“I’m sorry… but…” Simms wavers.
“You know, Gerald — can I call you Gerald?” I lean in, eyes locked on his beady brown ones. “I’m new to all of this, so forgive me if I’m off base here… but if I were in your position, I wouldn’t want to make an enemy of a girl who might, one day, inherit thatofficial crown businessthey’re currently discussing behind those doors. And as your princess…” My jaw sets in a sweet smile. “Maybe even as your futurequeen… I suggest you let me pass.”
His face pales a shade. “This is highly unprecedented…”
I lift my brows and wait.
Approximately three seconds later, he pivots on his shiny shoes and knocks quietly on the study doors. “Your Royal Majesty? Please forgive the impertinence…”
My smile returns.
Leverage, indeed.
Chapter Nine
I sitin a leather chair at a massive mahogany desk, engaged in a staring contest I fear I cannot win with the father I wish I’d never met. It’s almost like looking into my own eyes — same deep green shade, same slightly almond shape, same mix of curiosity and caution projected in their depths as we evaluate one another.
It’s just the two of us; he dismissed his counselors and his personal guards when he saw me hovering in the doorway to his study, Simms chortling out apologies at my side. In the crushing silence left behind, I find myself wishing they’d stayed. I’m suddenly second-guessing my whole rationale for insisting upon this meeting.
“So.” Linus steeples his hands in front of him and leans back in his leather chair. “You wanted to see me.”
I nod.
“I must say, I’m surprised — given your reaction last night.”
My eyes press closed as I recall my outburst; the words ‘shove it up your ass’replay in my head on an endless loop. Not exactly my finest moment.
I can’t bring myself to apologize, but I do arrange my features into a suitably contrary expression. “Last night, I was overwhelmed and exhausted. It was… a lot to take in all at once.”
“Still, I thought you’d be halfway to Hawthorne by now.”
I jolt, startled when he names the small neighborhood in Vasgaard that I call home.
“Are you surprised I know where you grew up, Emilia?” he asks softly. “Would you be surprised to learn I know a great deal about you and the life you’ve led?”
I wouldn’t touch that question with a ten-foot pole. The potential answer is far too scary.
My pulse kicks up a gear. “Honestly? I’m more surprised you’d let me go home at all.”
“You are not a prisoner, Emilia. You were brought to Lockwood Estate as a form of protection during an emergency. And, despite what you might think, everyone in this household is thrilled to have you here.”
“Yes, that’spreciselythe impression I got from the armed guards who dragged me here against my will.” I snort. “Andespeciallyfrom your wife.”
“Admittedly, some are struggling with this transition more that others.” A glimmer of humor appears in his eyes. “But even Octavia will come around eventually.”
I stare at him skeptically.
“If I may ask… what is it you came here for?” He coughs — a wet, racking sound that reminds me of my mother before she went into the hospital. I try to focus on the talking points I put together, but it’s a struggle.
Is he sick?
“Emilia?” Linus prompts. “Much as I enjoy your company, I do have matters to attend to. If you won’t tell me why you’re here—”
“A negotiation,” I blurt.
“Oh?” His expression turns curious. “And what are we negotiating?”
“You want something from me —needsomething, actually,” I correct rather clumsily, wishing my words were coming out the way I rehearsed earlier in my bathroom mirror. “But I’m going to need some things in exchange.”