Page 145 of The Royal Art of Revenge

Even now, as my conversation has been pushed to the backburner under the guise of eating, Jasmine talks. She chatters away as if a quiet meal was never proposed, and I have no idea what she’s rabbiting on about. It’s utterly inconsequential and interests me about as much as a needle to the eye, but it’s another reminder of the difference between us.

My wedding? Not important.

Jasmine’s daily tittering? Absolutely vital for survival, apparently.

Keep it in. Keep it in. Keep it in.

I can’t be emotional. I can’t let my heart overrule my head. If I get angry or upset, they win, because that’s what they want. I can do that later when I’m with someone who genuinely cares about me.

This is not the time. This is not the place.

This house will never be.

By some miracle, we make it to the end of the meal. I haven’t listened to a word Jasmine has said, but she’s still yammering on about something when we move into the living room and my father pours himself a drink.

He turns to me and holds up the bottle, wordlessly offering me one. I refuse with a gentle shake of my head, and he replaces the whiskey before taking a seat on the sofa next to Rosalyn who’s just poured her and Jasmine a glass of wine without so much as a glance in my direction.

Wise.

There’s a chance I’ll end up throwing it over one of them in this conversation.

“So, the wedding,” my father says the moment Jasmine pauses to catch her breath. “Has Her Majesty set a date?”

“I believe we’re looking at late September,” I reply, clasping my hands in my lap. “As soon as she’s finalised it with the government, she’ll contact you.”

“Very well.” He nods once, and a heavy silence falls over the room.

He has more questions.

Ones he doesn’t want to ask.

Ones he knows he needs to ask.

“Have you thought this through, my dear?” Rosalyn asks, her face the picture of concern. Her tone is sickly sweet; the same one she always uses when she’s trying to show my father she cares. “It’s a great deal of responsibility, and I fear it’ll be too much for you.”

Ah.

So, this is the angle she’s going for.

“Yes,” I say, swinging my gaze to meet hers. “I have a great deal of support in the palace. Both Lord Oscar and the Duke of Kilon have been guiding me, as well as the Royal Family, of course. I’m not concerned.”

“That’s good.” Her smile doesn’t meet her eyes. In fact, it barely registers on her face, but she’s trying.

Impressive, given how she got that angry little jaw tick when I mentioned Alec.

“You’re so delicate, that’s all. What with everything you went through… All those panic attacks… I do worry.”

Jasmine fights back a smile as she dips her head.

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” I keep my tone measured. “So you’ll be pleased to know that since I moved to the palace, I’ve had less panic attacks, and Finn is looking into other avenues of support for me. I’m doing better than I have in a long time.”

She clenches her jaw before she catches herself and forces yet another smile.

“That’s good. Excellent news, darling,” my father says. “I had the same fears, I won’t lie.”

“What about you, Jas?” I ask innocently, turning to her. “I know you’ve been struggling lately, especially since I last saw you.”

She freezes, then slowly spins to meet my gaze. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”