Page 10 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“It was said in frustration,” Rosalyn says calmly, pouring another cup of tea for herself. “We all say things we don’t mean, Harriet. Don’t take it to heart.”

“I was only pointing it out.”

“Well, don’t.”

“All right, fine.” I put my empty cup in the sink and hold up my hands. “By all means, stroll into the palace and start demanding things be done your way, Jas. I’m sure that’ll go well for you.”

She scoffs, leaning back in her chair. “Why are you even here?”

“Unfortunately, I live here,” I reply. “As much as I’d love to move out, I’m not allowed to until you’re happily married and safe from my wicked, wicked ways.”

At that, Rosalyn sighs and turns to look at me. “Must you always be so sarcastic, Harriet?”

“Yes.” I pluck a croissant from the tray—today, it’s on the kitchen island. “I find it a great defense against stupidity.”

“You—” Jas catches herself. “I really cannot stand you, do you know that?”

“Yes. I take great pleasure in the knowledge.” I raise my pastry towards her in a mock toast. “And rest assured that the feeling is entirely mutual, so there’s no need to announce it like it’s some great triumph.”

Rosalyn blinks at me, then shakes her head, turning away. “Do you not have work to do today?”

“Yes, alas, some of us must earn our own way in this world.”

“You have a trust fund,” Jas snipes. “You don’t need to work.”

“Ah, yes, the money from my actual mother.” I pause in the doorway. “Yet another casualty of your ridiculous paranoia,” I say, looking at her pointedly. “God forbid I be given a significant amount of money to disappear off into the sunset with. No, much better for me to be kept here like a prisoner so nobody realises what snakes the Sinclair family are.”

“That’s enough!” Rosalyn snaps, slamming her hands against the table. The housekeeper cleaning the fireplace jumps, sending the tools clattering to the ground, and Rosalyn clicks her tongue at her. “That. Is. Enough,” she repeats. “Both of you. Harriet, you knew and agreed to those terms when you returned, so you’re in no position to complain.”

I’m in every position to complain, but that’s not the point.

She’s right. I did know and agree to them. Only because I had no choice. The other option was walking away and letting them take everything that was supposed to be mine.

Not to mention that I do have access to my trust fund. Not entirely but partially is enough.

Turns out, even my father is capable of being guilted into going behind his wife’s back.

Not that it would be the first time he did something like that, mind you.

Going behind his wife’s back is why Jasmine exists in the first place.

“And, Jasmine, for goodness’ sake—you’ll be queen one day. You must learn to control yourself and your emotions better.”

“What’s going on in here?” The man who once generously donated his sperm so that I may exist walks into the kitchen with his face in his phone. “Girls, are you fighting again?”

“Of course not,” I say brightly, bounding over to him to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good morning, Dad.”

“Mm. Morning, Harriet.” He finally looks up from his phone. “Jas? Are you arguing with your sister?”

I raise my eyebrows when she shrinks back in her chair.

“No,” she replies. “She was… giving me some advice.”

My father looks at me like I have two heads.

Completely understandable.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say. “I was only pointing out that she can’t convince the crown prince to fire Lord Oscar after the wedding. She has to do things the way the palace does, not expect them to conform to her.”