Lincoln skewers her with a warning glare. “I asked my son.”
Rowena shuts her yap and how. Man, I love it when Lincoln gets bossy.
Maxon shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I couldn’t sleep, so I got out that book Grandmother gave me.”
No question which grandmother he’s referring to. Octavia, Lincoln’s Mom. She revels in Maxon’s precocious mind and gives him all sorts of stuff to read.
“What book did Grandmother give you this time?” I ask.
“The Art of War by Sun Tiss…Sun Tizz.”
“Sun Tzu,” finishes Lincoln.
“Yeah, that guy,” says Maxon. He points a tiny finger in Rowena’s direction. “And she wouldn’t let me read.”
Rowena lifts her chins. “Children his age should be asleep after 9 p.m. That’s standard practice.”
Mommy-rage winds up my spine. How dare she stop my kid from reading? “When we hired you, we told you Maxon wasn’t like other children. Because of his supernatural powers, he doesn’t need much sleep. If he wants to stay up and read, he can do so.”
“I respectfully disagree.”
My mouth falls open in a gesture of shock and rage. “What an interesting point of view. You’re fired.”
“But I came here to quit,” sputters Rowena.
“Well, now you don’t have to.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll take my leave right now.” Rowena turns on her heel and starts stomping away.
“Not so fast,” says Lincoln. His voice echoes menacingly down the hall.
Rowena pauses and slowly turns around. When I see her face again, her eyes are large with fear. Good.
“Y-y-yes, Your Highness?”
“You’re not going anywhere until we find out exactly what happened.” Lincoln snaps his fingers at a trio of guards, who immediately take up residence around Rowena. All the blood instantly drains from her face.
“Am I going to the dungeons?”
“Depends on what the High Prince has to say.” Lincoln kneels down and sets his hand on the back of Maxon’s neck. “It’s okay, son. You know Mommy and Daddy’s rules. If you can’t sleep and you want to read quietly, that’s fine with us.”
“She turned off the lights, too,” says Maxon, his mismatched eyes large as saucers. “I don’t like the dark.”
Lincoln rounds on Rowena. “You turned off the lights despite our specific instructions to the contrary. Is this true?”
“He looked so tired and it was past one in the morning. So yes, I did turn out the lights and ensured that they stayed off.” Rowena pulls at a few charred strands of her hair. “And this is the result.”
I crouch down beside Lincoln. “What happened with nanny Rowena’s hair?”
Maxon scrunches his little bare toes onto the marble floor. “She wouldn’t let me turn on the lights. So, I told her I didn’t need her. I can make my own light.”
Uh-oh. I think I know where this is going. “And then what did you do?”
“This.” Maxon blinks hard, and a tiny bolt of lightning strikes just above Rowena’s head. When the flash disappears, the thin stripe of hair that once sat atop her cranium is gone. Kaput. History. Finito. Now, only a handful of grey tufts cling to her skull in odd places.
Rowena grabs her head. “He did it again!”
“Pretty cool, huh?” Maxon bobs his eyebrows up and down, his little mismatched eyes twinkling with delight. That brow-move reminds me of someone I know. Oh yeah, that would be me.
Somehow, I manage to keep a straight face. If I crack even the slightest smile, I lose all maternal authority. And since Maxon broke out his eyebrow-bobbing routine, I know he really wants me to crack a smile.
Ah, my lovable little monster.
In truth, I can’t blame Maxon for fighting back. Rowena broke our clearly stated rules and was an overbearing battle-axe while doing it. Plus, damn, that new lightning-trick is definitely cool. Lately, Maxon’s been coming into his Scala Heir powers in a big way. When my powers began, I was a lot older—eighteen, to be exact—and the most I could do with lightning was cause random strikes. But zapping someone right above her skull? That kind of control is pretty impressive. And at three years old, no less.
You go, kid.
I’m about to say exactly that when I remember my parental duties. Maxon can’t go around frying people with lightning bolts just because they piss him off. So, much as I’d love to fist-bump him, or at least ask for pointers on how to do that trick myself, I keep my features carefully neutral as I address my son. “Do that again, and you’ll be in big trouble, Mister.”
Maxon goes back to playing with his tail. “Yes, Mother.”
I shift my gaze toward Rowena. “You may go, but remember this. You’re lucky not to be rotting in the dungeons for the rest of your life.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Lincoln orders the guard to shuffle Rowena off to the nearest exit. She bows repeatedly as she walks away.
“You’re so gracious, Your Highnesses. Thank you, Your Highnesses.”
Kiss ass. But not without good reason.