Brannon glared. Darrow was clearly not Mr. Jameshill, but she was not making the point she thought she was with this little tyraid. Mr. Jameshill had come ‘round the house properly, paid his respects and attentions the way that young men were supposed to. He had a stable career, came from a good family, and already had a home Xena could have lived in — and Xena had been obviously and openly infatuated with him. He had been ideal in many ways, which was why Brannon had been pleased to welcome him into the family — until his past had come back to haunt him and he’d broken Xena’s heart, of course.

“You’re being hateful,” he said coldly. “Tonight is a celebration with family. If you can’t behave yourself and be a part of the family, you can spend the evening in your bedroom.”

Zelda opened her mouth to argue, closed it, opened it again, said nothing. Her face was red. She was still angry with Ari, who had clearly fucking knocked up her friend before marriage, why didn’t they talk about that instead, angry with her father, angry to some extent with Alfred because he should have said something to her - but there was no resolution to be had that did not end with her being exiled to her bedroom like a child.

She missed, with a sudden sense of desperation, her mother. Delia would know what to say; she would be somewhere in the middle here, she would at least ensure that Zelda did not feel so alone.

“I can be part of the family,” she mumbled instead.

It brought him no pleasure, watching Zelda collapse into herself like that — but what was the alternative? Send her rampaging around the dining room, ruining the night for everyone and most likely derailing Xena’s emotional health for a week or more?

“Zelda,” he said, much more softly now. “You’re my daughter. I love you. And I hope one day you’re able to marry a man you love. I mean that,” he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder lightly. “But this won’t be the only man you’ll ever fancy. You’re still so young.”