My mind spirals in a thousand directions all at once as I try to process the words I’ve just overheard.
Linus had a stroke.
Her father is dead.
The king is dead.
Emilia Lancaster is your queen.
Images flash before my eyes, an undeniable confirmation of what I already, in my heart of hearts, know to be true.
Chloe and Carter exchanging a glance when I asked about Linus.
A line of soldiers saluting me at Fort Sutton — a gesture typically reserved for the king.
The household staff waiting to greet their new sovereign at the front door in full formal dress.
He’s dead.
King Linus is dead.
Not in one of my nightmares — for real, this time.
The worst part is, they knew. They’ve known for days. And they kept it from me.
They let me live for two days, unaware my father was dead.
It’s unimaginable.
It’s unforgivable.
My hands lift like they belong to someone else. I push open the door with a rough shove and step across the threshold, into the small parlor where they’ve gathered to discuss me.
Poor, pathetic Emilia.
An innocent to be handled with kid gloves.
A pawn to be moved around a chessboard.
Every head whips toward the door, identical looks of surprise and regret carved across their faces. I let my stare drift from person to person, lingering until they’re practically shivering from the chill of my cold stare.
Bane.
Simms.
Lady Morrell.
Chloe.
Carter.
My eyes linger on him the longest. I hope he can see the betrayal brimming over in my eyes.
I hope it haunts him.
Only when the silence is absolute do I finally say the words aloud. “My father is dead.”
Lady Morrell lets out a sound of distress.