Page 17 of Severe Husband Warning

“I had reason to think carefully.”

A smile threatens the corner of my mouth.

“I believe you.”

The admission arrives more easily than I expected.

Nothing about this conversation suggests impulse. Every part of her proposal has been considered, discarded, reshaped, then considered again before she ever crossed my gates.

Which leaves only one question worth asking.

“And what prevents me,” I inquire, “from accepting everything you have offered while allowing your father to remain exactly where he is, unprotected?”

The mountain wind stirs the metallic branches overhead. Bronze leaves brush softly against silver vines, producing a delicate chiming that drifts through the gardens like distant bells.

The human does not answer at once.

Good.

Someone driven entirely by emotion would have protested immediately. Instead, she gives the question the consideration it deserves before lifting her eyes to mine.

“Nothing.”

The answer lands with unexpected weight.

“You possess the power to do exactly that,” she continues. “I have no means of preventing it. But it would be wasteful.”

Curiosity, against my better judgment, edges forward.

“Wasteful?”

She nods.

“My proposal solves a political problem that already exists. Taking advantage of me accomplishes nothing.”

She continues to hold my gaze despite the obvious effort it costs her.

“You need someone your rivals cannot use against you. I need my father to live. Those interests support each other.” Her voice remains steady. “If you choose not to honor your word, you lose the arrangement that made accepting my proposal worthwhile.”

Curiosity deepens into respect, and I study her with renewed interest.

She has not appealed to mercy, nor has she attempted to shame me into agreement. She has argued from utility, treating this discussion as a negotiation between two people seeking the most effective outcome.

It is an argument I recognize. One I have used often enough myself.

She is the daughter of a conduit mason whose failing health has brought her here. She earns her living performing in Malakor’s household, yet she has crossed the city alone to propose a political solution that no courtier would have dared suggest.

Courage alone would not have carried her this far.

It required judgment as well.

Judgment is rarely flawless. It need only arrive before the opportunity disappears, just as mine had.

“I accept.” The rigid line of her shoulders eases as the words reach her, as though she had been bracing herself against refusal from the moment she entered the gardens. “The terms are agreeable.”

For several moments she merely looks at me, surprise quietly replacing the composure she has fought so hard to maintain.

Then she bows low.