“Octavia, please…” My voice breaks. My heart slams against my ribs, a mad tattoo. “Owen isn’t a part of any terrorist cell! He’s not an anti-monarchist. Sure, he may’ve participated in a few nonviolent protests, a political march or two on the university campus… but he’s never done anything remotely illegal, let aloneradical.”
“Nevertheless,” she murmurs smugly, victorious. “You are not to contact him again, either in person or otherwise. I’ve ensured that he’s already been blacklisted from all royal properties and functions. And don’t worry, dear — if he attempts to trespass onanyLancaster land — the Lockwood Estate included — I will personally see to it that he is jailed for conspiracy against the crown.” She leans forward, her voice intent. “You see… I will dowhateveris necessary to protect the members of my family. I hope this action proves that to you.”
“You can’t do this,” I whisper, hate blazing from my eyes. “Youcan’t.”
“It’s already done.”
“I’ll talk to Linus!” I snap, stepping forward. “I’ll get him to reverse the order.”
She laughs — actually throws her head back and laughs at me, like I’m a puppet and she’s the one holding all my strings, making me dance. “You foolish little girl. Did you honestly think, because you caught his ear for a single afternoon, that he cares about you? That, because he sent you a few books and needs a new heir, he’s going to suddenly step in and become a father figure?You’re wrong. The only person Linus Lancaster serves is Linus Lancaster. You will find out for yourself just how little you matter to him, as soon as your interests stop aligning with his own.”
“You’re wrong,” I seethe quietly.
“Am I?” She steps closer. “It may be called the King’s Guard, but everyone in this household answers to one person —me. Not Linus, locked away in his study with his manuscripts and his memos and his quaint meetings over tea. Certainly notyou.” She makes a mockingtsknoise with her lips. “So go ahead and try to challenge me, girl. I will have Owen Harding locked up in a royal prison cell so fast, it will make your head spin. He’ll never see the light of day again, unlessIsee fit to allow it.”
“You don’t have that kind of power.”
“Try me,” she dares. “If you’re wrong, you’ll have only yourself to blame.” Her mouth twists. “Alternatively… you can make the smarter choice by yielding to my authority. You can set aside the ridiculous notion that, based on the blood running through your veins, you are somehow entitled to anything but the life you already know, in a very small house with a very small future.”
Suddenly, I can see things so clearly. None of this is about Owen. Hell, it’s not even about me.
It’s about the throne.
It’s aboutpower.
It’s about this shrew of a woman, and the lengths she’ll go to take control of the crown.
She wants Germania for herself,I realize, staring at her.It’s not enough to manipulate me, or her children, or her household staff, or her husband… this crazy bitch wants to commandeer the whole damn country.
Steely resolve fills my bones, fortifying me with new purpose. I may not know precisely how yet, but I do know one thing: I am going to stop her before she hurts anyone else.
No matter what it takes.
“Octavia,” I say in a voice I barely recognize. “I suggest you leave.Now.”
She doesn’t move. She’s enjoying this too much.
“Get out of my room!” I shriek, feeling my control begin to unravel. “You sociopathic, narcissistic monster!”
“Happily.” Smiling like we’ve just traded smalltalk, she turns and starts heading toward the door. “The dress fitting tomorrow. Noon,sharp, in the main parlor. Do not be late.” She pauses in the threshold to look back at me. “Or,do, if you’d like to see what happens when you disobey me. I’d be all too happy to give you a demonstration of my authority.” Her head tilts in contemplation. “Owen has two little sisters, doesn’t he? Adorable girls. I saw their picture just this afternoon…”
My inhale is razor-edged, slicing its way down my throat.
“It would besucha shame if anything were to happen to them.”
A hate unlike anything I’ve ever known before boils through my veins. Before I know it, I’m in motion — advancing on her with tears in my eyes and malice in my heart.
“GET OUT!” I scream at top volume, wanting to claw her eyes out. “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”
“Goodnight,” she calls serenely, her heels clicking down the hallway like gunshots. “Sweet dreams.”
I wait until she’s out of sight. Then, with a bellow of rage, I turn and punch my door with every bit of force I possess, unleashing all my anger into the strike — and damn near breaking my hand in the process.
“FUCK!” I wail, crumpling to the floor, clutching my bruised fingers to my chest. I lean against the doorway to my room, tears streaking down my face, breathless with pain and frustration. I’m still reeling from Octavia’s threats when I hear the door directly across the hall swing open.
Carter is standing there, dark hair mussed from sleep, looking down at me with concern written all over his face. He must’ve heard me screaming and come out to investigate. I suck in a breath that has nothing to do with my aching knuckle bones when I see he’s barefoot and shirtless, a pair of gray sweatpants riding low on his defined hipbones. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his ab muscles — a perfectly chiseled eight-pack, with a trail of hair leading from his belly button down, down, down….
Sweet Christ.