“You … you never told me.”
“It didn’t seem relevant.”
“But all that stuff I said … Beaufort, I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose someone, to have that grief heavy on your shoulders, weighing you down.”
I look at Thorne who is staring stony-faced at the floor. “I don’t know what that feels like, Briony. I barely knew them.”
“But–”
“Different fathers. Different lives.”
“They were still your siblings.”
“The Empress has never encouraged … familial relationships. If anything, she’s pitted us as rivals.” I rub my hands over my face. “But there is someone I would like you to meet.”
Chapter Thirteen
Briony
“Okay?” I say.
Beaufort jumps to his feet. “You three: wait here.”
“You taking her to see Arabella?” Dray perks up. “You know I want to see her too.”
“Later. I want Briony to meet her first.”
“Arabella?” I ask, my stomach suddenly churning with anxiety and something a lot more bitter. All this time I’ve been worrying about Henrietta and it never occurred to me that Beaufort might have a girlfriend back home. Of course he would. He is handsome, powerful, witty, and a damn prince. There’s probably a girlfriend, a lover, and someone he’s betrothed too as well.
“I warn you. She can be a bit excitable. And a bit too protective. Sometimes even jealous.”
Great, a jealous shadow weaver whose boyfriend I’ve been having very hot sex with. Nothing to worry about there then.
“Maybe you ought to be meeting her alone,” I say, trying to pull my hand from his grip.
“Why?”
“I don’t think she’s going to want to meet me.” Or maybe she will just so she can claw my eyes out.
“Oh she will. She’s been dying to meet you.”
“Really?” I say, my voice quivering. Maybe she’s one of these really chill girlfriends who doesn’t mind her boyfriend having a side piece. Maybe she even likes to watch.
He stops outside another grand-looking door further down the landing. “Beaufort, I think you should at least meet her alone first. I assume she doesn’t know we are here. This will be a shock.”
“Maybe you’re right. Wait here for a moment, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” He kisses my mouth, then knocks on the door and slips inside.
I stand staring at the closed door. It is white and paneled, taller almost than most trees, with an ornate gold design trailing down its center. I drop my gaze to the floor. A long, scarlet rug runs the length of the landing, held in place by golden buckles. Ornate vases my height rest at intervals along the hallway, delicate paintings of dragons covering their surfaces. I tip my head upwards and stare right up into the crystal belly of a chandelier.
A sick feeling settles in my stomach. All this wealth. All this privilege. I think of all the workers who probably slaved away in Slate making these baubles. How is this fair?
The door opens and Beaufort steps out, he beckons me inside and with a steadying breath I follow him, bracing myself for some furious girlfriend to come launching right at me.
What I find instead is a room full of toys. A beautiful rocking horse, so expertly carved I expect it to gallop across the floor, a white doll’s house with one hundred perfectly formed rooms, and dolls scattered across the floor.
And there, in the center, is a girl of about six or seven. She’s wearing a blue smock dress, her dark hair is tied in pigtails and she scrutinizes me with Beaufort’s silver eyes.
“Briony,” Beaufort says, his hand resting affectionately on the little girl’s shoulder. “This is Princess Arabella. Arabella is my sister – myfullsister. We share the same father. Hells Bells, this is the girl I wrote to you about, Briony.”
