“No, no, I don’t,” my mother said, still in that deadly calm voice. “But we both know the Board of Nobles are on the verge of doing just that, murder notwithstanding.”
His Majesty opened his mouth as though to argue, then had the good sense to swallow his words.
“Since we’re discussing marriage, here’s a proposal. Four years ago my husband inherited his stepbrother’s place in your palace and a surprisingly significant number of voting shares.” She paused, looking him square in the eye. “We have enough votes to preserve your position as CEO and King. I’ve run the numbers, as I’m certain you have. As of the next regular meeting, without my cooperation, the nobles will succeed in their planned coup. We both know it.”
He didn’t counter her words—they must have been true. Horror lanced through me, despite everything else. Could Justin Wyndham’s rule truly be so precarious?
She circled him then, treading silently on bare feet, the lace edge of her dressing gown trailing behind her. “If this scandal comes to light, I guarantee you’ll lose your great-grandfather’s kingdom, Justin.”
He flinched at her use of his given name this time.
“You’ll be nothing but a potentially brilliant nineteen-year-old forced-out CEO, with all your inherited wealth and no power to do anything with it.” She paused before delivering the killing blow. “Besides, the next regular meeting isn’t your only problem. At this rate even my husband’s shares can’t keep you in place for long.”
“You’re talking about the Queen’s shares.” The King sounded wary, and I felt a prickle of unease at the Q word.
“Just so. Those votes were mooted at your mother’s death and will only become active again when you wed. You need a cooperative bride even more than you need my husband’s support.”
That was when I realized how calculated this move was. How calculated her placement of me in the King’s path had always been.
“You want our silence and cooperation? Not to mention access to those final crucial shares?” she asked. “Marriage to Danica is the nonnegotiable price.”
With those words I was reduced to a pawn in a corporate power struggle. The total worth of my entire life was thenceforth measurable as a tiny percentage of ownership in Sonoma Inc. I became a price tag.
“Besides,” my mother continued, in a tone so businesslike it made my skin crawl with hatred, “without the backing of the King I won’t have the influence or resources to do what needs to be done to clean up this unfortunate situation.” She glanced over to where the poor woman’s small body lay: soft features nestled amid a sea of satin and lace. “Who is she?”
The King sighed as though this had all become, at worst, a tiresome inconvenience. “Sierra. Sir Jared Jamison’s daughter.”
“A nobody, then,” my mother said, and my jaw dropped. Not only because it was so cold and unfeeling, but also because before my father’s promotion, this dead girl would have been my social superior in every conceivable measure. Even now, it’s only my potential to inherit votes from my father that raises me above her. And only just.
The titles and social status embraced by the court never mattered much to me. Perhaps because I had neither. But to dismiss a person entirely because of that lack? The sentiment struck at my belly like a bare-knuckled punch.
“That’ll make things easier. A coroner will need to be bribed, false scans produced…of an aneurysm, I think. And any sign of bruising covered thoroughly enough that the entire world will be able to scrutinize high-resolution footage from her open-casket funeral without finding any sign of misdeed.”
“We can’t have an open casket,” the King piped up impulsively. Foolish man. You don’t argue with Angela Grayson.
“A closed casket for a nobleman’s daughter—even a minor one? You may as well release a public statement that you’ve something to hide.”
“Mother—”
“I don’t need you,” His Majesty spat, anger overriding his pathetic act of contrition. “I can fix this myself.”
“Can you?” She paced slowly before him, her eyes never leaving his. “How will you find a coroner? How will you justify his bribe to your accountants? Do you intend to mask those bruises on her neck yourself? And those are just the easy parts. The sad truth is that a boy stupid enough to accidentally kill his own lover is far too stupid to cover it up.”
My fingers rose to my mouth at my mother’s boldness.
“Or,” the King said, sounding bored, “I could simply make you and your lovely daughter disappear. Tomorrow.”
Shards of fear ribboned down my spine.
“Can you?”
My mother and the King stood toe to toe. It looked like a perfect stalemate—until she raised her head so the Lens in her right eye caught the dim light.
“You’re recording this!” the King accused. And in the most foolish action I’d ever seen him take, he grabbed a lace-edged handkerchief from the dead woman’s décolletage and used it to cover his face.