“With them, yes.”
“All three of them?” Kade asks.
“All three of them. They’re mine, I’m theirs, and I don’t care who that offends.”
The SUV slows as we approach the outskirts of D.C. Security checkpoints appear every few blocks, with uniformed officers checking credentials and waving vehicles through. The closer we get to the Capitol, the tighter security becomes.
“We’re the golden children of the elite, excited to witness history,” Valen says.
“Even though history is being written by monsters,” Kade mutters.
“Especiallybecause history is being written by monsters.”
The guard at the checkpoint waves us through after checking our credentials. We drive past barricades and metal detectors and crowds of people bundled against the cold.
If only they knew how much blood had been spilled to make this moment possible.
The SUV pulls up to a VIP entrance on the east side of the Capitol and staff members in official badges swarm the vehicle, opening doors, checking names against lists, directing us toward the building.
I step out into the cold, the January wind cutting through my coat. Then I paste on my most perfect smile and take Milo’s offered arm.
“Ready?” he asks.
“No,” I admit. “But let’s do this anyway.”
Inside, the Capitol is warm and bustling with activity. Staff members rush past with clipboards and headsets, coordinating the thousands of details required for a presidential inauguration.
Savannah, my aide, comes to me in a neat black suit, appearing at my elbow. “Miss Black, if you’ll come with me. Your family’s being assembled for photos before the ceremony.”
“Of course.”
Milo squeezes my arm once before we part ways.
“See you out there,” he says.
“See you out there.”
The room they’ve set me up in is small but elegant, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mall. Thousands of people are already gathered, bundled against the cold, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
My mother appears in the doorway, immaculate in a cream-colored coat dress. Her eyes sweep over me, cataloging every detail of my appearance.
“The green,” she says after a long moment. “It’s... bold.”
“It was on your approved list.”
“I’m aware.” She moves closer, adjusting my necklace with practiced fingers. “But bold doesn’t always mean wise, Mara. Today is about unity, about presenting a strong family front. Your choices reflect on all of us.”
“I’m aware,” I echo, throwing her words back at her.
“Mara—”
“I’ll smile, Mother. I’ll wave. I’ll be the perfect daughter.” I meet her gaze steadily. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
“What I’ve always wanted is for you to be safe.”
“Then you should’ve protected me better.”
For a moment, I think she might actually respond with something real, something honest, but then her mask slides back into place and she’s Eleanor Black again—politician’s wife, master of appearances, woman who’s never had a genuine emotion in public.
