While Waiting to Wake

Instinctively, she stepped closer to Flint. Even if she couldn’t grab his hand, he was more comforting than standing alone.

Neither of the two men stood.

Flint bowed respectfully. “Your Highness. And Marquis Harrow.”

Thiago smiled warmly.

“You’re prompt as always, Baron. And you must be Lady Emmaline.”

Em was trying to hide behind Flint without appearing to do so. At being addressed, she flinched and reluctantly curtsied. But said nothing.

The Prince dismissed her and looked back at Flint.

“You may sit. Both of you.”

Prince Thiago waved to the two remaining seats not sharing his settee. One was a chair and the other was on the other end of the Marquis’s settee.

Flint gave the two seats a quick glance. Then surprised Em by steering her to the single chair and taking the settee seat himself. It seemed too small for the two men and she, like everyone else, had assumed she’d be seated there.

She was glad for Flint’s strange decision.

Sitting next to a strange man, and that man sitting between her and Flint, would have been too uncomfortable. Among all the other uncomfortable things already going on.

The old man gave Em a smile and pushed a plate of cookies toward her while servants served her and Flint tea.

For once, she was not interested in cookies.

She’d been trying to avoid the man to her left. How had she ended up here?!

Her hands shook as she clutched the tea and murmured a, “Thank you,” to the maid who gave it to her.

The awkward silence continued for a time as the Prince sipped from his cup. Deliberately making his visitors sweat.

None of them could start the conversation until he did. In any other setting, even a viscount could start a conversation. But not when royalty was present.

What a roach!

How long was he going to make them sit in silence?

Em frowned at her tea and took a tiny sip. Her eyebrows shot up. She didn’t know what they put in there, but it was more like drinking honeyed milk than tea.

Maybe that’s what it was?

“Baron Grimshaw,” the Prince suddenly drawled. He deliberately put his cup down on the coffee table with a clink. “I assume you read my missive fully.”

“I did. And as I explained before, I had no part in what transpired. Was there something missing from my dismissal request?”

Dismissal? Em looked at her brother in confusion.

Was he asking to leave the army?

He didn’t spare her a glance. Keeping his gaze fixed unreadably on the Crown Prince.

“Not officially. All the documents were in order, the required signatures present and confirmed, the witnesses provided.”

Thiago paused. Smiling.

What was he waiting for?

Flint’s nostrils flared, the only sign of his agitation. “But-?”

“Marquis Harrow tells me he’s already paid the bridal price. This, too, needs to be addressed.”

Bridal price?

Em flinched and looked at Flint anxiously.

There was a distinct difference between a bridal price and a dowry.

A dowry was what a bride brought with her to the marriage and was her insurance if, for any reason, the marriage failed. Or if her husband was no longer in a position to care for her.

The bride price, though, was what the groom paid for the privilege of a betrothal. It was his insurance that the bride would not be swept up by another lover and married elsewhere. Once it was paid, they were engaged. With or without other documentation.

Traditionally, the bride price was supposed to be added to the dowry after the marriage ceremony was completed.

But, what usually happened was the bride’s family kept it for themselves.

The penalty for breaking the rules after the bride price was paid could be steep.

Em’s hands shook, and she had to put down her cup to avoid spilling it.

After what felt like a very long silence (but was probably only about a minute), Flint stirred and turned his head toward the waiting old man.

“I found no record of such a transaction. How much was the bride price?”

“Fifteen billion zen.”

A muscle jumped in her brother’s jaw, and his eyes flashed.

“That is a large price for a Baron’s daughter.” Flint’s voice was strained with anger.

Calmly, the Marquis pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and presented it to Flint. Who reluctantly took it and looked it over.

“As you can see, everything is dated, witnessed, and signed-”

“This is not my signature.”

“Whether or not it’s your signature,” the Prince cut in, “does not negate that the price had been exchanged. The only way I can officially cancel the betrothal is if the bride price is returned with its fifty percent penalty.”

