavy. Dead weight.

"You are both blood regent and Crimson heir. Have been for almost a century now." Lady Carrow says. Her fingers are steepled, knuckles pale with the effort of stillness. She avoids my eyes at first. "The last untainted line. You understand what is at stake. Your father's restraint was... admirable. Yours, less so."

I lift my gaze slowly.

When our eyes meet, her breath hitches. She drops her gaze almost immediately. I can sense her fear even with the power she wields. Her need not to offend in any way.

"Meaning?" I ask, brows arched.

Her gaze slips sideways, betraying her intent. To the empty seat beside mine. A space that has never been filled.

"A consort would ease much of this concern," she says.

"An heir would silence all of it."

Ah, there it is.

An heir.

The word lands with the dull thud of something dropped carelessly onto stone. Too simple. Too easy.

"You have been presented with candidates," Virel continues. "Sanctioned pairings. Proven bloodlines. Hybrid women conditioned for compatibility".

Bred.

The word tightens something low in my chest. I do not react outwardly, but the room does. The air thickens, subtle and immediate. One heartbeat "And yet," he adds carefully, "you have rejected them all."

"I did not reject them," I say. "I simply declined the arrangement."

A distinction they understand perfectly. And resent deeply.

"You cannot afford sentiment," Lady Carrow snaps.

I lean back in my chair, one ankle carelessly resting on the other knee.

"You speak of sentiments and yet there was not a single Olderman or Aldercrest amongst those presented."

I watch her face pale. Lord Virel shifts in his seat and there is a general stir in the room.

"They were carefully selected. Each one understands the implication of birthing a royal. They are willing to make the sacrifice. Besides, Purebloods do not mate on impulse."

"No, we don't," I say quietly. The sound carries anyway. "We mate on instinct. Which is why such an arrangement will not work."

Silence settles. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

My bloodline traces back to the first originals. Strong. Powerful. Dangerous. Apex predators not just by strength alone. Our bodies know before thought interferes. Instinct tells us what can sustain our blood. What will fracture under it.

Instinct that has kept my bloodline pure and undiluted.

"You speak of instinct as if it is infallible," Virel says. "Yet your instincts have led you nowhere."

I lean forward, slow and deliberate. Forearms rest on the table. Palms flat. Open.

If I wanted, I could make him kneel. Compel muscle to betray mind. Will lungs to forget how to draw breath.

The knowledge hums beneath the surface of the room. Sharp. Restrained.

"Perhaps a demonstration would set the record straight. A reminder of who you address so carelessly." I let my gaze settle on their faces one by one.

A ripple moves through the chamber. Someone swallows too hard.

"My instincts," I say, "have kept our line intact while others diluted themselves into irrelevance."

"Your father produced an heir," Lady Carrow presses.

What she does not say is that my mother was human. Yes, human but an abomination. Unfortunately, for them, I turned out a pureblood, not hybrid. And with my powers magnified making me the strongest pureblood in history.

"My father bound himself to a human woman who survived pregnancy only because she was altered," I reply. "And paid for it in ways you prefer not to remember."

Forbidden alchemy. Blood rituals that bent law until it screamed.

Eyes lower. Spines stiffen.

"We are not asking you to repeat his mistakes," Virel says. "Only to fulfill your duty."

A quiet, humourless laugh escapes me.

"By using a woman chosen by committee? A woman chosen to die for the sake of an heir?"

Silence filled the chamber. They knew that being a hybrid did not guarantee success. My father's experience was lesson enough.

Pureblood pregnancies were rare. Brutal. The female body had to be reinforced. Altered. Prepared.

Every hybrid female who carried a royal child died shortly after giving birth, the child as well.

They know this.

"You would only need to succeed once. Perhaps if they drank from you..."

Something in me stills.

I rise to my feet. The chair scrapes softly against stone. The sound is small. The effect is not. Several heartbeats jump despite their owners' discipline.

"You misunderstand," I say. "If I take a woman, it will not be once. It will not be calculated. It will not be something I can turn off."

I stop to gaze into every one of their eyes before I continue.

"And I, will be the one, doing the drinking."