That Sik Luv
: Chapter 3

Briony

Mia paces before me at the edge of my bed as I rub my knuckles over my eyes, blinking back the haze of being asleep. She grips her shoulder-length hair in golden clumps between her fingers, practically burning through the wooden floors with the back-and-forth friction.

“He destroyed your entire ceremony! The deacon was perplexed when the explosion hit. None of this is okay,” Baret declares with fire in his tone.

That’s what it must’ve been. Right? His reason for not paying attention to the girl fighting for her life beneath the water. The explosion stole his attention.

There was a definite fear I felt within the depths of my soul as that man held me beneath the water. An eerie feeling that’s now left me unsettled, sitting heavy in my stomach. Doubt plagues me for the first time, and I don’t want to believe it.

“We don’t know that he had anything to do with this,“ Mia corrects him, playing devil’s advocate as she always does. “As far as we know, he wasn’t even there. Right?”

As they contemplate whether or not Saint started the fire in the church, disrupting the finality of my ceremony, my mind wraps around the thought of one person and one person alone.

Aero, whoever he is, had everything to do with it. But it’s the motive I can’t seem to understand.

“The Westwoods are still hosting the post-Induct party tonight,” Mia declares.

“Even though they refused to come?” Baret asks, sounding annoyed as ever. “Such bullshit.”

I sigh, listening to them go back and forth as they always do.

“Their family remains the top contributors to the church. They’re kind of allowed to do whatever they wish,” I add in.

Mia sighs. “Whatever. I’ll help you get ready.”

I narrow my eyes, frowning. “No. I’m not going to their party.”

“Actually, you are,” Baret corrects me. “And we are confronting this.”

Mia makes a pained face, clearly caught in the middle of this strange predicament. I stand from the bed and make my way to the window. My fingers run along the white-chipped paint of the sill as I peer out, seeing the sun now setting, the sky turning a beautiful shade of pink and purple swirls.

If I’m to be regarded as someone of worth within the church, I need to make my presence known. They need to know that Briony Strait will not cower away, but will face adversity head-on. Like a leader would.

“You know what?” I tap my fingers on the sill, determination straightening my posture. “You’re right,” I say, earning a surprised look from both of them. “I need to address this, and there’s only one way to do that.”

They look at each other before their eyes replace mine.

“Well, I guess we’ll start with getting you into something that demands attention.”

I roll my eyes as hers light up, her eyebrows wiggling at my brother, who’s watching with apprehension.

I swallow down my internal fears, lifting my head high, as the three of us walk into the foyer of the Westwood Manor.

The place is what you’d expect of old money. Elevated ceilings, marble floors, paintings that cost more than most ordinary family homes. It’s extravagant, elegant, sophisticated, and only signifies why their family has the control they do over the church. Their contributions keep the place up and running. Of course, they govern decision-making processes.

Money is power, even in religion.

I flatten out the bottom of the black, fitted dress Mia convinced me to wear with my palms as I flip my straightened-black hair behind my shoulders and onto my back. After persuading Mia and Baret I was more than okay to handle this, I went off on my own in search of Saint.

A conversation is needed. An adult conversation to address this situation. I just hoped he would be willing.

Saint has tormented me for years with his gang of buddies that seem to always stick by his side. Growing up in a small yet prosperous town has everyone knowing you and your entire family’s business. While our family was far from the scandalous type, there were always people ready to replace secrets to dig up and revive dead rumors for their own vendettas. Saint was your typical grade-school bully, always teasing me for being the overachiever that I was, hating the fact that I schooled him in every class and subject.

His family had expectations for him, ones I could actually understand and relate to, but he couldn’t come second to a girl. Unfortunately for him, he did. I graduated top of our class, and after being presented with the honor of becoming the first female Magnus Princeps, his family clearly didn’t want to accept it.

My father was told they even approached ruthless dictator Alastor Abbott, the newly appointed governor, a man who I’ve heard regularly dances with the devil in his decision-making processes, hoping to convince him to propose a bill to somehow limit the number of women who can advance academically. Anything to flex on the weak and set the clock back to allow the men to reign victorious.

Much to their dismay, the mind outweighs the muscle, and I’m still here.

Walking through the chaos of the party, I see mostly people our age and older mingling throughout the main hall of the large Manor.

I get offered a glass of champagne from one of the well-dressed servers. Declining it politely, I catch a glimpse of Saint from across the room. He turns his head from his conversation just as I peer over at him, and our eyes connect. A ghost of a grin forms on his face before he takes a sip of his drink and turns into the crowd, heading down the main corridor.

