�Quivern!� the sharp reprimanded went unnoticed.
The young, fiery man had never been so furious in his life. Slowly he tried to confirm his thoughts, going over the hundreds of times he had lost his temper in this manner. With a calming breath he pulled his arm out of the woodwork, concluding that in all likelihood he had been this angry before.
A tall elegant woman glided across the room and latched into his idle arm. �Sweetheart!� she pleaded lovingly.
Quivern ignored her. His mother, Daila MacKain, was probably more worried about the cherry wood furniture than her son�s metacarpals. As long as he had had common sense Quivern had known about his parents� corrupted hearts. He had learned to see through their phony attempts at affection for the acts of bribery they were. The two for them had been at it his entire life. Giving him gifts then asking for a favor in return. They would treat him particularly kind for a few days to prepare him for some sort of chore in which he could be used like a pawn. They sought to control him by making him believe they had concern for him.
�I will not!� he growled through gritted teeth.
�You don�t have any choice boy.� Neville answered from his armchair. �I am your father, you will do as I say. Besides, this is for your own good. You are twenty-one. I was only nineteen when I married your mother. She was only sixteen.� He looked over at his wife for support but her face had become a mask of indifference,
Quivern knew about the pain it had caused his mother to be plucked out of her childhood and thrown into marriage. She had been handed from one controlling man to another. Still his sympathy wavered. She was helping his father even in her silence.
He redirected his attention to his father, a stout, short-tempered man with wine red hair and a full beard. Quivern was molded after his mother. Tall, sleek and blonde, he even imagined that his mother�s green eyes had once had the same passionate gleam as his.
�Yes.� He threw the word at them, disgusted. �And look how happy you two are together.�
They stared at him, shocked. He took the opportunity to make a hasty escape. He hated scoldings and he could feel one building in the air between the three of them. �Good night.� He added sternly then slammed the library door behind him.
He didn�t notice any of the mansion staff as he stormed through the tremendous halls of Broken Heart Estate. He knew every passageway and corridor by heart and didn�t have any problems weaving his way through the complex intersections and stairways while still being able to concentrate on his thoughts.
Marriage. The idea frightened him like no other could. Why would he bind himself to some woman he barely knew willingly? But not just any woman, a woman hisfather had chosen. He could just picture himself on his wedding night afraid to touch his own wife for fear she would relate every detail to his father the next day.
He wasn�t paranoid.
He knew that his parents sought to control him. It would be just like them to use a man�s own wife against him.
Of course there was an alternative. He could choose a wife. But no doubt, no matter who he selected they would disapprove if they didn�t have a way to manipulate her.
Quivern, his stride still aggressive, crossed the first floor foyer to enter the south wing, his wing, of the mansion. There were four altogether. Each pointed directly North, South, East or West. Five stories high and sixty feet across, the four wings of the Broken Heart Estate formed a giant �X.�
Quivern�s wing was the emptiest. There were hundreds of rooms throughout it, but only a few were occupied. His was on the fifth floor. A massive ballroom took up the major part of the first four floors. He called it the Moonlight Ballroom although he was sure there was another name for it. His parents had often attempted to hold dances and formals in �his� ballroom but Quivern had made sure to thwart their efforts either through raucous protests or manipulation. The other ballroom was slightly larger, but less beautiful. He wasn�t really sure why he detested the idea of his parents throwing a gala there. Somehow it bordered on sacrilege to invade the silent beauty of that room with their pointless gatherings.
The large set of doors that guarded his personal apartments loomed up in front of him ominously. The mahogany doors were intricately carved with the scenes from some ancient glorious battle. He inspected the relief�s carefully for a moment, hungering to be a part of their eternal struggle. He�d rather have been born poor and raised as a warrior than have been wealthy and molded into a diplomat.
Confidently he eased the heavy doors open enough to slide between them. His personal servant, Darien, was waiting just inside the doorway for him.
�Good evening sir.� His tone mocked the formal greeting. Camaraderie had developed between them since early in Darien�s employment. They were almost the same age and Darien was often the only person Quivern could confide in.
�If your going to be flip tonight you can just leave. I have no time for your horse�s ass of a personality right now.�
�Oh, so you and your father had another talk?� He sounded amused.
Quivern didn�t answer. Instead he let out a heavy sigh and threw his shoes in Darien�s direction.
Darien dodged the shoes just barely missing one headed for his skull. �You must have been given some wonderful news.� He commented dryly and picked up the shoes.
Quivern fell into a chair. �He�s going to make me get married. Not only that but I have to chose her from a list of girls her has already deemed �worthy.��
�And of course you were delighted.�
Quivern looked around the lush antechamber, the very symbol of comfort. He was disgusted by it. �None of this is worth is Darien. Not when you cant enjoy it because of your damn miserable lack of purpose.�
Darien rolled his eyes. His friend was so over-dramatic. He didn�t realize how lucky he really was. �Marriage might not be so bad��
A strong sensation of danger suddenly clamped it jaws on Quivern�s heart. Every muscle in his body involuntarily tensed, Darien�s words faded out of his mind even though he knew his friend hadn�t stopped talking. Something was very, very wrong. Every cell in his body was shouting out at him. As hard as he tried he couldn�t identify its source. But it was almost impossible to ignore.
�So what are you going to do? Run away? Refuse? Just not chose?�
�Run away?� Quivern�s voice rang out with distaste. �I am no coward.� His lips curled at the word.
