Queen of the Night (Witchfire 1)

Chapter 7 - The Arrogant Prince

"I understand," my suitor conceded, but there was a bite of disapproval in his tone. "Business comes before family."

His words had the full-bodied flavour of the truth, but the bitter aftertaste of a lie. He believed in what he said but seemed to wish the world was otherwise. I frowned, but the lapse in composure went unnoticed as the men locked eyes over the dinner table. Gooseflesh appeared on my forearms, and I realised the two were engaged in a battle of wills. If I concentrated, I could feel a slick heat in competition with an icy cold...

Something or someone caved, and it was over. The heat vanished, and the visitor sagged back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. He'd lasted surprisingly long, but judging from Father's smug expression, the boy had not proven a serious challenge.

A bell chimed, a shrill reminder of the modern world. Father pulled out his phone, pensively scratching at his stubble. "Sorry kids," he said at last, rising from his chair. "I'd love to stay and chat, but duty calls. Jerome, escort my daughter to her room when you're finished."

And then there were two.

The second we were alone, I turned on my suitor. "Which son are you, and how long has my father been searching for a suitable mate for me?"

His look was one of confusion. "I would have thought that one brought up in this house would be more polite, especially towards their superiors."

I almost threw myself across the table to throttle him. "I don't see anyone superior to me in the general vicinity," I said instead, smoothing down my dress.

I smirked at the tick in his jaw. You might have impressed my father, boy, but you're yet to impress me.

He seemed to realise that. "My humble apologies," he said, switching back to his princely manner. "I meant you no insult. My name is Jerome Miles Blanc, and I am the fourth son of my father. It's a pleasure to meet you."

As an advisor to the throne, I'd heard several rumours about the sons of the Blanc bloodline. The eldest, Gabriel, was infamous for jilting his wife of several years, after she failed to produce a male heir in what he considered a reasonable amount of time (never mind the fact that science had proven it was a male's seed that determined the gender of a newborn). I only knew the vaguest details about the second and third sons; they were entirely unremarkable, and as far as I was aware, they'd married into influential bloodlines to secure political ties throughout Europe.

Jerome, however, I'd heard plenty about. The youngest son to date, Jerome was most infamous for the time his father threatened to disown him. It was public knowledge that Jerome was a shameless flirt, whose sexual preferences weren't limited by race or gender. While that didn't bother me in the slightest, it had certainly bothered the Paris Alpha, and it had gotten to the point where Matheus had publicly shamed his son, and threatened Jerome with the loss of his inheritance.

By all reports, Jerome had complied with that ultimatum.

"Yes, it's a pleasure," I said absent-mindedly. Was Jerome a victim of our parents' machinations as much as I was? Or had he come to embrace the ways of his father, all for the sake of an easy lot in life? I shook my head, suddenly sick of contemplating his character and the impact he might have on my life. "I'm no longer hungry. Would you kindly escort me to my room?"

Jerome acquiesced and we stood, abandoning our meals and the private dining space. When I fell into step beside him, it rankled me that he was taller by half a head.

"You still haven't answered one of my questions," I reminded him as we walked.

"I can't say for sure how long the Lord Nightshade has been searching for a mate for you," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "All I know is that the tournaments have been running for about three years."