CHAPTER 288: CHAPTER 288: LIMITED OPTIONS (2)

Mia’s hand tightened against the edge of the table, her lips pressing together before she spoke, steady but taut.

"And if we refuse?"

The silence that followed was heavy, taut as glass.

Cressida’s silver gaze cut to her at once, unblinking. "Then your cousins will not. And they will happily drag you with them, whether you consent or not."

Serathine stirred her tea with unhurried grace, amber eyes gleaming. "Maleks have a peculiar history; in the family there was another dominant omega. They sold her to Rohan before the ink dried on the certificate of her secondary gender."

"Great-aunt Elara Malek," Andrew said softly, his voice edged with a bitterness he couldn’t quite keep down. His gaze dropped briefly to Mia before lifting again, steady. "Mia didn’t hear about her because, by the time she was old enough to remember, we weren’t invited to the family gatherings anymore."

Cressida’s lips curved, cool and sharp. "Banished branches always think they are free, until the trunk bends back and cuts them for kindling."

Mia’s eyes widened, her chest tightening. "So she really existed? They actually sold her?"

Lucius’s voice was clipped. "They wrapped it in contracts and ceremony, but in truth, she was nothing more than a commodity. That is what happens when you do not decide your own roof before someone else decides it for you."

Andrew’s jaw clenched, the muscle tight against his cheek. He adjusted his glasses with deliberate calm, though his voice carried the weight of iron. "Then I will not allow history to repeat itself." His eyes swept the table, hard and unyielding. "If refusal is not an option, then tell me this: who should we choose?"

Sirius leaned forward, the grin gone from his face, replaced by something sharper, steadier. "My mother’s family," he said simply. "The Blacks."

The name dropped into the room like a spark to dry tinder, and for the first time, even Serathine’s stirring spoon stilled.

Mia blinked, her brows furrowing. "The Blacks?"

Sirius inclined his head, blue eyes steady. "My mother’s family. Old blood, old power. They don’t crave titles because they already own half the empire in silence. They’ve stood apart long enough to be called neutral, but make no mistake, they are feared for exactly that reason."

Cressida’s silver gaze narrowed, not with disapproval but with calculation. "You would put them forward, Sirius? Bold. Convenient, too, your mother has been trying to tug their strings back into the palace for years."

Lucius leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his voice cool and precise. "The Blacks have reach, yes. But they also have a reputation for turning on anyone foolish enough to think them tame. And aunt Denise and her husband Milo Black have no heirs."

"Milo?" Mia asked, raising her eyebrow at the name, then laughed softly. "Andrew’s middle name is Milo."

Lucius’s gaze flicked toward her, sharp as a blade even when he didn’t mean to cut. "Milo Black. Head of the family. Ruthless, practical, and entirely uninterested in court theatrics. He and Denise command respect because they are careful, and because no one forgets how their rivals ended."

Mia pressed her lips together, fighting down another laugh. "Still funny. Andrew Milo Malek. You’d fit right in."

Andrew’s glare slid to her, quiet but weighted, the kind only an older brother could wield. "Not the time, Mia."

Sirius chuckled, unabashed. "On the contrary, it’s exactly the time. The Blacks appreciate irony. And the moment your name is linked to theirs, the rest of the Maleks will think twice before trying to use you."

Cressida stirred her tea with delicate precision, her silver eyes unsoftened. "Think twice, perhaps. But ambition is stubborn. And the Blacks will not offer protection out of sentiment. If you tie yourselves to them, do it with the full understanding that neutrality is not loyalty."

Andrew folded his hands together, posture controlled, though the edge in his voice betrayed the storm beneath. "So you suggest we tie ourselves to a family known for cutting down rivals, who hold no heirs, and who stand apart from the throne itself. That sounds less like protection and more like stepping onto a blade."

Serathine’s smile was faint, her amber eyes glinting. "And yet, Mr. Malek, blades cut both ways. Better to hold one in your hand than feel it pressed against your throat."

Mia shifted, muttering under her breath, "Why do I get the feeling Chris won’t get a say in any of this?"

Lucas’s green gaze cut to her, calm but firm. "Because he doesn’t need to. He already made his choice the moment he stayed at Dax’s side. Now it’s about you two being safe, so he can adjust in Saha."

Andrew’s jaw tightened, hands folding neatly on the table. "I assume there was a discussion with the Black family before this."

Sirius’s mouth curved. "Yes. They know, and they’re ready to meet you both when you decide. But better sooner than later, so you stand with Lucas at his official presentation as the Grand Duchess."

Andrew’s voice broke the silence again, steady but carrying the weight of suspicion.

"And the rest of the family? You expect them to simply accept two strangers stepping into their name? Into their roof?"

Sirius’s grin returned, faint but razor-sharp. "Not strangers. Blood by circumstance. The plan is already in motion."

Lucius’s eyes gleamed, cold and deliberate. "Denise and Milo understand the value of a narrative. They are prepared to act as though you, Mia, and Christopher were acknowledged as part of the family years ago. Banished branches can be rewritten when it is convenient."

Mia blinked, incredulous. "Pretend we were always part of the Blacks?"

"Precisely," Lucius said, voice clipped. "The empire believes what it is told, so long as the telling is consistent. Records shift, guest lists blur, and no one looks too closely at the roots if the branches bear fruit."

Andrew’s mouth thinned, though he said nothing. His silence pressed like stone against the table.

Sirius leaned forward, his voice smoother, almost coaxing. "Christopher’s presence at Trevor and Lucas’s wedding was already accounted for. The Blacks were invited as honored guests. It will not take much to frame his attendance as natural, a cousin, a nephew, or family coming quietly back into the fold. No one questions who sits in the shadow of Milo and Denise."

Cressida’s spoon clinked gently against porcelain, the sound deliberate. Her silver gaze fixed on Sirius. "And when someone does question?"

Lucius answered without pause. "Then they will find themselves standing against the Blacks’ word, the imperial family, Fitzgeralt, and D’Argente. Even the most ambitious Malek will think twice before choosing that battlefield."

Mia shifted uneasily, her fingers tightening around the edge of her sleeve. "So you’d erase the past just like that? Pretend we belonged to a family that has no ties to us?"

Serathine’s amber gaze flicked toward her, the faintest smile curving her lips. "Child, ties are made, not found. The world remembers only what is written and spoken often enough. The Maleks cut you loose decades ago."

Cressida’s silver eyes gleamed, cool and merciless. "Legitimacy is a matter of repetition, not blood. Denise and Milo will place you where they want you, and the empire will bow to the arrangement because no one dares call the Blacks liars to their faces."

Andrew’s voice was low, controlled, though the anger in it pulsed beneath every syllable. "And if we refuse to play along with their fiction?"

Lucius’s reply was immediate, precise as a blade. "Then you hand your cousins the excuse they need to sell you off. The Blacks will not waste time chasing those who refuse their shelter."