It was a joke between us, the number of lives my human father owned. Since Maman died, his aging process had returned to mortal rates. At seventy, he looked fifty. Fit, healthy, and strong, but middle-aged. I still recalled his smooth, youthful features from my childhood.
I squeezed his hand. “You waste your time worrying about me, Baba.”
“Is it ever a waste for a father to worry about his daughter? Tell me how you feel about the possibility of peace. Can you sheathe your sword?”
I shrugged. “It's hard to feel anything about a possibility.”
“Is that what you believe? You were there. The Prince spoke to you.”
“He's barely awake, Baba. Who knows what he'll want when he's himself again?”
He sighed, gaze keen. “I want you to have an uneventful life. Manage your cafés, find a husband and give me grandchildren.” He paused. “To allow your dream of avenging your mother to die.”
“I definitely want to be more hands-on in my businesses.”
That vision I kept closest to my heart. To spend my days puttering with inventory, consulting my baristas, dealing with customers in the string of four cafés I owned. Currently, my father's relatives managed them, and I dropped in when able, but I wanted to do more.
I could live my dream for a time if I pursued the Prince's peace. Spend my remaining life convincing everyone to let in the floodgates of human technology, so we stopped living like we were in the Edwardian era. My cafés could be exemplars of how things like Wi-Fi wouldn't actually cause us to all melt into puddles of goo.
Realms, Wi-Fi.
I salivated thinking about it. In fact, “Wouldn't you rather have a laptop than a grandchild?”
I asked it even as my heart broke a little. I still hadn’t told Baba about the Vow—or anyone else. I couldn’t give up vengeance. My life was wed to it now.
And now. . .I realized how selfish I’d been. My father would have to bury his daughter, for after today I knew any attempt on Prince Renaud’s life would end in my death. Either he would kill me, or the Vow would.
The door to the meeting room opened, people filing out. Numair and Juliette approached, Tereille on their heels. Baba nodded at them, then squeezed my shoulder one more time and let go.
“If we're anticipating peace, there's work I'll need to do in preparation. Get some rest, sweetheart.” He left.
He was the best part of our House. A brilliant diplomat, philosopher, and strategist. Not a war strategist, but he understood how to make people like and trust him. He understood how to get people to cooperate. I wished I were more like him.
Unfortunately, I was little better than a glorified soldier. A bit better trained, but that was it. Little else besides my family name recommended me.
My cousin approached. I could barely meet her eyes, the weight of my secret slowly bludgeoning me. They would never forgive me. But if I told them, they might do something stupid. Like try to kill the Prince themselves, hoping the Vow would cancel itself out. As if the magic was that stupid, or an Old One that weak.
“Hot tub, or alcohol?” Juliette swung an arm over my shoulders. “The others are gathering. We just haven't decided how we want to drown our misery tonight.”
“With swains,” Tereille trilled, heading to his mate’s office. “Preferably more than one, and at the same time.”
“If Édouard thought you actually meant your teasing, he would break down and cry,” Juliette called.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, through a lock of his streaked hair. “I never said he wouldn’t be one of them,” he purred.
Hot tub was a pseudonym for a glorious, shameless orgy in the communal bathing house, of course. Though few of us mated or married any more, we indulged in copious sex, especially since we needed to keep our birthrate up to replenish our warriors. Not among each other, we stopped fucking our cousins when we realized the humans were disgusted by it. As if they should talk. There was plenty of cousin fucking in mortal history. But still.
“If you all do hot tubs, I'll hang out,” I said.
“When are you going to join?” Juliette asked. “You can't stay a virgin forever.”
“Not forever. Just until my mother is avenged. And I'm hardly a virgin virgin.” Oral counted, which I'd indulged in. Not everything was about penis in vagina.
Juliette didn't grimace because she knew I'd slap her, but that was how she felt about that promise. Not a Vow, I wasn't stupid enough to make that a Vow, but I had promised. No consort, no love, no children until my mother was avenged and my House secure.
I'd take my release in blood and alcohol.
My gaze flickered to Numair and stayed there. Another reason why I’d made that promise. Because if I ever took a lover, I would want him. But if I took him to my bed, he would need more than that. He would want everything. I'd only break his heart. Though I loved him, I didn't know if I was capable of being in love with him.