I hurry after him, seeing as he takes a right turn into a room. Approaching the door, I think to knock, but then decide against it and turn the knob to enter behind him.

As soon as I open it, I replace the room empty. I close the door carefully behind me, then take in what appears to be his bedroom. It’s extravagant as I would assume it to be. The dark navy blues from the duvet of the four-poster bed match the long, thick drapes hanging from the windows to perfection. Water runs from a sink in the attached bathroom and I take a seat on the upholstered bench before the bed, waiting for his return.

He walks out of the bathroom with a towel, wiping his face as if he just washed it. He drops the towel, eyes widening slightly when he sees me.

“Briony Strait.” He says my name like it pains him to voice it. “What is the first female Magnus Princeps doing in my bedroom? Dishonorable, don’t you think?”

My eyes narrow at him as he stalks towards me, growing in height as he nears. He’s tall and slender, the angles of his jaw more pronounced with the shaved crew cut hairstyle he’s known for, especially from this angle. I swallow, feeling my throat bob as I do it, and his eyes fall to my neck.

“Nice work declining the champagne.” He smiles appreciatively, then sighs, “Father loves to test the youth.”

Of course, that’s what that was. Anything to catch me slipping.

“I was hoping we could talk,” I say, replaceing my courage. “Like adults.”

His lips pull up at the corner, and my heart flutters wildly in my chest at what he may say or do.

“Adults, huh?” He steps closer until I’m forced to crane my neck straight up to keep eye contact. “To be honest, I’m surprised to even see you here. You must have a proper pair of balls beneath that dress to walk into this house after the rumors floating around about the fire this afternoon.”

I narrow my eyes on him further. “I know it wasn’t you.”

“How can you be so sure? You know I’d give anything to ruin your big day,” he oozes his sarcasm.

“Would you?” I ask bluntly, my brows rising.

He stares down his nose at me for a second, his eyes drawing a line to my lips and back. The sudden glance makes me uncomfortable in an entirely new way.

“No,” he breathes, the sarcasm washed from his tone entirely as his face holds a softened expression. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Well, alright then,” I state with a shrug. “So, can we move past this thing you have with me? I’m not going anywhere, Saint, so we might as well figure out a way to work alongside one another since we’ll be spending most of our time together.”

A Magnus Princeps works alongside the bishops in our congregation, focusing primarily on studying the word and using our time to devote to the community through volunteering opportunities or teaching student classes until we pass the test to determine the permanent placement of the appointed officials, holding official rank within the church. It’s a prestigious honor for anyone, but especially for a woman.

Saint takes a seat beside me on the bench, leaning his elbows casually on the bed behind us. He sighs and looks off towards the bathroom, straightening his legs and adjusting his dress pants as he does.

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Lots of volunteering ahead. Loads of time together.”

He stares off at the floor, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip as he imagines it, before he turns to face me.

“I know my family will never say this, so I will on their behalf,” he begins as my nerves threaten to get the better of me. “Congratulations. I’m honored to receive this along with you.”

I roll my eyes. “But?”

His face stretches to a scowl. “But what? That’s it. I’m congratulating you on a very impressive job well done. There’s no getting around it. You’re a force. Figure there’s nothing to do but form an alliance, right?”

“What’s the catch?” I ask, still suspicious of his change in behavior.

He raises his hands. “No catch, I swear.” He smiles a genuine smile that fades into a face of seriousness as he nods. “It’s time for my family to face the inevitable and evolve with the times. I’m happy for you, Bri.”

He’s never called me Bri before. Only murmurs of wart, pest, or eternal stain of condemnation. I wasn’t even sure if he truly knew my name through grade school.

He leans forward, his elbows onto his knees now, hunched over as he turns his head back to me and stares with eyes that somehow smolder, our bodies sitting even closer than before, our thighs practically sealed together.

My brother may be right about him.

“Well, thank you,” I whisper, the conversation becoming strangely intimate.

His lips pull again into a half-smirk as those eyes gaze down at my lips. Feeling the heat practically warming me from his glance, I roll them inward, rubbing them together.

“Walk with me?” he asks, my eyes falling upon his outstretched hand, waiting for me to grab it. “I’d love to show you the grounds.”

My teeth press into my bottom lip, looking for the catch. But his eyes soften as he stands, still holding his hand out for me.

With a quick breath and the confidence of a leader, I place my hand in his.

An alliance it is.