The duke ignored Cora but nodded graciously at Teryn. “King Dimetreus was both surprised and pleased by your correspondence. Thank you ever so much for finding her. Your reward will be generous indeed.”
Cora’s gaze shot to Teryn. She saw the guilt written in his eyes and finally understood what she’d sensed all along. Her shoulders sagged as her heart crumbled inside her chest, pierced with icy talons of betrayal.
Morkai faced her, the smug tilt to his lips revealing how greatly he relished her pain. “Hello, Princess Aveline. It’s been a while.”
33
Cora hadn’t been called by her first name in six years. Perhaps that was why—when next she dreamed—she saw not the shadowed halls of her nightmare but her childhood bedroom. She was face-down upon her bed, torn between shame and rage, when she heard her door open.
“Aveline Corasande Caelan,” a deep voice said from behind her, tone pitched with warning.
Cora froze. Her brother only ever used her full name when she was in trouble. Steeling her nerves, she pushed herself to sitting and faced King Dimetreus. “I did nothing wrong.”
With slow steps, he crossed the distance between them and took a seat next to her. His voice softened. “You acted brash at dinner tonight.”
Her heart sank as she met his gaze. His dark eyes were gentle, a warm smile on his lips. With his shoulder-length brown hair and olive complexion, he reminded her so much of Mother. Only his nose and the stubble on his jaw resembled their father. Being reminded of her dearly departed parents made her wish he was angry instead. His sympathy only increased her guilt.
Still, she refused to back down. “Linette acted brash first and you did nothing to defend me.”
“Linette is my wife and I love her dearly. I love you as well, Aveline, but you must learn to respect your sister-in-law. She is your queen. I need you to apologize to her.”
She bristled. “But she’s the one who lied. She’s not with child, Dimi.”
He chuckled. “Dearest sister, you’re too young to speak on such matters. You know nothing about children or their conception. Just because her belly has yet to—”
“I know how babies are made and I know how they’re born.”
He gave her a patronizing look. “I assure you, sister, it isn’t a stork.”
“No, of course it isn’t.” She lifted her chin and put her hands on her hips. “When a man and woman feel desirous, a woman lifts her skirts and a man becomes engorged—”
He launched to his feet, nearly tripping in the process. “Seven devils, where did you hear that?”
She blushed, realizing she must have said something improper. She was always getting in trouble for things like that. “I overheard Lady Paulette discussing a novel with Lady Madeline.”
“Banish such thoughts from your mind,” he said, wagging a finger. His cheeks were as red as beets. “Regardless of what you think you know, you mustn’t have acted as you did at dinner.”
She stood and stomped a foot. “I didn’t even want to be there. Master Benedict dragged me.”
“Aveline,” he said, his tone turning sharper, “you promised to attend dinner and you showed up late. To add insult to injury, you made a scene and upset Linette. She left the dining hall in tears. She’s been inconsolable, sobbing in bed ever since. What you said to her was cruel.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t actually curse her. I’m not a witch. I don’t know how to curse people.”
“It doesn’t matter. What you said scared her. It’s important that she is kept comfortable to keep the baby safe.”
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from arguing the fact that the queen was a liar, that she wasn’t with child and had never been. She’d learned her lesson, though. Her brother was obviously never going to listen. She’d have to wait until later to sayI told you so. Perhaps in the meantime she could try to sort out why a queen would feel the need to lie about such a silly thing in the first place. She knew queens were expected to bear sons, but she couldn’t quite grasp the significance or the pressure involved. Maybe her brother was right. Maybe she was too young to speak on such complicated matters.
But still…
“I don’t want to apologize.”
Her brother’s expression softened again as he took her hand in his. “I know, but you’re a princess. The older you get the more you’ll come to understand that being royal often means doing a whole host of things you’d rather not do. Please, Cora.”
The name made her breath hitch. Only their mother had ever called her Cora, and usually only when they were alone. It was a nickname taken from her middle name—Corasande—a name that represented her mother’s homeland in the Southern Isles. If she was being honest, she preferred Cora to Aveline. Aveline sounded like a stuffy old queen like Linette while Cora was fit for someone wild and free. Like whom she’d prefer to be.
She knew Dimetreus was manipulating her by using that name, but she found it effective nonetheless. “Fine,” she ground out, “I’ll apologize. But only for pretending to curse her. Everything else I said was true.”
Her brother’s expression hardened, but he released a resigned sigh. “It’s a start. Now, get going.”
