Page 160 of Beautiful Prey

They cross the lawn together, Ryven looking at neither Dad nor the Imperial, Seren staying at his shoulder all the way to the registrar’s table.

An older woman brings Aleron to meet them, silver threaded heavily through her dark hair, her hand resting between his shoulder blades with the familiarity of someone who has probably been putting it there since he was small. She murmurs something into his ear before letting him go, and he shivers, looking first at Ryven and then at Seren. His eyes linger on Seren for half a heartbeat, searching his face before dropping back to the flagstones.

“Shall we begin?” The registrar, a small, tired man with a slate and stylus, looks from one side of the table to the other. When nobody answers, he clears his throat. “Very well. For the official record.”

Ryven flicks two fingers at him. “Get on with it, old man.”

Aleron flinches and somebody in the crowd laughs, while Dad is too busy leaning towards the Imperial to notice, murmuring something that earns him a restrained chuckle before signaling for another drink.

The registrar lowers his gaze to the slate. “House Veyra. Aleron Talan Veyra, second son, presented by his House and by his own consent.” He taps once. “House Clement. Seren Marek Clement, of the blood, presented by his House and by his own consent.”

I’m watching Ryven, standing beside Seren with his hands in his pockets, staring across the lawn like he’s waiting for somebody to get this fucking thing over with. Dad is still talking to the Imperial while someone brings him another drink. The smug motherfucker is so busy enjoying his own performance that he barely seems to remember he’s marrying off one of his family.

Seren takes the stylus, signs, and passes it to Aleron, whose hand shakes badly enough that the older woman steadies the slate while he adds his name.

“Recorded and⁠—”

“Sealed. Good.” Ryven claps the registrar on the shoulder. “Applause, everyone.”

Polite applause drifts across the lawn as Seren turns toward Aleron, settling one hand on the back of his neck before tipping his face up and kissing him.

Seren pulls him onto his toes and takes his mouth as if he’s been waiting all fucking evening to do it, one hand splayed over the back of Aleron’s head while the other closes around his waist and drags him flush. Aleron lets out a tiny sound against his mouth, going rigid as the applause stutters and dies around them.

For one stupid second, I can only stare. Apparently, so can everyone else until the older woman steps forward, one hand half raised. “That’s... excuse me. That’s quite enough now.”

Aleron’s hands come up and clench Seren’s coat. And wouldn’t you fucking know it, the pretty little prince doesn’t push my cousin away.

Something in my head finally catches up.

He’s kissing Seren.

My eyes snap to Ryven. He’s smiling, really smiling. The hard set of his face has softened, and his shoulders have dropped, as if someone just cut twenty pounds off his back. For the first time since Dad announced the treaty, my cousin looks like himself again.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Seren signed it.

That crazy motherfucker actually signed it. Ryven catches my eye, and the bastard’s grin widens.

Beside me, Jade goes completely still, his gaze fixed beyond the registrar’s table. I follow his gaze to Dad, who’s holding court beside the Imperial, glass at his chest, smiling like the evening couldn’t possibly be going any better.

Oh, Light. He hasn’t even fucking realized it.

It takes another few seconds before Dad’s attention finally shifts towards the registrar’s table, his smile disappearing as he finds Seren standing where Ryven should be and the color drains from his face.

Then his jaw locks, fingers curling so tightly around his glass I’m surprised the stem survives.

I know that look. Fuck, I know it. I’ve watched it come across a study at me since I was nine years old, usually seconds before a glass hit a wall or a hand caught the side of my face. Even now, my body remembers before I can stop it, my shoulders tightening as I wait for whatever always comes next.

Go on, Dad. Do it in front of the Imperial.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He stands there on the anniversary of Mom’s death, furious enough to break something, trapped beneath the lights, with not one fucking thing he can do about it.

And all because he didn’t read the fucking papers.

Twenty-four years of sloppy, Asher. Check it again, Asher. Do it properly or don’t do it at all. Twenty-four years of learning that one wrong number, one missed detail, or anything done less than perfectly could cost me whatever mood he was in that day.

The stupid bastard never checked which Clement he was about to destroy.

He wanted Ryven gone. Maybe that was all this ever was, the treaty just giving him a respectable reason to take my cousin and best friend away until there’d be nobody left in that house I could turn to but him.