Oh, so that’s her agenda. Of course it is. The High Council. Within Henry’s grasp? Absolutely. Within Gwyneth’s?
Not at all, except by proxy.
Wendell is his mother’s favorite, as Ophelia knows all too well. As the oldest (by four minutes and thirty-eight seconds), Wendell will assume the Worthington-Wells seat. He knows it. Gwyneth knows it. Everyone in the Enclave knows it—and really, no one in the Enclave is looking forward to that day.
“And what if I don’t particularly want to be a member of the High Council?”
“Please, Henry. That was before.”
“Before what?” When Gwyneth falls strangely silent, he prompts again, “Before what?”
Still nothing.
“Oh.” Henry slumps back against the couch cushions. “Of course. Your mother.”
“She refuses to let the annulment go through. Without your father’s advocacy, it’s going nowhere.”
“My mother?—”
“Recusing herself. Besides, she’s merely the wife of the chair, and trust me, he isn’t budging either.”
No, Ophelia thinks glumly, her father wouldn’t.
“So you see,” Gwyneth says, trying to gather Henry’s hands in hers. After a moment, he relents. “It’s this, or nothing. Why not beat these bastards at their own game? We give them what they expect, and then we go on to rule the Enclave.”
Henry looks drawn and pale, but whether that’s from his injuries, the prospect of sitting on the High Council, or the fact Gwyneth is still gripping his hands, Ophelia can’t say.
“I don’t want to rule the Enclave, Gwyneth.”
“It’s rule or be ruled. You know that.”
“And you know I’ve never wanted that.”
“Things are different.”
“Nothing’s different.”
A frown furrows Gwyneth’s brow. She glances around as if the source of Henry’s reluctance is here, in the room with them.
“Oh!” she says. “Do you think I mind your little flirtation?”
Apparently, the source of Henry’s reluctance was here in the room with them, mere minutes ago.
“After all,” she adds, “you’ve put up with enough of mine.”
True enough. Henry is a saint that way.
“Goodness, that doesn’t have to change. Besides, in this case, I understand the appeal. She’s very rural pixie dream girl?—”
Rural pixie dream girl?
“—and she’s been through a great deal?—”
“Excuse me. Are you suggesting I slept with Agent Little out of pity, or that I took advantage of her vulnerable state after this recent tragedy?”
There goes the marriage of the minds.
“I mean, no, of course not. All I meant was?—”
