He inhaled a deep breath that seemed to exude smoke on the exhale, his amber eyes narrowing. He hated this. Every single part of it, from the flowers that were gathered down to the tom that stood beside him, patiently waiting. The older male seemed to have all the time in the world, watching the entrance to their private land with a knowing look. She would come. He knew she would. And then everything would fall in place.

He'd be damned if he let that happen, though. She may want a part in it, but he didn't; he was the victim, chosen merely for his title. No one cared what he thought, what he wanted. They saw the power his name held and thought that reason enough. Does anyone care what I say? No. Consent seemed to be thrown out the window, at least when it came to Quelin.

Daedalus frowned and tried to school his features as best he could; these people would be his family soon, whether he wanted it or not. No better time to act than the present.

Seeing his daughter approach from her hunt, padding along the path towards their family den, Quelin smiled and approached. It was rare for him to have such a calm, kind expression; it only told trouble. Of course, this wasn't House Amaquelin's true land; they were nesting upon Rainvieg land. But it mattered not. The old tom got what he wanted when he wanted it; there was no arguing.

Even though every time he looked at any member of the Amaquelin house, including his bride to be, stomach acid threatened to evacuate his throat.

"My daughter," Quelin purred in greeting to Medusalith, "come. You're to meet your betrothed."