Two Weeks, And Nothing More

"We think it's time to set the wedding date."

As soon as the words left my father's mouth, I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. We? Who the hell is we? Because I know damn well it doesn't include me. When no laugh followed, when no clarification came, a cold weight settled in my chest. This man is really serious.

"You're serious," I said flatly.

My father leveled me with a look, the kind that left no room for argument. The kind that had shaped my entire life. "Of course, I'm serious Malcolm. You and Isabelle have been engaged for years. It's time to move forward."

For years? We'd been engaged since before we could even walk. And who the hell said I was moving backward? Did they think my life was some business deal they could finalize whenever it suited them?

The council members seated around the room were watching me. Their expressions calm, unreadable but their postures rigid. Their presence alone was suffocating, dressed in their pristine robes like they were some divine force overseeing my future.

Elder Sutherland leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as if this was just another routine decision on the council's agenda.

"The union between our families is not just a matter of sentiment, Malcolm." He said smoothly, "It solidifies alliances, strengthens our standing. You understand how important that is, don't you?"

My jaw clenched. Of course, I understood. I had been raised to understand. My entire life had been mapped out for me before I even had a say in it.

"The wedding should happen in a week time," my father continued, his tone final, as if my agreement was a mere formality. "A grand ceremony. The people of Eldermire must see their future leader standing strong beside his bride."

So, I've been standing weak all this while? Fantastic. These people are going to drive me insane. I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. "And what if I'm not ready?"

Silence. The air in the room grew dense, thick with unspoken judgment, pressing down like a gathering storm. The council members exchanged glances, calculated and unreadable. Their expressions remained tight, betraying nothing.

My father's face was a mask of indifference, but I saw it, the flicker of displeasure in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened just enough to betray his annoyance.

Elder Sutherland turned his head just slightly, locking eyes with my father. A silent conversation passed between them. Heavy. Loaded with meaning I wasn't meant to decipher.

Then my father leaned back in his chair, his gaze settling on me with the cold scrutiny of a man assessing a once-reliable machine that had suddenly malfunctioned—useless, disappointing, in need of correction.

"Then get ready," he said at last, his voice cold. Absolute.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. "And if I say no?"

This time, he did smile, just a small, knowing curve of his lips. "You won't."

I hated that he was right. Hated that, despite my anger, despite the suffocating weight pressing down on me, we both knew how this would end. My entire life had been shaped by their expectations, my choices stripped away before I ever had the chance to make them. And here I was again—trapped.

I forced myself to hold his gaze, even as the weight of his words settled over me like iron chains.

"You won't," he repeated, voice steady, confident. Unshakable. Because in his mind, my refusal was nothing more than a childish outburst. A momentary hesitation before I inevitably fell in line, just as I always had.

The council members watched, waiting. Elder Sutherland, smug in his certainty. My father, unwavering. Not a single one of them actually cared about what I wanted.

And why would they? I wasn't a person to them. I was just a symbol to them. Nothing more.

I took a slow breath, forcing my expression into something neutral, something that wouldn't betray the storm raging inside me. But beneath the surface, my thoughts seethed. Would it kill them to ask what I want? To at least pretend that my future is mine to decide?

"Fine," I said, the word like ash in my mouth. "If we're setting a date for my wedding, I assume I at least get to be part of that decision, right?"

A brief pause. Then Elder Sutherland chuckled, leaning back in his chair like this was all some well-rehearsed play. "Of course, Malcolm. We wouldn't dream of arranging your wedding without your input."

Liar.

I swallowed down the bitterness rising in my throat. "Then give me time to think. A wedding isn't something to rush into."

"Time?" My father's brows lifted slightly. "You've had time."

I clenched my teeth, already regretting opening my mouth. "Two weeks," I said, trying to keep my voice firm. "That's all I ask."

The room was quiet for a moment, then my father gave a slow nod. "Two weeks. But no more."

I nodded stiffly, then stood, ignoring the weight of their stares. The way the council members were watching me like I was some wayward son in need of correction.

"Are we done here?" I asked, already turning toward the door.

"For now," my father said.

Whatever, I didn't wait for anything else. I strode out of the room, my pulse hammering against my skull, my mind racing.

Two weeks. That's all I asked for, and that's all they gave me.

Not that it mattered. No matter how much time they threw my way, the decision had already been made for me.

But two weeks was enough. Enough to figure out how to make sure this wedding never happened. Hell, I didn't care if I had to push Isabelle down the stairs—okay, maybe that was a bit extreme, but damn, they were even turning me into a cruel person now.

I took the stairs two at a time, every step fueled by the frustration clawing at my insides. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to punch something—preferably a hole through this perfect little world they'd built around me.

By the time I reached my room, my breath was tight in my chest, my pulse drumming hard in my ears. Two fucking weeks. That's all I had.

I pushed the door open, already yanking at the collar of my shirt—only to stop dead in my tracks.