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Each practiced word out of my mouth has me yearning for more—a life rather than a tailored existence.
My mother shows me off like some kind of prized pony, and it isn’t until Katja sends me a glance of sympathy from across the room that I fully click on what is happening.
Each couple I greet has a son by their side or lingering nearby who just happens to be single. My mother spins tales of my piano talents and art to people interested in seeking to merge our families.
That’s the other thing I’m good for.
Being positioned and married off like a chess piece on a board I have no insight into. It’s been drilled into me from a young age that whoever I marry will be chosen for me and likely a marriage of circumstance and advancement rather than love. I’ve pushed against it ever since I had the means to, but Mara and my father had led me to believe such a thing wouldn’t matter until I was twenty-one.
Clearly, things have changed.
Two hours later, my feet ache in my heels and my jaw throbs from how often a polite smile slips onto my face.
“Alena, where are you going?” Mara snaps her long fingers in front of my face as I try to move past her.
“Bathroom,” I lie.
“Well, hurry up about it. There are more people I want you to meet.”
“More potential people to sell me off to,” I hiss, but Mara doesn’t hear me again. She’s already back in the crowd with everyone’s attention glued to her like she’s the one celebrating and not me.
With the heat and noise of the party reaching their limit, I find my way outside into the vast garden that rolls out behind the house like a velvet blanket. It’s my favorite part of the entire estate and the only place where I can close my eyes and pretend I’m some other person living some fantastic life.
Following the scent of tobacco, I find my father leaning against the gazebo with a cigar resting in his hand. Dressed in a smart suit with a plum smoking jacket across his shoulders, he carries an air of grace and power about him that I admire. Of my parents, my father is the one most likely to be loving.
“Papa?”
“Alena.” My father jumps slightly and a deep chuckle rumbles out of me. “My God, child, you startled me.”
“Sorry.” Leaning against the painted wood, I settle next to him. The glow of his cigar catches my attention while he puffs slowly, clouds of smoke rising above us like rain clouds.
“Mara will kill you if she catches you,” I point out.
“I wish you would call her Mother.” He sighs deeply.
I roll my eyes. “How can I? I’ve just spent the past two hours being shown off like some prize sow to families that aren’t here to celebrate my birthday. They’re here for you. Everyone is always here for you.”
I scuff the heel of my shoe against the ground, fighting tears of frustration. I have no friends, no one to invite even if this were a party for me, but still, if I had a choice, I would much rather go to the cinema with Katja than spend the night like this.
“Alena—”
“No,” I cut in. “I don’t want this, Papa. I don’t want some stranger picked out for me to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t want to be married and shipped off with someone who doesn’t know the first thing about me. It’s not fair.”
“Alena.”
His tone is firm with a sharp edge that silences me immediately.
“I know this may seem difficult for you now, but you are my daughter. My heir. Being the daughter of a Pakhan is no small feat. Like it or not, it is your responsibility to keep family bonds strong and secure the strongest alliance possible. I promise you that your marriage to whoever we decide will be a good match.”
He leans up from the post and places a warm hand on my shoulder while my heart pounds faster and faster.
“You will secure this family for years to come. We all have to make sacrifices.”
“It’s not fair.” I meet his gaze, and while warmth lingers in his eyes, I know my father. Once he is set on something, there is no changing his mind.
“Enough. I did not raise you to be this selfish,” he snaps. “Alena, this is a huge responsibility for the family. You are eighteen now. It’s time to stop acting like a petulant child and grow up.”
“You promised me I wouldn’t be shipped off until I was twenty-one,” I remind him, fighting the prickle of tears in my eyes. My dreams of persuading my father to abandon such an archaic idea by then are slipping away.
