Page 46 of Marrying My Professor

"There has to be another way," I say, hating how desperate I sound.

Julian leans forward, steepling his fingers. "Such as?"

"I'll vouch for her. I'll take responsibility for⁠—"

"You already vouched for her," James interrupts from his position by the door. "Upstairs. In front of witnesses. You claimed her as yours. But claiming isn't the same as binding, Professor. You know that."

He says my title like an insult, and I want to cross the room and drive my fist through his smug fucking face. But violence won't help Elara. Nothing will help Elara except finding a loophole in a system designed to have none.

"Then I'll bind her," I say.

The room goes still.

Nathaniel's expression doesn't change, but I see the calculation happening behind his eyes. "You'll what?"

"I'll bind her to the Order. Through me." My mind is racing, pulling together fragments of Veritas law I've spent eight years trying to forget. "If she's bound to a member—properly bound, through the old rites—then her transgressions become his responsibility. Her debts become his debts."

"You want to marry her," Evander says, and it's not a question.

"If that's what it takes."

Dominic lets out a low whistle. "Draven, that's⁠—"

"The only option," I finish. "Unless you're suggesting I stand here and watch while you execute a twenty-three-year-old woman for the crime of being curious."

"Curiosity isn't a crime," Julian says mildly. "But espionage is."

"She's not a spy," I snap. "She's a student. She doesn't understand what she stumbled into."

"Then perhaps," Nathaniel says, his voice dropping to something dangerous, "you should have been more careful about who you brought into our world."

The accusation stings because it's true. I brought Elara to the first club. I showed her the phrase. I opened the door just enough for her to slip through, and she did exactly what anyone with half a brain and a death wish would do—she kept pushing until she found something worth finding.

"I'll take her debt," I say again. "All of it. Whatever consequences she's facing, I'll bear them."

Nathaniel studies me for a long moment. "You have nothing left to give, Atticus. You're already serving a ten-year sentence. You're already bound to Belgrave. What could you possibly offer that would satisfy this council?"

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. "I'll extend my sentence."

"By how much?"

"Three years."

Julian laughs—short and sharp. "Three years for a Serpent secret revealed? That's insulting."

"Five years, then," I counter, desperation making me reckless. "I'll serve five additional years at Belgrave. I'll continue teaching, continue fulfilling whatever functions the Order requires of me. Just let her live."

Nathaniel leans back in his chair, fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the armrest. "Still not enough."

"What more do you want?" The words come out raw, furious. "I'm offering you thirteen total years of my life. Thirteen years of service. What else could you possibly⁠—"

"Everything," Nathaniel says simply. "We want everything."

The room tilts slightly, or maybe that's just my understanding of reality shifting.

"What does that mean?" I ask, though I'm terrified I already know.

Evander answers, his voice soft and almost sympathetic. "It means indefinite service, Atticus. Not thirteen years. Not twenty. Forever. You serve the Veritas Order until we decide you've paid your debt. Or until you die. Whichever comes first."