Or that might assist me.
“Your father seems quite convinced that you don’t want to marry me at all. Could that be true, darling?”
“A fact you’ve always known, my lord. Let’s cease these childish games.”
“Games?” he asks, removing one hand from my father’s stooped form and walking around to his right side. “It certainly is a game sometimes. I wish this one were more fun.”
“You’re not having fun?”
But he doesn’t rise to my jab. He lets out a sigh that almost sounds like a growl. “Neither are you. Let’s end this, Danica.” He sounds oddly tired—appears more his age than usual—and I can’t help but wonder if, for once, he’s being honest. “Your father, I believe, would benefit from a change in scenery. I propose to send him into retirement. We won’t call it that, of course. We’ll call it medical leave. Wouldn’t want anyone to question his ability to vote in absentia, would we?”
“Certainly not,” I agree, waiting.
“There’s a lovely town in the south of France—in Languedoc-Roussillon—temperate. Almost Mediterranean. Sonoma Inc. has a luxury retirement community there. I could get him in. My expense. No one would question it.”
I’ve never seen the King this way. Calm. I might even describe him as gentle. The dissonance makes a strange sort of fear fill my chest.
“And I’m happy to have my secretaries manage the details. We could have him moved by the end of the week.”
It sounds beyond reasonable. But the fact is, there’s no way my father can go. I’ve seen him when he can’t get his fix, and I fear the withdrawal might kill him. Damn Reginald and the ridiculously high doses he fed my father! Although my father has failed me many times, I can’t send him to an agonizing death, no matter how luxurious his deathbed.
But neither can I confess any of this to His Highness.
I consider the possibility that I could send Father with fifty patches and tell him—but no. I’m deluding myself. I’d be lucky if he didn’t overdose and kill himself the same way my mother did. Two deaths on my hands then. No, he has to be watched.
“In exchange,” His Highness says, glaring pointedly at me, “in three weeks I’ll send you to join him, under the excuse that you need time out of the public eye to mourn your mother properly. Same agreement: full financial support in exchange for your votes always—always—in my corner.”
“Three weeks?” I echo, understanding now. “Our wedding is in fifteen days.”
“I always said there was more to you than a pretty face,” His Highness nearly coos, sounding much more himself now. “No, scratch that, I never said anything of the sort. You are, nonetheless, correct. We must still wed in order for you to gain control over the Queen’s shares.”
“Why not wed someone else? I happen to know someone who’d jump at the opportunity, with the added bonus that you’re already sleeping with her.”
His Highness leans almost languidly against the bedpost and shakes his head. “Lady Cyn? Might as well wed myself to a yapping dog.”
Though I wholeheartedly agree, I say nothing.
“Imagine, if you will,” he says at last, not losing an ounce of bravado, “my throwing you over on the very day of your mother’s untimely death, choosing Lady Cyn, and going forward with a wedding prepared for another woman. The board would think me barking mad, and half of my supporters would abandon me to obvious insanity. No, the time for substitutions is long past; it’s got to be you.”
I open my mouth, but he silences me.
“This isn’t the eighteenth century, Dani,” he says, back to that unnervingly calm voice again. “Marriage doesn’t last forever. I propose two years. Two years of a marriage that starts to crumble right from the beginning, when my distraught bride refuses to return from mourning and eventually wishes to abdicate her role as Queen entirely.” He gives a slight nod in my direction. “And during those years, I’ll enact a few exceptionally profitable policies I’ve been planning for years and win the board back. We divorce, and I continue with my original plan of marrying sometime in my late thirties for the sole purpose of reproducing.”
“Lucky girl,” I mutter.
“Indeed,” His Royal Highness snaps. “One who’ll undoubtedly recognize that fact in a way that you certainly never have.”
I raise an eyebrow.
He clenches his teeth. “I am the King, Danica. Everyone in this palace seems to understand that but you. Maybe if you gave my position the tiniest bit of respect, I wouldn’t have to shove my way about so much. In our relationship, I’m not your worst enemy; you are.”
I give him my back, my arms crossed over my chest, adrenaline and rage surging through me.
“It’s a generous offer, considering the turmoil you’ve brought into my life,” the King says softly. “In addition, I swear to lie stunningly about a consummation that I promise will never actually occur—so long as you agree to do the same.”
That addition catches me by surprise and makes his offer all the more tempting. If I got enough patches from Reginald to support my father for the rest of his probably short life, I’d be there to distribute them. Maybe wean him carefully off Reginald’s dangerously high dosage.
I’d still have to wed Justin. But with the promise of a divorce in just two years! Assuming he was inclined to keep his word. Which he might not be. I can’t forget that beneath all this corporate intrigue, I’m first and foremost a witness to murder—a loose end who hasn’t quite outlived her usefulness. So what happens when I do?
Still…something to consider. Very seriously consider.
I turn to face him again. “Might I bring my manservant?” I hate that my voice trembles.
“The one skulking in the hallway?”
At that I hear a soft shifting, and Saber comes around the corner. I don’t look, but judging by the expression on His Majesty’s face, a glaring war ensues.
“I suppose you’ll need someone to unlace your damned corsets,” His Highness accedes. “If it must be him, so be it.” He looks down at my father, who’s slumped even farther down in his chair, wearing the look of a guilty child as the King and I argue over his head. “Your father has already agreed. I was about to have paperwork drawn up when you interrupted us. He is going. The only question is whether you’ll follow. You and this dandy here.”
I feel Saber ruffle at being called a dandy, but his ego is hardly my first concern right now.
