Palming the back of his neck, as if that could help him with the shit storm he was certain was about to be unleashed on him, he moved to the other end of the house. It wasn’t like he could go far in this bungalow, but he would at least attemptto find some privacy.
He’d successfully dodged his mother’s calls for the past three weeks, but now…
If he didn’t answer, she might do something incredibly stupid and insane, like show up here. That was the last thing he needed.
As Ryker often had over the past month, he wished he was anywhere else in the world but here. Alas, wishes, just like fairy tale endings, were for other people.
Dropping into a chair at the kitchen table, he slid his thumb across the screen, accepting the video call. He propped the phone against an empty fruit bowl and waited for the call to connect. He couldn’t even claim spotty signal issues—the Central Region had some of the best technology in the entire Republic, and the signal was perfect, even in the woods.
As soon as the call connected, Ryker winced. He looked even worse than he thought. His hair was disheveled, dark bags hung under his eyes, and his shirt was wrinkled from being slept in.
He wouldn’t usually be concerned about his appearance, not after everything he’d endured since his wedding night, but he knew his mother. She would take personal offense to how he looked, as if his lack of care reflected on her.
It didn’t matter that no one else was around. It would still bother her.
Sure enough, a scowl marred her features. Internally, Ryker sighed. Not externally. Nothing to set her off.
As usual, Tertia Waterborn was perfectly put together. She looked like she had stepped out of the page of a magazine.
The Representative of the Fae sat at the large mahogany desk in her home study. Brown hair was coiffed and styled away from her face. Diamond studs adorned her delicate, pointed ears. Her black silk blouse shimmered in the light, and her chin rested on a manicured hand as she stared into the camera.
Despite the distance between them, Ryker could have sworn the temperature dropped in the room at his mother’s obvious disapproval.
“Ryker Elias Waterborn,” Tertia said in a cold, quiet voice that he had to strain to hear. “You have Chosen poorly, and your actions havedishonored the illustrious Waterborn name. I am incredibly disappointed in you.”
Apparently, they were skipping hellos and going straight to admonishment.
How delightful.
Ryker had known his mother would call sooner or later. There wasn’t much one could keep from her, but why today? Why now?
The gods hated him. That was the only plausible explanation.
“Hello, Mother,” he said calmly. “It’s so nice to see you, too.”
Perhaps if he was kind and well-mannered, she would leave him alone. He certainly had enough to deal with without bringing his mother into the mix.
Tertia’s eyes glinted as she leaned forward. She tapped her manicured nails on the desk, the sound crystal clear.
Tap, tap, tap.
On and on the solo drumbeat went as her eyes drilled into him.
Ryker knew better than to speak before his mother. He’d learned manners when most children were learning their primary colors.
Long, drawn-out minutes passed before Tertia deigned to speak again. Every breath was an entire percussion section in Ryker’s ears.
“This afternoon, I was at the Crystal Garden having lunch with Representative Havill.” She raised a brow. “It was important, Ryker.”
Everything Tertia did was important, at least from her perspective.
Ryker didn’t respond. She hadn’t given him leave yet.
“I had just ordered my salad when suddenly, I received the most disturbing phone call.” Her words were clipped, and the drumming ceased. “Do you know what I was told?”
He wished he didn’t, but he could guess. It seemed his time of avoiding his family and the press was coming to an end.
Sighing, he kneaded his temples. “Mother, I can explain?—”