The paper in Flint’s hand wrinkled under the pressure of his grip.

Fifty percent?!

The barony was nowhere near that prosperous!

And while Flint was coming into a Marquis title and March lands, it was in the middle of a war-torn country. Where many of the original residents were no longer there and the rest were hostile.

Em felt like fainting. She glanced at the smug old man sitting to her right, her stomach rolling.

She might as well resign herself.

This was the man she was going to be marrying.

Maybe it won’t be all bad (other than the fact he was a pervert who married children). If she’d had to marry the Crown Prince, he would’ve lived until almost ninety. Outliving her by a good stretch because she'd die of abuse and overusing mana.

This way, she’d at least be free of all husbands in ten, maybe twenty years.

And technically, she was mentally seven years older than Emmaline. That would help… sort of…

Her stomach twisted harder.

Goodbye swordplay. Goodbye Tracy. Goodbye Silver Vale.

While Em was panicking, Flint was watching the two men with an unblinking, scathing gaze.

There weren’t many people who could make the Crown Prince sweat. But Flint Grimshaw managed it without making himself obviously disrespectful.

“Baron Grimshaw,” said Thiago. Suddenly irritated. “When can the Marquis expect repayment?”

Flint smiled.

Which startled Em and the other two men.

“I can arrange for the documents and the transfer by the end of tomorrow. Is that soon enough?”

“Now, wait a moment!” Marquis Harrow jumped to his feet. Looking flustered.

“Is there a problem, Marquis?”

“Well, I, that is-”

“Surely you would not argue that the child still has to marry you?” Flint’s smile turned cold and contemptuous. “Not with all the evidence that Felix acted without my knowledge or consent?”

Apparently her brother was in no mood to humor the old man even an inch.

“I-”

“And surely you would not refuse the repayment after going through all the trouble to get it? If you refuse, then I insist you make it official so the matter will be permanently dropped.”

The Marquis clenched his fists. Glaring at Flint with open hatred.

“Or,” Flint drawled dryly, “should I suspect underhanded dealings? Did you somehow think you knew about all of my assets and thought you’d have the upper hand in this arrangement?”

Em’s eyes widened.

She looked between the Crown Prince and the old man.

Had they conspired this? But why!?

She was just a baron’s daughter! If they’d known about her gift, cornering Flint and forcing him to give up guardianship would have made sense.

This did not.

“Of course not,” the Marquis seethed. If a man could spit fire, he would have. “Repayment will be gladly received.”

Flint nodded. Standing up, he bowed to the Crown Prince.

“If that is all, your Highness, I best return to my estate and begin the paperwork. I had hoped to leave tomorrow morning for Silver Vale, but I’ll delay my departure for three days.” He glanced sideways at the Marquis. “To make sure there are no problems with the transfer.”

“Well!” The Crown Prince stood up. Composure returned as he held up a hand in farewell. But his eyes were cold. “I’m glad that was resolved so easily. Be sure to send the appropriate confirmations to my secretary.”

“Of course, your Highness.”

As they left the room, Em felt like melting with relief.

Impulsively, as soon as the door closed behind them, she grabbed Flint around the waist and hugged him.

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Her brother had just been in the same room as the scariest man in the empire and had remained calm throughout the meeting. Yet he looked immediately and thoroughly flustered with what to do about the child clinging to his waist.

With a grunt, he firmly pushed her off. Unable to look at her as he tried to regain his composure.

“I was only doing my duty. There’s no need to make such a fuss.”

Still, Em beamed as she walked with him down the corridors and outside.

As they returned to their carriage, where Tracy had been waiting for them, Em thought back on what happened.

And decided she’d overreacted in her suspicions.

There really was no reason for the Prince and the Marquis to have any other motivation than the Marquis’ fetish. He might have even bribed the Prince with political support to get what he wanted.

That alone was enough to make the Prince act on the Marquis’s behalf.

Soberly, she watched her brother look out the window again. Arms crossed.

“They faked it, didn’t they?”