As the moment draws out, His Highness steps forward, looking, for the first time in months, entirely earnest. As though we were friends. Peers. “Come on, Dani,” he says softly. “Agree. We can put this whole miserable chapter of both our lives behind us for good. Neither of us wanted any of this to begin with, and now we can be free. Say yes.”
And for a fleeting heartbeat I think I can. I think I will.
But—
But in that moment I understand what’s at stake. Not the votes. Or rather, more than the votes. If I say yes now, His Highness gains control of my father, which means he maintains control of me. But if I say no, the King loses his control over far more than just my father—he loses control over his future.
And I take it.
Which wouldn’t be alluring in the least if it were simply control for the sake of control. But the King is a murderer! I could bring him down. If I decline his offer, finish raising the money I need, and leave the night before the wedding, everything His Majesty has worked for his entire life—most especially in the last two years—will be destroyed. But more than that, if he gets away with murder once, only to gain even more power, what’s to stop him from doing it again and again? Who would question him? But if he loses my votes at the last moment, he’ll lose the board, lose his throne, lose his power over me—over everyone. And I don’t see any way for him to get it back, ever.
I would win.
He would lose.
Isn’t that justice? For Sierra? For my mother? For future victims?
A surge of adrenaline pumps th
rough my body, and it’s all I can do to hold absolutely still. My lungs feel like they’ve shrunk to half their normal volume and are begging me to take soft, panting breaths. But I master myself. I breathe slowly, I raise my chin, and I look Justin in the eye.
“No.”
It’s as though he doesn’t hear me for a few seconds. Or simply cannot comprehend my refusing him. Indeed, I can scarcely comprehend it.
“No? How is it even possible that you’re refusing this?” He claps a hand on my father’s shoulder, looking friendly enough, but I see my father grimace from the force His Majesty likely isn’t even aware he’s applying. “Your poor father wants to go to Languedoc-Roussillon and live out the rest of his life in luxurious peace. With you by his side. You’d deny him that?”
“My father has changed his mind,” I say slowly, evenly. “My father wants to stay here.” I lower my head to glare at my father, his eyes cloudy and—I’m certain—his understanding hazy at best. “Because this is his home, where he can make himself happy.” I stress the final word, and though I fear I’m being too blunt, anything less might not get the message through. His eyes widen a few seconds later, and I breathe an inward sigh of relief that he understands.
“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 grâce. 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.”
“Why not just speak up? Tell someone what you saw?”
“It’s too late for that—my mother is gone. Unless I can figure out what she did with the video, it would be the King’s word against mine. And who do you suppose they’ll be more inclined to believe?”
“But why let yourself get dragged into this whole thing to begin with?”
I shrug, reliving the despair of that night. The regret. “I was frightened. I didn’t think fast enough. I was afraid no one would believe me. I’d been raised to obey my mother in all things. Pick a reason.” I run my finger along the edge of the desk. “I hate that I was so weak. I promised myself I’d never be so again. Looking back, I think of other things, though. They’d both have stood against me. My mother, in hopes that she could still patch things up and make me Queen, the King because…well, because he did it. I was seventeen—still am seventeen. I have so little power, Saber, and the power I’ve managed to accumulate still might not be enough to keep me alive.”
“That should make you more inclined to take his offer, Danica. Not less.” He’s leaning forward, his hands splayed on the desktop, and I feel like a little girl for what must be the hundredth time today. But his eyes don’t condemn…they plead. “Help me understand. It was a way to get everything you wanted. And, to be totally blunt, to leave that stupid little King to deal with the Glitter mess you created. We created,” he amends. He sounds shockingly near tears as he looks at me and asks, “Why?”
At that terrible edge in his voice, I suddenly want so desperately to defend myself. For him to understand. “There are a lot of reasons,” I retort, but I hear the bristle in my voice and force myself to calm down.
“There’s my father’s life, for one. Do you think he would survive three weeks on his own? With no Glitter? Would he live, Saber? For three weeks, with no one understanding what’s happening to him—would he survive it?”
Saber hesitates but shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen Reginald push such a high dosage on someone so fast.”
“But you know me too well to believe me to be entirely altruistic.” It hurts to even say those words—to admit that’s the kind of person I’ve become. But it’s true. “The King’s solution seemed generous. I almost took it. But even if he followed through and divorced me in two years, he’d have no reason to leave me alive—much less continue supporting me. What would I do? Where would I go?”
“You’d have two years to figure that out,” Saber points out in a growl. “And you could stop selling Glitter. Stop hurting people.”
“I’m going to stop in two weeks anyway. I’ve been doing this for months, Saber. Months! The damage is done.” And you were right. But I don’t say it. He knows. We both know. The truth is that I should never have started this in the first place. But that choice is gone. And if I were to stop now, I’d accomplish nothing. What I’ve put everyone through, what they’ll go through when I leave, it would all be for nothing. It shouldn’t be for nothing!
“But—”
“The withdrawals are going to be a bitch even if I leave tomorrow. That ship has sailed. But if I just go, he gets away with everything.”
Saber doesn’t buy it. “Once you run, he gets away with everything anyway.”
But I’m already shaking my head. “That’s what I realized. Why I can’t say yes. This isn’t just about me anymore. The King is about this close to losing his position as CEO of Sonoma Inc.,” I say, holding my fingers a few millimeters apart. “Something that hasn’t happened to a Sonoman-Versailles Wyndham in four generations. He’s depending on my father’s votes and my votes as Queen to help him maintain it. But imagine this: the night before my wedding, I leave. Then, despite the confusion and scandal, there will still be a meeting of the board. They’ve been secretly planning it for months. And at that meeting they will vote to overthrow the King. Without me, without my father, he will lose everything. Everything, Saber. I can make that happen.”