“I don’t want a preference,” I said. “I want authority.”
Alexander leaned back. “Authority without accountability is a wish. You want to be a mother and not a piece of the machine. We don’t get to be both.”
I could have let it go there. That was the old script—he gave the limits, I nodded, the meeting ended with other men’s names attached to my future. I thought about standing and leaving, quiet and careful, a good Adams daughter.
Instead I looked at him. The kind of look that acknowledged the man and not just his chair.
“There was a time you weren’t like this,” I said. “Maybe if our mother had protected you from the dynasty, you wouldn’t be so?—”
“Capable?” Alexander cut in. “I took ownership of you. I kept our house respected. I didn’t get swallowed by cousins, uncles, relatives. That’s the job.”
I shook my head. “I was going to saylonely.”
Something changed around his eyes. A flicker, gone fast enough that if I told anyone they’d call it fiction.
“Lonely keeps you alive,” he said.
“Maybe. It also keeps you empty.”
Marus cleared his throat. “We can table the poetry and return to terms.”
“Terms,” I repeated. “Fine.”
I slid a page across the glass. Not a legal draft. A list in my handwriting. It felt childish and braver than anything I’d done here.
Corvin glanced down. He read quickly.
“Education: parent-directed, with external tutors chosen by the mother. Medical: primary consent vested in the mother. Security: veto power over assignments entering the household. Travel: mother determines international movements within legal parameters. Heir status: conditional on health as definedby the mother’s physician of record.” He paused. “Guardian: preselected by the mother.”
“Add:no handlers in the home without my consent,” I said. “Add:no performance training before age seven.Add:no physical branding.Don’t look at me like that,” I added when Marus’s mouth moved. “We both know there’s a line item in the Codex that would make room for it.”
“Removed,” Corvin said smoothly. “Several years ago.”
“Then write it here,” I said. “In case someone forgets later.”
Marus put his glasses back on. “Even if we were inclined to humor this, there is a practical concern. The right man will want a say.”
“And the wrong man will want the whole child,” I said. “If the Accord is really about stability, you don’t need a man who can’t stand the wordno.”
Alexander watched me like he was trying to find the seam in what I was saying. “You think this makes you stronger.”
“I think this makes the child safer,” I said. “And if the dynasty is as unkillable as you say, it will survive a mother who loves her child more than the crest.”
“Sentimentality is expensive,” he said. “We pay for it in blood.”
Silence. The handlers pretended to read their screens.
“You’re asking for a new precedent,” Corvin said. “Others will demand it.”
“Then they’ll ask,” I said. “And if we’re lucky, in three generations more mothers will have their names next to their children’s.”
Alexander’s mouth flattened again. “You learned to speak like this somewhere.”
I didn’t answer.
He looked at my list without picking it up.
“The mergers pause until the Accord is formalized,” hesaid at last, as if he hadn’t heard anything else. “We vet candidates. Slowly. Carefully. The spine holds.”
