This source, who has proven reliable in the past, alleges that the truth has been a closely guarded secret within the palace, stemming from a long-concealed affair between Queen Mother Cynthia Araceli-Raelyn and Prince Don Raelyn. This affair challenges the legitimacy of Fynn’s position and casts a shadow over Queen Leigh’s rightful claim to the throne. Could Don be her father as well?
All the air empties from my lungs. Around me, the excited sounds of the racecourse are shifting into something sharp and accusatory, whispers turning into hisses of shock as people read the article.
“Leigh?” Isolde’s voice cuts through my shock.
I look up at her. “Get me out of here.”
I need to see my mother.
It’s not true,please. Tell me it’s not true.It can’t be.
“Mother?” The crack of my voice rings in the cavernous foyer.
The moment I step into my former family home, a wave of unfamiliarity suffocates me. In the last year, my mom got rid of every piece of furniture that existed here when my father and brother were alive, replacing warm, comforting pieces with cold, modern designs. The walls, once adorned with cherished family photos, now bear the cold stare of black-and-white images captured by renowned photographers. Strangers, celebrities, and high-fashion pieces have replaced the smiling faces of my loved ones. Their lifeless eyes follow me as I navigate the hallways, each step echoing with memories that are like distant whispers.
Hot anger churns inside me. Mom has been a ghost for months since the truth about Don being the Magician came out. She left, leaving me to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives alone.
It’s like she’s trying to erase any memory of Father, Fynn, and me.
I follow the scent of mother’s rose perfume toward the sitting room. I need her to say it. I need to hear her say Stellan is lying.Fynn can’t be Don’s son. It would destroy everything. It would destroyme.
My mother couldn’t have had a relationship with my uncle. She despises Don, and he loathes her in return. But there’s a fine line between hate and love, isn’t there?
I shake my head. No, I couldn’t have misread their interactions for twenty years. Mother needs to tell everyone. She must kill the story before it spreads.
I find my mother seated near an easel, painting a beach scene. Haunting strings of a violin drift from a nearby speaker as the news plays silently on the TV in the background, its flickering images flickering revealing she’s heard the story about Fynn.
“Are you going to tell them it’s not true?” I ask.
Her magic swirls murky water around her paintbrush, the colors bleeding together like the secrets and lies threatening to drown us all.
“Hello, Leigh.” Mother sighs. “I had a feeling I’d see you today.”
I scoff. If that’s true, she could have picked up the phone and saved us both the hassle of me coming here. I should be at the precinct giving a statement about my failed kidnapping or calling Wilder after what happened at the rally in Aurora, not here.
“Well?” I prompt.
Mother refuses to meet my gaze. She can pretend Don doesn’t exist all she wants, but the world outside these walls won’t. Stellan’s accusations are spreading like wildfire, and she’s at the eye of the storm. One word from her—just one—calling him a liar could shatter his credibility. His followers would start to doubt, his influence would wane, and this nightmare could end. It’s time for her to step up anddosomething to help me.
Be kind to your mother,Father’s ghost warns, appearing beside me. He stares between me and my mother with watery gray eyes.
She doesn’t seem aware he’s here. Mother never glances in his direction. Is he concealing himself on purpose?
You two need to talk. I will only get in the way,Father explains to me.
“Stellan’s article—I know you’ve seen it.” I gesture wildly to the TV as reporters speculate about Stellan’s words and what they mean for the monarchy. “The accusations are outrageous, and it’s on every channel.” I pick up the remote with a shaky hand and scroll through channel after channel for emphasis while my mother pointedly stares at her painting. “They are saying Fynn is Don’s kid.” Mother’s ice blue eyes finally meet mine. I’m struck by how devoid of emotion they are. I squeeze the remote. The plastic creaks under the pressure. “Some people might question if I am, too.”
Mother returns to her painting. “Now that’s just ridiculous,” she says. “You are Gwyn’s daughter. Anyone can see that—you two are so much alike. So headstrong in your beliefs. Heaven, help anyone who stands in your way. Even as a child, you were steadfast in your ways. I’d tell you no, while Gwyn would say yes. It was?—”
“I know I am my father’s daughter. I can see his ghost. But that doesn’t mean people won’t speculate. What about Fynn? Are you going to let Stellan tarnish his memory by linking him to that . . . murderer?”
Slowly, Mother sets her paintbrush down and faces me. “Leigh, there’s something you must understand.” Dark circles bruise under her eyes. Has she been sleeping? “When I discovered I was pregnant with Fynn, your father and I were already getting married. We made the choice not to say anything about Don or?—”
“Wait.What?” I shriek. Her words steal my strength.
I grip the back of the sofa and notice my father still hovering nearby, hidden from Mother. When our eyes meet, he doesn’t cower or flinch.
“You knew?” I say to him, my voice breaking on the words.
