Ana?s gave an exasperated sigh. “Well, I suppose that’s another secret out of the bag. It won’t be long until we have very few left.” Strolling across the room, she drew the sword belted at her waist. From the glittering edge, I knew it wasn’t one of the practice blades she and Tristan used. “If you hurt my sister again, I will kill you.”
The look he shot her was pure derision. “Even now, you protect her. Pénélope ruined everything for you. What is being a duchesse to being a princess? To being a queen? How much warmth will remain in your heart for your sister when Thibault chooses your replacement?”
“It will remain unaffected.”
“Oh?” He laughed, and listed off a string of names, all girls our age set to inherit titles. “Which one of them do you think it will be? And how well do you suppose she’ll tolerate your continued presence? How long until you find yourself completely shut out of Tristan’s life?”
“Which is why we must do everything in our power to keep that from happening,” a voice said.
Ana?s and I both turned to see our grandmother enter the room.
“Wipe that pathetic frightened look off your face, Pénélope,” my grandmother snapped. “You are alive, and your sister seems inclined to keep you that way. A fact you might keep in mind the next time you feel possessed to act out in the presence of royalty. And Ana?s, put your father down. You’ve made your point.”
“What do you suggest, grandmother?” Ana?s asked, lowering our father to the ground, and releasing him.
“A change of strategy.” Picking up a decanter, my grandmother poured three glasses of wine, handing one to Ana?s and one to my father, whom she eyed up and down. “You seem to be forgetting one thing: the Montignys are killers. I’ll not ever forget the way the royal chambers dripped with blood after Thibault disposed of his own father, and all because the King had taken something that belonged to him. Do you think Tristan won’t do the same if his father stands between him and something he wants?”
My father sipped his wine, eyes distant and thoughtful. “Perhaps.” His gaze focused on Ana?s. “But success in such a strategy is predicated upon emotion, and I prefer more certainty in my plans. It’s time we pushed Roland toward the throne.”
Ana?s blinked once, then laughed. “You can’t be serious. Roland is a sadistic little monster – and entirely insane – there is no chance of the King disinheriting Tristan in favor of his brother.”
“Unless we give him no choice.”
Silence.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” There was no inflection in my sister’s voice, but I knew that meant she was rattled by the direction this conversation was going. I didn’t blame her.
“Not killing him, since that’s obviously your concern,” our father said, smirking. “That would put us at risk of Thibault taking off our heads. What I propose is proving Tristan is plotting against his father. Then the King will do our dirty work for us.”
“Plotting to do what?” Ana?s asked.
“Overthrow him, obviously,” my grandmother replied. “And you’re going to find proof.”
Ana?s said nothing, and I held my breath.
“Unless, of course,” my grandmother continued, “your loyalty is no longer to this family.”
The room was thick with tension and magic, and I prepared myself to do what I could to defend my sister if her answer wasn’t to their liking. She might be able to best my father, but not both of them together.
Slowly, Ana?s turned her head to regard me, then returned her attention to our father. “I love my family. I want us to remain strong and powerful, and I’ll make sacrifices in order to ensure we endure.”
I exhaled a ragged breath.
“Good.” Our grandmother smiled and took a sip from her glass. “It would be distressing to learn that you’d become as useless to us as your sister.”
Ana?s snorted, then shook her head. “You ask me to do this as though it is a simple thing. Tristan’s the furthest thing from stupid. If he’s plotting against his father, why would he let me in on his plans? He trusts me as much as anyone, but what does that mean when he trusts no one? What certainty could I possibly give him that my loyalty to him is absolute? That I would not sell him out in favor of loyalty to my family?”
“She’s right.” My grandmother tapped a fingernail against her glass. “Duplicity is in that one’s blood. To cause him to slip up, Ana?s needs to be closer to him. In bed with him, as they say. The benefits of her as his lover are manifold. Not only would he be more likely to confide his secrets, there is every chance he’d fall in love with her. And hope against hope, there is a chance a healthy child could be produced. I think then that the boy would be more than willing to dispatch his father in order to bond her. There might be a chance of Ana?s becoming Queen after all.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the liquid in Ana?s’s glass shiver, but I did not think anyone else noticed.
“A fallible plan.” My father shook his head. “Better she turn her efforts to finding proof of the boy’s traitorous ways.”
“We can play both angles for a time.” My grandmother eyed Ana?s. “You’ll need to change your ways if you wish to seduce a prince. You’ll certainly need to change your attire.”
Ana?s shrugged. “Likely. I’ll arrange for Lessa to stand for the dressmakers.”
It was an awfully easy concession. I hadn’t seen her willingly wear a gown in years – not since she’d grown old enough that grandmother could no longer make her. A fact that was not lost on our father. He lifted one eyebrow. “Your eagerness makes me question your motivations, Ana?s.”
“I’m motivated to keep that which is mine. I want to be Queen, but most certainly not Roland’s Queen.” She set her glass down. “However, if you doubt my commitment or capability, perhaps you should take advantage of another tool at your disposal.”
“Which tool is that?”
“Tristan might not confide all his secrets to me, but he does to Marc.”
My heart skipped, and then my pulse surged. No. Please, no.
“And you think he might be willing to divulge those secrets?”
“Not to me. And certainly not to you.” She turned to look at me. “But perhaps he might be willing to share them with the loveliest, most talented artist in Trollus.”
I took an involuntary step back against the weight of their scrutiny.
“You think he might be responsive to her advances?” my father asked.
“Have you seen him?” Ana?s replied, and I wanted to slap her, as both my father and grandmother laughed.
My father rubbed his chin while eyeing me, the smile growing on his lips not touching his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s time you earned your right to our family name?” he said. “Don’t you think it’s time you earned your right to live?”
Chapter Four
Marc