It was all her brother's fault. Him and his stupid game. Just how drunk had he been last night to have challenged a shadewalker to Creznan Roulette? Iris McClaine ground her teeth and dug her fingernails into her palms.

"Iris, are you listening to me, child?" asked her father across from her. Iris stiffened. She wasn't a child but a woman of twenty! And she was a scholar who was well on her way to completing a botany degree to boot! Even so, she still raised her eyes to meet her father's faded blue ones. New lines had dug into his face since last night, aging him.

Next to him, the lamp's lightbulb flickered and buzzed. Iris's father had fitted the McClaine mansion for electricity less than a year ago, and the occasional buzzing still set her teeth on edge. She looked further up, past her father and the red velvet armchair that threatened to engulf his slight frame to where her twin brother was pacing anxiously across the library floor.

"Yes, Father," she said, "I have heard everything you said. I simply do not appreciate being punished for Erold's indiscretions."

Erold stopped his pacing suddenly. His form was all shadowy from where he stood, with the firelight from the blazing hearth behind him. Even though he was her twin, Iris knew that he looked nothing like her. Where her brown hair was curly, his was straight. And while he shared their father's blue eyes, Iris did not. Her eyes were golden brown. The main feature that she'd inherited from their father was her slight stature. Erold had inherited the lion's share of their father's looks, even down to his expressions, which now appeared very hurt.

"I said I was sorry – I didn't think –"

"That's right, you didn't think. You never think," spat Iris. "From the sounds of it, that Vale boy blew his own brains out with your revolver because you were both too drunk to decide on who would pay the tab and came to the conclusion that the bill would be best decided from a game of Creznan Roulette instead of settling things with a healthy brawl like normal, civilized gentlemen. What was it that you said last night? 'Whoever backed out first was supposed to pay?'"

Iris's voice had taken on a heated pitch. She watched as her brother took a step back and dropped his head, yanking at tufts of hair at his temples. She narrowed her eyes. Even if Erold did take after their father more in terms of looks, he certainly hadn't inherited old Erold Sr.'s intelligence. Perhaps it would have been better for them all if he'd lost the stupid game.

A pit welled up in Iris's stomach. No, that was horrid of her to think. She didn't dare imagine if Erold had lost. He was her brother. She loved him. She couldn't lose him. Even if she was now trapped in this stupidity, it was still better than the alternative. Erold could have died. She clutched her chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Erold Sr. looked between his two children and sighed, rubbing his temples. He still wore the same tan suit that he'd had on yesterday. It was now creased and rumpled. The letter that they had received this morning in response to last night's events was clutched in his other hand. He held it up and looked meaningfully at the pair of them. The simple, spidery scrawl of Tilda Veil's threat lay clearly across the letter.

"Iris, dear, this is not a punishment. This is survival. And Erold is not coming out of this unscathed either." Erold Sr. leveled his gaze at his son, who fidgeted nervously. "I'm cutting your inheritance. If you want any part of the estate after my death, you will rely on your sister's mercy for what you have done."

The younger Erold started forward. "But – "

"But nothing," said their father. He finally stood and brandished the letter at his son. "You are a man, and your actions have consequences. You made the choice to get drunk out of your mind last night, a decision which led to Igor Veil's completely avoidable death. And seeing as young Mr. Veil happened to be from a family of shadewalkers, his sister is now demanding Iris's life in retribution. Have I missed anything?"

Iris's brother did not respond. He simply looked away, deeper into the shadows of the library.

"Perhaps, you could clarify again how marrying me off will solve this?" said Iris, tightly. Of all the things her father could be doing to protect her, this made the least sense.

"Because only a shadewalker can protect you from another shadewalker," said Erold Sr. "And the best man that I know for the job will not do it for any amount of money."

"And so you've agreed to marry me off to his son!" cried Iris. Her voice was harsh with accusation. "How do you know that I'm not simply trading one deadly fate for another? Do you even know this son's name?"

"His name is Talan Colt," said Erold Sr., tiredly. "His father, Adrian, is an honorable man, and the Colts are a good family. Adrian is risking an immense amount to help us. His son's marriage to you is priceless. Especially for a shadewalker."

He was right, Iris had to admit. The shadewalkers were a strange people. Most were mercenaries of some sort. They made excellent personal bodyguards, and Iris had even heard whispers that a shadewalker had been associated with one or two high-profile assassinations.

What set them apart, however, was the magic that they possessed. Their power was poorly understood by the general populace, and people tended to fear what they did not understand. Anyone dubbed a shadewalker therefore had no right to property. They were a landless people, relying on the mercy of their employers for lodging.

If Adrian Colt's son married Iris, her father's land would still eventually pass down to her. The McClaines had built a reputation as land barons, but so long as he remained her husband, this Talan Colt would be able to count the McClaine's land and properties as his home regardless of his employment. It was, as Erold Sr. had put it, a priceless arrangement.

And yet, Iris still loathed the idea.

"Now," continued Erold Sr., "It is getting late." And so it was. It had taken nearly the entire day for Iris's father to negotiate her protection. He clasped his hands behind his back and spoke directly to her. "You should get some sleep, my child. Adrian Colt is waiting for me in my study. His son will arrive later tonight – I know not when – and we will leave for the register's first thing in the morning. It will be a long day."

Iris stood obediently and bade her father and brother goodnight. She turned on her heel and strode out of the library and down the hall until she reached her room. Her hand shook as she reached for the doorknob, but she squared her shoulders and shook her head. Iris's father had neglected to ask whether she would agree to this, and she certainly had no intention to do so.

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