Page 73 of Marrying My Professor

I follow him to a quieter corner of the observation deck, away from the clusters of Veritas members and wealthy alumni who've gathered to watch the trials like it's a sporting event.

"How is married life treating you?" Nathaniel asks, and the question sounds almost genuine despite the context.

"Well enough." I keep my voice neutral, giving him nothing. "Elara is adjusting."

"I'm sure she is. Your wife is quite adaptable." He pauses, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Which is why I'd like to request her presence at tomorrow's trial."

Every instinct I have screams warning. "Why?"

"Because the Games are as much about social integration as physical prowess. The initiates need to understand how to navigate our world, how to interact with established members and their families. Having faculty spouses present demonstrates the full scope of what they're joining."

It's a reasonable explanation. Too reasonable. Which means it's probably bullshit.

"What's the real reason?" I ask, watching his face carefully.

Nathaniel's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes—respect, maybe, for calling him on the deflection. "James specifically requested her presence."

My blood runs cold. "Absolutely not."

"It wasn't a request, Alexander. It was a requirement." He takes a measured sip of his drink. "Your wife made quite an impression at the Spring Ball. James is interested in getting to know her better, in understanding the woman who captured the attention of our most elusive professor."

The possessive way he says "our" makes my skin crawl, makes me want to grab Elara and run as far from Belgrave as two people can get.

"She's not a decoration to be trotted out for James's entertainment."

"No," Nathaniel agrees mildly. "She's a Veritas wife. Which means she has certain obligations. Appearances she's expected to make. Events she's required to attend." His gaze hardens slightly. "You knew that when you married her. When you bound her to this organization through your own binding."

He's right. I did know. I knew exactly what I was sentencing her to when I extended my service indefinitely, when I made her mine in the eyes of the Order.

I just didn't think they'd cash in this quickly.

"What trial is scheduled for tomorrow?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"The maze." Nathaniel's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "The new hedge maze we've constructed in the woods north of campus. Initiates will navigate it while faction leaders observe from viewing platforms. It should be quite entertaining."

Entertaining. Like watching people get psychologically tortured in a deliberately disorienting environment is entertainment.

"Fine," I say, because refusing isn't an option, because Nathaniel has made it clear that this is a command dressed up as a request. "We'll be there."

"Excellent." He starts to turn away, then pauses. "Oh, and Alexander? Make sure your wife dresses appropriately. James appreciates... presentation."

The implication in his tone makes my hands curl into fists. But I just nod, keeping my expression neutral, playing the obedient servant I've been forced to become.

Nathaniel moves away, disappearing back into the crowd of observers, and I'm left standing alone with rage simmering just beneath my skin.

I scan the room until I find James again. He's near the windows now, surrounded by a small group of Sovereign Bastards, holding court like the entitled prick he is. As if he can feel my attention, he turns his head, his eyes finding mine across the crowded deck.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. Him with his perfectly styled hair and his expensive suit and his complete confidence that he's untouchable. Me with fourteen years of captivity and a wife who wants revenge and nothing left to lose.

Then James raises his glass in my direction. A small gesture, barely noticeable to anyone else, but unmistakable in its meaning.

A toast. A challenge. A reminder that he holds power here, that he can demand my wife's presence and there's nothing I can do about it.

I should be angry. Should be planning how to protect Elara from whatever games James wants to play, how to keep her safe while satisfying the Order's demands.

Instead, I find myself smiling.

Because James Harrington just made a critical mistake.