Isadora’s letter burned at the bottom of his desk like a secret flame. He ignored it, but not really. It filled his head constantly, like living in a nightmare.
Normally, the ring of glass paned windows and snowy vistas of his turret office provided a sense of escape and a reprieve from the pressures of his work. Today, the world felt too bright. Too cold. Too close. He longed to curl away and . . .
What?
What else would he do if not this?
He paced in front of his desk, chewing on his bottom lip.
Oh, Isadora’s list of demands last night had been fair enough. Meet her family, court her, ask questions. He felt proud of her thoroughness, and grateful for such straightforward expectations. One couldn’t blame her for what she wanted.
Until he read the last one.
4. I want you to tell me you love me. In words. Out loud. And mean it.
She could have asked for anything else, and he would have given it to her. Wildrose. All his currency. Passion and tenderness and a life together.
Not that.
He ran his tongue over his front teeth, considering the sound and shape of such words. They way they did—or rather, did not—roll off the tongue. I love you. He’d never heard them before, except maybe from Charlie. Ranulf and Pearl had implied the words often, but never outright said them.
They were more than words, anyway. They were a covenant heart-tie. A forged bond. An everlasting promise to be something to the other.
The deepest of oaths.
He muttered a curse under his breath, shook his head, and glanced up when a rap came on the door. Wally called through the wood.
“Ambassador?”
“Yes?”
“The new Ambassador to the Eastern Network has arrived for your initial meeting.”
Max cursed again. Of course. His aunt Serafina, the reigning High Priestess of the East—though he doubted that would last for long in an insufferable place like the Eastern Network—had swept out the old Network Council and structure of her husband, Dante. She’d spent the last week and a half placing new witches into power in a generalized reform.
Max strode to the door, gripped the handle. He closed his eyes, pulled in a deep breath. Felt the cool air curl through his lungs, dissolving into the space, before he let it back out.
Tranquility arrived.
He stuffed aside thoughts of Isadora, courting, and other concerns for later. The door opened. He gave a cordial nod to a slight male witch with spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
“Ambassador Vargara, welcome to my office.”