Page 39 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

She walks toward the house without waiting for Benedikt, who follows after a moment's hesitation. I watch them go, noting the way he catches up to her, and his hand briefly touches her lower back.

Early afternoon, I drive to one of the older Galkin properties on the outskirts of the city. The estate has been in my family generations, maintained but rarely used. Today, several of the family elders have gathered there.

Gregory offered to come with me, but I refused. This is family business, and though he's like a son to me, this is different. This is tradition and business mixed. Although, if I'd really wanted Gregory involved, no one would tell me no. The way he's been acting, though, I'd decided it would be best if he didn't come along.

The house is smaller than my main estate but elegant in its simplicity, dark wood and stone, built to last rather than impress. I find the elders in the main sitting room, five men ranging from their sixties to their eighties. These guys have been in the business for decades. They've watched me grow up. A couple of them even took time to play catch with me when I was a young boy.

"Samuil." The eldest gestures to an empty chair. "Please, sit."

I sit, keeping my posture relaxed despite the tension in the room. This is not a formal meeting, so there's no need to use my title.

"We wanted to talk to you about your upcoming wedding." His voice is rough with age but still commanding.

I straighten a little. Not because I'm uncomfortable, but these men deserve respect. Plus, I'm curious about what's on their minds.

"We remember the last time a Galkin tried to unite with a Rostova." Another elder leans forward. "It didn't end well."

"That was three generations ago." I keep my tone even. "Different time, different circumstances."

"History repeats itself, boy." The oldest man's eyes are sharp despite his age. "Especially in families like ours. The Rostovas and Galkins have circled each other for centuries, never quite allies, never quite enemies. There's a reason for that."

"The reason is outdated tradition and stubborn pride." I meet his gaze steadily. "Times change."

"Power doesn't change." Another elder stands, moving to the window. "Tradition and history don't change. If we ignore our pasts then we're doomed to repeat our mistakes."

The eldest raises a hand. "We called this meeting to warn you, is all. As the elders of this family, we are aware of the blood duty you have to keep in mind as one of the warriors for the royals."

"I appreciate the concern." I stand, ready to end this conversation. "But the decision is made, and there's nothing I can do about it. You know we can't blatantly ignore a royal command."

The men nod, but each of them looks at me with a mix of worry and sadness.

"Then at least honor tradition." The eldest rises slowly, his movements stiff with age. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small velvet box. "Every Galkin groom has worn this for generations on his wedding day."

He opens the box, revealing a heavy gold ring with the Galkin crest engraved in the center. The metal is old, worn smooth in places from decades of wear.

"It's been in the family since before we came to America." He holds it out to me.

I take the box, the weight of it heavy with history and responsibility. Accepting it makes the wedding feel more real now, imminent, and a boulder lodges in my gut.

"Thank you." The words come out rough, like I haven't used my voice in a long time. My tongue feels thick, and I have to swallow a couple of times before I can talk again. "I will wear this with pride and honor."

I leave the estate with the ring in my pocket, the elders' warning echoing in my head. The drive back to my property takes longer than usual, traffic heavy with weekend crowds. By the time I pull through the gate, evening has settled over the grounds.

I go inside and climb the stairs two at a time, anxious to get to my bedroom and put this ring away. It's burning a hole in my pocket, so full of history and duty that I almost feel overwhelmed. This ring has been worn by a lot of my ancestors. Did they have the same trepidation about getting married as I do? Probably not since they weren't marrying a Rostova.

I get to the top of the stairs and pause. If I turn right, that leads to my bedroom. If I turn left, it leads to Ana's. The sound of her laughter trickles down the long hallway and I find myself turning left, my feet moving before my mind can catch up and realize what I'm doing.

Her door is partially open, and the light from the room spills into the hallway. I move closer, staying in the shadows. Through the gap, I see Ana sitting on the edge of her bed. She's changed into something more casual, her hair pulled back loosely. She's smiling at something, her expression relaxed.

A slight smile tugs at the corners of my mouth and then stops when I see Benedikt standing in front of her, closer than a bodyguard should be. As I watch, he reaches out and brushes a loose strand of hair from her face. His fingers linger against her cheek. And she doesn't pull away.

21

ANA

Ihear footsteps outside my suite just as Benedikt's hand drops from my face. A shadow passes beneath the doorframe, then fades down the hallway. Probably staff making evening rounds. I give it little thought and return my attention to Benedikt.

He's standing too close, though, his expression troubled in a way I've rarely seen. We've known each other for years, but tonight, something feels different about the way he's looking at me.