Page 19 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

"Then you know I'm right." I press forward, sensing an opening. "Whatever reason you have for pushing this engagement, it can't be worth ignoring generations of wisdom. Our ancestors kept the families separate for a reason."

"They did." He sets the cup down. "And look where that got us. Maybe it's time for a new approach."

"Or maybe they knew something we don't." I think of the journal entry and the warning about guardians. "Maybe there's a reason the bloodlines were never meant to combine."

My father's expression shifts, becoming harder. "You're making excuses, Anastasia."

"I'm presenting facts."

"You're trying to manipulate me with research and logic because your usual methods didn't work." He stands, moving around the desk to face me directly. "You don't want this marriage, so you're looking for any reason to justify your feelings."

Heat rises to my cheeks. "That's not fair."

"It's completely fair." His voice is firm but not unkind. "I've watched you your entire life charm and manipulate your way out of anything you don't want to do. But this time, it won't work. The marriage is happening. Your duty is to make it work."

"My duty?" The word tastes bitter. "What about what I want?"

"You wanted him at some point, but what you want is irrelevant." The bluntness of it stings. "You're a Rostova. That comes with responsibilities you can't ignore."

I try a different approach, softening my tone. "At least explain why. Help me understand what's so important about this alliance that you're willing to force it."

"I'm your father, not your confidant. I don't need to explain my reasons. You just need to understand that I'm doing what I think—know—is best for you and for our family."

I stare at him, searching for any sign of the indulgent father who's always given me what I wanted. But the man standing before me now is pure royal pain in the ass.

He returns to his desk, picking up his glasses. "The wedding will take place in six weeks. I suggest you use that time to adjust your attitude."

"And if I refuse?" The words come out sharp but also a bit childish. I wince inwardly.

He looks at me over the rim of his glasses, and something in his expression makes my stomach drop with suspicion. "I've already made arrangements to solve that problem."

"What arrangements?"

"You'll see." He returns his attention to the documents on his desk, effectively dismissing me. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

I stand there for a long moment, fury and confusion warring inside me. But his body language makes it clear the conversation is over. I turn and leave, closing the door perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

The rest of the morning passes in tense silence. I try to focus on other things, but my father's words keep echoing in my head. Arrangements. What the hell does that mean?

By early afternoon, I have my answer.

I'm in my bedroom when I hear a bunch of footsteps, multiple voices, and the sound of doors opening and closing. I step out to find three servants carrying empty boxes into my room.

"What's going on?" I ask.

The oldest servant, a woman who's worked for our family for twenty years, won't meet my eyes. "We've been instructed to pack your belongings, Princess."

"Pack them? For what?"

"Your father will explain." She moves past me into the room, heading straight for my closet.

I follow her, watching in growing alarm as she begins removing dresses from hangers. "Stop. Nobody gave you permission to touch my things."

"Your father gave the order." Her hands don't pause. "We're just following instructions."

I turn and nearly collide with Benedikt, my bodyguard, in the doorway. He's been with our family for fifteen years, a constant presence in my life, and right now, his face is flushed with barely contained rage.

"This is bullshit," he says quietly, his voice tight. "Complete bullshit."