Ansel thought of the pallor of Nessa's face. She'd seemed so scared. "Ye must do as ye think is right, Yer Majesty," he replied evenly. "Though while ye could produce many mighty heirs, they will take time tae grow. A grandson can be shaped much more easily while ye still contain the power through yer already faithful heir."
Edric narrowed his eyes. "Ye always were a clever lad. Perhaps that's why ye're such a coward." Suddenly, he spat at Ansel's feet. "A coward! Just as yer mother's father was when he let me steal her away. Just as that rebel pretender is, hidin' behind the name of a dead prince."
What would Edric do, Ansel wondered, if he knew the truth? How would his father react if he knew that Cailean McNair was no pretender, and that the rebels followed the legacy of the trueking? Instantly, a flash of horror filled him at his thoughts. Hisfatherwas the true king. Nobody else. He could not believe he had allowed such a slip even in his mind.
Grabbing the front of Ansel's shirt, Edric pulled him close. "Dinnae forget, I brought me useless sister's son here all these years ago for a reason. He shed his dead father's name the moment I brought him intae me castle. Baldric can be made me heir in an instant. Shall I do that, lad? Shall Baldric disappoint me less than ye?"
Ansel kept his mouth shut. Anything else he could say would make it worse.
Edric dropped his shirt. "How could ye do it? How could yeloseme stronghold and let them claim it as McNair Castle? It's a symbol tae those idiot masses, dinnae ye understand that, with all yer cleverness? Ye'veruinedso much of what I've worked for! Speak!"
"I couldnae have won the fight. If I hadnae conceded the battle, most of our men would have been slaughtered," Ansel told him, not allowing any emotion into his voice. "They kent more than we did. Even I would likely have died?—"
"Then ye should have!" Edric howled. "Ye should have locked the doors and burned the place tae the ground for a second time, with yerself inside if necessary! Yer life should have been forfeit if it meant I could finally extinguish those rebelwormsand their pathetic McNair pretender of a leader!"
Ansel lowered his eyes. "Aye, Yer Majesty." He did not want to think of those last moments in McNair Castle. He did not want to think of Cailean McNair. He did not want to think ofher."I failed ye. I will take whatever punishment ye see fit."
The clock ticked its sentence out on the wall.
Finally, Edric scoffed. "The men speak highly of ye. Many are loyal tae ye. It would be a hassle tae be rid of ye now. And ye have rarely failed me before. So listen closely."
Ansel flicked his eyes up again.
Edric leaned in. "Ye are bein' given a second chance, and a final one. Ye will marry Nessa O'Sullivan and produce sons tae carry on me legacy. Ye will serve loyally in every action. Ye will be king one day, Ansel Ashkirk, and ye willneverconcede again. Ye will win, or ye will die. Either at their hands—or at me own. Are we understood?"
"Aye, Yer Majesty," Ansel replied. "Thank ye, Yer Majesty."
"Out of me sight. Go and remember how tae be me son," Edric replied. He turned his back again and walked to the other side of the study.
Ansel bowed then turned to leave. Just as he'd opened the door, though, his father called out again.
"Ansel?"
"Father?" he asked, turning back, risking the paternal form of address again and hoping it was the right choice to make.
Edric was watching him closely again. "The maid."
The shards of ice returned. "Maid?" Ansel asked, trying his best to keep his composure.
"Aye, the one ye took as yer lover. Abby, was it nae? I kent ye'd like her. I had already picked her out for ye when I met her in the throne room that day," Edric said. "She was a bonny thing."
Ansel did not bother to correct his father's faulty assumption about why he'd taken Neala with him. Edric would not understand how any woman could have any other use.
"The men have been talkin'," Edric went on. "They say she was a spy. Probably one of those despicable Sparrows. Have ye clipped the wee bird's wings, Ansel? Truly? I ken ye have always had a weakness for bonny things."
Heart racing for the first time, fear pulsing in his veins, Ansel replied as truthfully as he could. "Abigail is dead. Ye neednae worry about her returnin'. It's impossible."
It was the truth in its entirety—if not an actual answer to the question the king had asked.
Edric considered him. "Ye killed her?" he asked. "Ye dealt with the traitor?"
Ansel clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking. "Aye. I dealt with the maid—the spy. I acted as I had tae, she got what she deserved."
With a nod and a wave of his hand, the king dismissed him.
Bursting out of that study was like returning to air after too long spent underwater. Ansel stumbled through the great hall, now almost clean from the hardworking servants who were already tirelessly at work, his mind racing once more. Too close. He had let things get too close. He had to get himself back together and remember who he was. No matter what Neala McNair had done to him, no matter what she had made him feel, no matter how tantalizingly she had dangled freedom before his face, he was Ansel Ashkirk, and he must never forget it.
He rubbed his jaw, tracing his fingers across the deep scar. There was no fighting against the king. It wasn't worth the risk. Should he talk to Baldric? The youthful part of him longed to, but he didn't want to put his cousin in danger. No, he would carry this burden alone.
