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“Sometimes.”

“Rhys…”

“I survived.”

The way he says it makes it clear there’s nothing more he intends to give me on that particular subject. I think of the scars on his chest.

I look between the portraits again. “Is that why the servants disappeared?”

“Eventually he decided they were helping her.”

“With what?”

“Leaving him.”

My attention snaps back to Rhys.

“So she did try to leave?”

“More than once.”

“And he stopped her.”

“Of course he stopped her. He considered her his.”

There’s something about the way he says the last word that sends a chill through me.

“What happened after that?”

“He tightened his control over the castle. He dismissed anyone he didn’t trust, restricted who was allowed near her and eventually stopped her from going into Villeneuve altogether. By the end, there were very few people left here.”

I stare at Belle’s painted face, remembering everything Mara told us at the cottage and finally understanding why she had been unable to reach her sister.

“She was trapped here.”

“For years.”

“And you were trapped with her.”

Rhys gives a small shrug. “I was his son. My circumstances were different.”

“That doesn’t mean they were better.”

“No. They weren’t.”

I’m quiet for a moment, then I look back at his father.

“I don’t understand why you keep his portrait.”

Rhys looks at me like the question itself is strange.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“After everything he did?”

“It’s a painting, Boone.”

“You never wanted to destroy it?”