“Certainly not,” His Highness argues. “He’s going. Are you telling me you want to stay here and be my wife in every conceivable way?” His leer makes my stomach clench, but I only place one hand on my hip and stand straighter—Giovanni’s training lending me the appearance of confidence from the tips of my toes to the top of my pompadour.
“You send him away, you lose his votes. The only way my father will vote with you is if you leave him here with me. Isn’t that right, Father? You want to stay now, don’t you?”
“Stay, yes. I’d like to stay. Danica knows best.”
I couldn’t have coached him into a more effective answer. “You think I’ve lost control of my father because my mother is dead? It’s she who lost control of him. Months ago.” I walk forward until we are literally toe to toe, my skirts pressing against the King’s legs. “There’s only one Grayson who’s been running things for the last three months, and that’s me. Nothing has changed about our deal, Justin, except your perception of it.”
We stand there, still as statues, the air practically crackling with manic energy. And then the coup de grace. Quietly, so Saber doesn’t hear, I bluff, “I have the video.”
That makes the King’s jaw tremble, and his entire form seems to melt in front of me. “You’re never going to believe it was an accident, are you?” His voice is small. And reminds me oddly of Sir Spencer’s soft timbre at that moment.
“It wasn’t.”
“It was.” He straightens again, but the honesty in his eyes stays, haunting me. “It was just like I said; we were trying something new, I was startled when the plate broke, I squeezed too hard. I regret it, too. But you’ll never believe that,” he says, moving to block my path when I try to turn away. “Because then you’d have to admit that maybe we both did something by accident that night. That we’re both responsible.” His face draws so near I wonder if he’s going to try to kiss me. “You need to believe I’m a monster. Because if I’m not, guess who is.”
The King steps away from me, spins on his jeweled heel—coattails flying—and stalks from the room, slamming the door behind him.
I LOOK OVER at Saber to find him glaring. His jaw is tight, and his eyes fairly sparkle with an anger I don’t understand. But before I can open my mouth to ask, he shakes his head and leaves the room, heading down the hallway toward the office.
Taking a moment to be a good daughter after just denying my father a luxurious retirement, I use the framed screen on the wall to manually order breakfast sent up for him. It’s nigh lunchtime, but in a court with as many workaholics as indolent hedonists, breakfast is served from four in the morning to four in the afternoon.
I help him back into bed and tuck the covers around him. He’s already nodding off, and I wonder if he realizes his wife is dead. Perhaps not—his hold on reality is tenuous at best. But even if he’s mourning, I know he’ll just mask it with his drugs. There’s nothing I can do about that. Father taken care of, I head down the hallway to the office. To Saber.
“I think we’re going to have to carry the lab with us—for the next few days, at any rate,” I say as I enter. “At the very least, it’s going to be a busy night.” When Saber doesn’t respond, I ask, “Care for some assistance?”
“I can do it alone,” he responds, not meeting my eyes. “I’ll get the supplies I need from Reginald this afternoon and start work as soon as the ball’s over. There’s no need to put yourself out.”
“Put myself out?” I ask, a mite offended.
He sighs. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
His gaze flits down the hallway to my father’s bedchamber before he turns to regard me with bright, angry eyes. “He gave you an out. A good one. I thought escape was your plan, and I could sympathize with that. But now? This?” He points a finger at me, though the way the gesture makes me feel, it might as well be a dagger. “I haven’t asked. Haven’t really wanted to know. But right now you tell me what’s so damn important that you’re willing to destroy people’s lives for it. Why you’re making me do it too.”
And just like that, I’m angry at him all over again—we’re back at the beginning, with him treating me like a gross bug on his shoe. I didn’t like it then, but now? I’ve seen those eyes turn to me in adoration, in acceptance and desire. To lose that would be far worse than the look of scorn itself.
I should have told him sooner.
“Five months ago,” I begin, but my voice is shaking so hard I have to clear my throat and try again. “Five months ago I watched the King put his hands around a young woman’s throat and choke her to death.”
If Saber’s shocked, he certainly doesn’t show it.
“My mother stumbled on the scene and, like the harpy she always is—was—sold me and our silence to the King in exchange for the power and prestige of being the mother of the Queen.”
Saber flinches—a reaction I don’t quite understand.
“A week later I stole the jewels you saw at the catacombs and ran away. When that didn’t work…” I wave my hand about vaguely. “Well, you know the rest.”