Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            I sigh and mouth a Nah.

            Still, Lowe’s “Thank you for having us” is accompanied by a more-than-firm handshake. The governor holds his fingers to his chest as he escorts us to a sitting room, and I tip my head down to hide my smile.

            He appears to have a prurient interest in the workings of our marriage, and he’s not shy about asking. “It must be challenging. Full of arguments, I bet.”

            “Not really,” I say. Lowe takes a sip of his beer.

            “Disagreements, at least.”

            I glance around the room. Lowe sighs.

            “I cannot imagine that when topics such as the Aster come up you see eye to eye.”

            “The what?” Lowe looks at me blankly. It occurs to me that the Were might remember the event by another name. One less centered on Vampyres’ blood.

            “The last attempt at an arranged marriage before ours,” I explain. “Where the Weres betrayed and massacred the Vampyres.”

            “Ah. The Sixth Wedding. It was an act of revenge. At least, that’s what we are taught.”

            “Revenge?”

            “For the Vampyre groom’s violent treatment of his Were bride during the previous marriage.”

            “They don’t tell us that,” I snort. “Wonder why.”

            “Are you going to argue about it?” the governor asks, like we’re his personal source of entertainment.

            “No,” we say at once, giving him harsh looks.

            He clears his throat bashfully. “It’s time for dinner, don’t you think?”

            Lowe doesn’t have the Machiavellian, manipulative skills of Father, but he’s nonetheless crafty at guiding the conversation where it needs to go without giving too much away. The governor’s wife is mostly silent. So am I: I stare at my risotto with mushrooms, which according to Serena are different from the fungus she once got under her foot, though I can’t really recall in what way. I lazily wonder why Humans and Weres keep throwing food at me, and listen as the governor informs us that he and my father are “great friends” who’ve been meeting in Human territory about once a month to discuss business for the past decade—despite the fact that Father visited me once per year when I was the Collateral; I’d love to be shocked, but I’d rather save the energy. The governor has never been in Were territory, but has heard beautiful things and would love an invitation (which Lowe doesn’t extend). He’s also going to transition to a lobbying position once Maddie Garcia fully takes over.

            Then Lowe moves the conversation to his mother. “She used to be one of Roscoe’s seconds,” he says, switching our plates once he is done with his dinner and starting the meal over. “Worked closely with the Human-Were Bureau, as a matter of fact.”

            “Ah, yes. I met her once or twice.”

            “Did you?”

            The governor reaches for a piece of bread. “A lovely woman. Jenna, right?”

            “Maria.” I hear the displeasure in Lowe’s tone, but I doubt anyone else can. “I was under the impression that most of her dealings were with someone in charge of border affairs? Thomas . . . ?”

            “Thomas Jalakas?”

            “That sounds right.” Lowe chews my risotto in silence. “I wonder if he remembers her.”

            I tense. Until the governor says, “Sadly, he passed a while ago.”

            “He did?” Lowe doesn’t act surprised. Paradoxically, it makes his reaction more believable. “How old was he?”

            “Young, still.” The governor sips on his wine. Next to him, his wife plays with her napkin. “It was a terrible accident.”

            “An accident? I hope my people were not involved.”

            “Oh, no. No, it was a car accident, I believe.” The governor shrugs. “Unfortunately, these things happen.”

            Lowe’s stare is so intense, I suspect he’s going to confront him. But after a moment, it relaxes, and the entire room breathes out in relief. “Too bad. My mother talked of him fondly.”