Page 163 of The Royal Art of Revenge

Hattie’s eyebrows draw together in a deep frown that darkens her entire face. “So she’s not a citizen?”

“She is. Even if she were born outside the country, Rosalyn is a citizen, so she has it by birthright,” Alec explains. “And your father, too. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how they managed to pull it off.”

“Money. The root of all evil.” She pushes the papers away. “They paid someone off somewhere. I doubt we’ll ever find out, but the adoption papers don’t help us at all. All it does is back up their claim that she is adopted.”

“They aren’t adoption papers. I said they adopted her in a way.”

“Then explain what way,” I say dryly.

He waves his hand at me. “It’s just legal and physical custody. They never stood before a judge and finalised an adoption as Askurian law requires.”

“So…” Hattie pauses, and I can almost see the whirring of her brain as she puts the pieces together. “Is any of that public record?”

“Unlikely. We either need an insider to leak their true relationship to a journalist or Jasmine to do something ridiculous like upload her DNA to one of those genealogy websites.”

I won’t ask how he accessed something that isn’t public record.

Some things are better left buried.

Hattie and I both pause and look at each other before she shakes her head. “No, she’s dumb, but she’s not that dumb.”

“I’ll have someone look into it just in case.” I pull out my phone and send a message to Oscar ordering him to assign someone to it. “I’d rather we cover all our bases.”

Hattie sighs and turns back to her computer, minimising the screen she was looking at. “It would be so much easier if she did take one of those tests.”

Well, that’s a point we can all agree on.

The door swings open, and Mum walks in carrying a flat, rectangular box. Hattie has already seen her once today, but Alec hasn’t, and he gets to his feet to bow. Mum acknowledges him with a gentle nod of her head and a warm smile.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Nothing that concerns you,” she replies, setting the box on the table next to Hattie. “Here, darling. I brought you something to eat.”

“Thanks.” Hattie leans over and opens the box, revealing a tray of pastries. “I can’t eat all those.”

“I’m sure these two will help if they must.” Mum motions to us both.

“Nice to know you care about us,” I mutter.

“She’s busy. I’m keeping her fed,” Mum says without batting an eyelid, although she does pause to tap Alec’s hand away when he reaches for the box. “Not yet, Alecsander.”

I frown. “Why? What is she doing?” I look at Hattie. “What are you doing?”

“Ediddin’ phodos,” she replies around a mouthful of what appears to be a chocolate croissant.

“She’s taking photos of the palace and the grounds for our social media accounts. I see no reason for her to give up what she loves doing, so your father suggested this.” Mum pauses. “It’s part of our ‘modernisation’ thingy he’s got going on with the public relations department.”

“The government’s happy, too. The arts minister keeps texting me asking for updates,” Hattie adds. “So is public relations. It’s ‘good for my image’ and will ‘forge a connection with the public,’ apparently.”

When the hell did she speak to anyone at the government? When did this even happen?

“When did this happen?” Alec asks, eyeing me with amusement. “And did nobody tell your crown prince? He appears quite bamboozled.”

“He never asked.” Mum reaches forward and brushes something off Hattie’s cheek. “Eyelash.”

“Oh, thank you,” she replies, returning to the pastry box. She pauses, then looks over her shoulder at me. “Do you want one?”

“No, you carry on,” I say slowly, bewildered by the sight before me.