Samantha's fingers brushed the dust away from the old tome, the leather cover heavy with age. Its pages smelled of vetiver and traces of iron just like everything in this mansion. She flipped it open, words etched in bold Gothic script glaring up at her.
The country of Galactica was complicated…
She read in silence, but her chest seemed to get heavier with each sentence.
The Blacks. Always the Blacks. Their power seeped into every crevice of the kingdom like poison. The tome called them The Four States of Order, Elder Patriarchs. She could almost hear the voices of tutors in her youth, warning her of how the States were untouchable.
Kehrer Grunge Tolhmes Black of the Absolute Creed.
The First State. The book named him the ancestral dogma of the land, strict and unbending like the pillar of law itself.
Her eyes narrowed. Silently remembering the said rumours that even children weren't allowed to laugh in his presence.
Then came Druvain Malchior Black of the Eternal Dominion.
The Second State. The landholder. The tax master. His section in the tome detailed entire villages stripped bare to feed Galactica's coffers. No rebellion survived him, none could, he was a vicious serpent that curled upon prey stretching the life forces away from their source.
Sevrick Otheniel Black of the Iron Providence.
The Third State. The Sword of Galactica, commander of armies. She pictured his mercenaries, black banners blotting out the sun, swallowing entire towns. Like a Calvary marching into war, leaving bloodless lands in their wakes.
And lastly, Caltrys Veylor Black of the Obsidian Covenant.
The Fourth State. Samantha's breath hitched. His name lingered like a shadow. Spies, assassins, blood contracts the tome described his faction as the hand that killed before wars even began, He was.. The death hound.
And above them all…
Her fingers froze on the name. Zerathul Kael Obryn Black. The Imperial Shepherd. The Shepherd of Crowns. Lord of the States of Order. Demigod, prophet, tyrant, whatever word one chose, it meant the same, his word was law. The book claimed he "shepherded rulers into obedience." Samantha's lips curled in disgust.
She leaned back, clutching her arms. The air felt heavier, goose bumps across her skin.
And then the pages turned to the wider world. The surrounding kingdoms pressed in, The Arctic Dominion to the north, Saurdi Caliphate in the south, the Hail Kingdom across the storm seas. All had been freed long ago by the Transcendants, a mysterious people who toppled tyrants and then vanished.
Her eyes lingered on that word. Transcendants. The tome gave no answer as to what they were, gods, rebels, immortals, but it admitted this, the Black family feared them.
So much so that, for a hundred years, the Blacks had hidden their true power behind governments, pretending to weaken while tightening their grip. All of it, the book whispered, in preparation for The Reckoning.
Samantha's heart thudded.
And there it was. The passage she had been dreading.
The heir of the Black family must bind with the blood of Delacroix. A union written not for love but for concealment. To shield Rexhard from the stain of the mafia world, and to tie the Delacroix line into the Black's empire.
Her throat burned.
It had never been about her, perhaps that was why he screwed her sister, that fucking bastard! And trying to sleep with her too, there it was about her name. Her bloodline. Her family's legacy, the only thing the Blacks valued enough to touch, but she had no choice but to be a tool, the black family had owned her since her birth.
Shame crawled up her spine like fire. Rexhard was just like them, wasn't he? Dark, selfish, manipulative. Hours ago she had felt his hands, his lips, his heat, and now? Now he would barely look at her. Just like the tome, cold words on cold pages.
Samantha's palms slammed the table before she could stop herself, the sound ricocheting across the silent library.
Why was she pining for a man who wouldn't even glance at her? And saw her only as a tool?
Her lips trembled, but she forced them into a bitter smile. If the Blacks thought a Delacroix could be broken so easily, they were wrong.
She whispered into the stillness, not for the tome, not for Rexhard, but for herself.
"Whatever opinion the Blacks have of me… can go straight to hell."
It's incredibly suspicious though to have a tomb with such sensitive information about Rexhard laying around, but on a second thought, this is their Castle, so there's no body flipping through pages looking for secrets like a thief except her of course.
Perhaps the butlers wanted to play a silly joke by putting it in a really obvious spot that makes it insanely obvious they wanted her to know they thought of her as just a tool, so she shouldn't think she would climb up the social hierarchy with Rexhard at the head.
"How childish and stupid" she muttered under her breath not willing to admit out loud that it hurts, even butlers would dare to mock her. "Oh Rexhard! I will truly be your undoing, because payback will be a bitch".
The silence of the library stretched as Samantha's fingers still pressed into the tome, though her heart wasn't in the words anymore.
Footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. Echoed, waking her up from her little daydream.
She turned her head slightly, and there he was.
Valerius Magus Black. The eldest brother.
He moved into the library with an innate elegance of someone who knew he owned everything in sight, even the air she breathed. His coat trailed behind him, boots clicking softly against the polished floor. The obsidian ring on his hand caught the faint light as he clasped his hands behind his back.
"I see you've found the family scriptures," he said, his voice low and threaded with amusement. His eyes trailed to the tome, then to her face. "Curious. Did your husband not deem it necessary to explain our… heritage? Or is it that he simply does not care enough to? Did he tell you of how you were sold off?, I also suppose he didn't inform you of the banquet happening at full moon tonight, shame."
Samantha stiffened. His tone was not a question. It was mockery disguised in civility.
"Rexhard…" her voice faltered, but she steadied it with force. "He has his ways. I am a Delacroix. My presence is not ornamental, it is necessary for his sake, so this is all a game of his, I'm sure."
The words sounded strong, but even to her own ears they were trembling.
Valerius tilted his head, a small smile curving his lips. "Ah. There it is. The Delacroix pride. How quaint." He took a step closer, his shadow falling across the table. "You speak as though your compliance is of your decision. It is not. You cannot resist us. You cannot run from us, nor hide Regardless of your family name, regardless of your usefulness, Samantha Delacroix, we own you."
Her fingers curled into fists against her skirt. Her lips twitched, but no words came.
Valerius leaned forward slightly, reaching out with a single languid motion. A strand of her hair had slipped loose from its pin. He caught it between two fingers, brushing it back behind her ear with mock gentleness. His touch was warm and deliberate.
Then he bent, his lips grazing her temple in a kiss that was not affectionate but absolute in its insult.
Her stomach twisted. For a heartbeat, shame burned her, threatening to split her chest. The memory of Rexhard's silence, his coldness, his refusal to claim her, all of it weighed down at once, as far as she wasn't claimed by him for all to see, she was for use by everyone. It wasn't just about the marriage shown to the outside world now.
But she did not flinch. Not an inch.
Instead she turned her head slowly, her eyes meeting his with that same cold fire she had taught herself as a girl. The poker face she thought she'd lost finally returned.
"If you think the Blacks own me, then you underestimate what a Delacroix can endure," she whispered, her voice low and steady.
Valerius chuckled, straightening, clearly entertained. "Oh, I do hope so. It will make watching you break so much more… delightful."
He turned without another word, leaving the scent of his cologne lingering in the heavy air. The butlers who had followed him remained still as statues, their glassy eyes betraying nothing, until he swept out and they followed.
The library was quiet again.