Page 107
Mother sniffed. “Well, it’s certainly not coming with you to the palace.”
My heart gave a horrified thud. “I’m… I’m not going back to the palace.”
“Yes. You are.”
My skin prickled as I opened and closed my mouth wordlessly. Two new guards suddenly appeared, one carrying a full tea set and the other a folding table. They efficiently set both out in front of my mother and began pouring her a cup.
“I’m not,” I croaked weakly, despising myself for letting her do this—turn up unannounced, come into my house and make herself at home while I just stood there, allowing it. Allowing her to start getting under my skin with just a few words, making me feel weak and afraid and powerless.
She snorted delicately, peeling off her gloves. “This shameful farce has gone on long enough. I’ve allowed you to spend some time here, making a fool of yourself and acting like a”—her nose wrinkled again—“degenerate, but enough is enough.”
“You didn’t allow me to do anything,” I found the courage to say. “I left.”
Her lips tilted into a cruel smile as she handed her gloves to a silent guard. “Yes. Scurried off into the night like a fearful little mouse. It was quite humiliating for me, you know,” she added lightly, accepting the cup a guard held out for her. “For my subjects to realise that one of my sons had fled from his responsibilities like a weak coward. But I managed to spin the situation. Told them you had gone on a little venture to become more worldly or some such nonsense. I can’t remember exactly what I said now.”
I clenched my jaw. “I knew if I told you I planned to leave, you would have tried to stop me.”
“Of course I would have. What you’re doing is an embarrassment.”
I’d already suspected that she’d kept tabs on me enough to know what my job was. Defiant anger surged through me, making me raise my chin and squeeze my hands together so tightly behind my back that my bones ached.
“I love my job,” I rasped. “And it’s a very good job. One I enjoy.”
She laughed lightly. “That is not a job, my dear son. It’s a mockery of everything you represent. It’s nothing more than parading yourself in a shameful state of undress in front of a gaggle of uncouth creatures frothing at the mouth for a show of violence and cheap theatrics.”
Something inside me wilted, and my throat worked as I tried to think of a response. Anything. I couldn’t.
“And as I said,” she continued airily, setting down her cup and smoothing out her dress, “it’s over. You are done.”
“No,” I rasped unsteadily. “It’s not. I’m not. I’m staying here.”
“I’m afraid you don’t get to tell me no.” She laughed again, but it was sharper this time. “You are my son. My property. Which is why I remind you, yet again, that I have allowed you to throw this little tantrum, and now you are coming home.”
“No, I’m not,” I said weakly. It was like talking to a brick wall.
“Arrangements have already been made.” She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Ianthe will be arriving at the palace in—”
“No,” I blurted in horror. Her face stiffened at the interruption. “No.”
“Did you not get my letter?” she asked demurely. “I did tell you it was happening.”
“I’m not coming back,” I said, breathing fast. “I’m not marrying her. You can’t make me.”
She laughed—a tinkling sound like water trickling over rocks in a stream. I was shaking, but I found the strength to square my shoulders and lift my chin.
“Please leave.”
None of them moved. Fear tightened my limbs when my mother finally rose from the couch and slowly swept closer to me.
“You don’t get to tell me to leave,” she said in a cold, unnervingly soft voice. “And you also don’t get to decide what happens to you. I do. I am the queen. You exist, my dear son, solely to continue my name and my bloodline. That is your only purpose. The only reason you are even alive.”
It shouldn’t have hurt. I’d always known that was how she regarded her children—as her property, as useful but inconvenient things she could puppeteer—but something in my chest still cracked.
“It seems I may have made an error of judgement in allowing you to play pretend for a few years.” She sighed, eyeing me with disdain again. “You’ve only grown more disobedient.”
“I’m a fucking adult,” I gritted out hoarsely. “I have a life. My own life. You may not think I deserve to have a life outside of what you want, but I do. I do,” I repeated, as if to convince myself.
“You don’t get to talk to me that way, boy,” she said, her voice soft and threatening.
