“It was all but agreed to,” Alastir responded. His anger burned through my senses, scorching my skin. “You know what your father has planned for decades, Casteel.”
Decades.
A part of me recognized that Casteel denied what Alastir had stated and that Alastir had basically confirmed such. So, there was a slight lessening of my fury, a halt to the continuing cracking in my chest, but the pain and the anger were still there. This had been discussed for decades? For longer than I’d actually breathed life? Did it not occur to Casteel to tell me any of this? To warn me? I pulled my senses back, closing them down.
Vaguely, I became aware of the silver-haired man and Kieran approaching. They were close enough to hear everything—close enough for me to see that the newcomer was a wolven, and that the curve of his jaw and the lines of his cheek seemed familiar.
“You mean that for decades my father assumed that I would eventually agree, but not once did I ever give him or anyone an indication of such,” Casteel fired back. “You know that. How in the world did this even come up?”
“How in the world did you not think to tell her?” Alastir demanded.
There was a soft inhale from the tables of Descenters, and the silver-haired man murmured, “I have the best timing.”
My gaze shot to his and locked. The pale blue eyes flared brightly, nearly luminous as his lips parted. They moved, but there was no sound. His surprise was like freezing rain, sudden and all-consuming. He jerked, taking a step back. Was it my scars? Or did he feel that weird static charge even though we didn’t touch?
“Do you think I don’t know why you brought this up?” Casteel queried in a voice too soft, snapping my attention back to him. “It is weak of you.”
Alastir tensed beside me. “Did you just call me weak?”
A smirk twisted Casteel’s lips. “What you just did was weak of you. If you think that equates to weakness of mind or body, that is on you. Not me.”
The wolven had recovered from his reaction to me. He placed his hands on the table, and when he spoke, his voice was low. “You should both calm down.”
“I’m perfectly calm, Jasper,” Casteel replied.
This was Jasper. The wolven who was supposed to marry us. Great.
“Since you’re bound and determined to have this conversation right now when you should’ve had it in private ages ago, then let’s have it out for all to witness since everyone here has been thinking it from the moment they learned of your engagement,” Alastir snarled. “You may not have agreed, but an entire kingdom, including Gianna, believed you would marry upon your return.”
Who in the hell was Gianna? Was that her name? The one the King and Queen expected Casteel to marry when he returned?
“This has nothing to do with Gianna,” Casteel replied curtly.
“I can actually agree with that,” Alastir returned. “It has everything to do with the kingdom—your land and your people and your obligation to them. Marrying Gianna would’ve strengthened the relationship between the wolven and the Atlantians.”
Jasper’s head snapped in Alastir’s direction. “You are overstepping, Alastir. You do not speak for the entirety of our people.”
The older wolven burned with rage beside me, but there was a connection there, one that harkened back to Landell, to one of the things he’d said in response to Casteel stating his intention to make me the Princess. He’d said that it was supposed to be an honor meant to bring all of their people together.
“I know what my obligations are.” Casteel’s words fell like chips of ice. “And I know exactly what my father expects of me. Those two things are not mutually exclusive, nor would marrying a wolven suddenly erase the deaths of over half of their people. Anyone who believes that is a fool.”
“I didn’t say I agreed with it.” Alastir picked up his drink.
“Perhaps this conversation should occur at another time,” Emil stressed, having moved to Alastir’s side. He looked to Jasper as if to say, “do something.”
Jasper sat in the chair Kieran had occupied, and quite frankly, he stared at Alastir as if he hoped the man would continue.
“You mean when we don’t have one of them sitting right there?” a man spoke, an Atlantian who I thought had been at the house Beckett was injured at. “Who was raised in the pit of vipers and is most likely just as poisonous as the nest she grew up in? When we are this close to finally seeking retribution against them?”