Whore. That made him flinch. Ianthe had heard that word before. Her insistence on using a sheath, her lack of experience in the bedchamber... Perhaps a pregnancy had made her wary of such consequences.
"I've never heard her speak of a daughter." The careful way Cross said it wasn't a no.
"You suspect it though?"
Cross vanished the penny with a snap of his fist. "She buys dolls sometimes, and books. She likes children's books, especially fairy tales and frivolous stories featuring princesses, castles, and knights in shining armor. That kind of drivel. Once a month, she used to take two days off to visit someone, somewhere outside of London's outskirts. I've never asked about it."
That blasted bear beside her bed. That was why she kept it.
A daughter. A daughter conceived when she was seventeen. All of the pieces of the puzzle were slowly fitting together. You were the first man that I lay with...
No. No, this couldn't be happening. Lucien's nerves felt raw, and he pressed his face to his palms, breathing through his fingers. Jesus Christ. Did he have a child that he'd never known about?
If so, then where was she? What had happened? Had someone—Morgana—threatened to tell the world about the child? Or had she taken her?
"Are you all right?" Cross asked.
No. No, I'm not. After all, five and twelve equaled seventeen, which was when she'd admitted that she'd lain with him. Lucien gave a swift nod, however. There were limits to what he would share, and he needed to find Ianthe to hear it confirmed from her own mouth before he would let himself believe this.
"Well, I've shared mine," Cross reminded him.
Time to share his. Lucien barely managed to pull himself back together. "You know that we were searching for something that was stolen from the Prime's manor?"
A nod.
"I think I know who the thief is. What I didn't know was why." Their eyes met. "I think you just answered the 'why' for me. None of it made any sense, but if someone had taken her daughter—"
The color drained out of Cross's face. "You need to speak to the Prime about your concerns."
Like hell. "And betray her?"
"If this is true, boy, then she's in more danger than either of us would like to consider."
"I'll consider it." A strange ringing sensation echoed in his ears, a certain dizziness, as if the floor had been swept out from under him by this realization. He'd thought himself alone in the world. What if he was not?
And why hadn't she told him?
That one, at least, was easy to answer: You did promise her vengeance after all...
"At least think about it. Let me know how matters advance. Ianthe is dear to me. I should not care to see her hurt, so if you need help..."
"I'll let you know. I just need to confirm my suspicions." And work out if there truly was a little girl out there somewhere who bore his blood.
The door opened.
Eleanor barely had the strength to roll onto her side. Her hair tugged, so matted with dried blood that it had adhered to the pillow. She winced.
"If you want... another turn at me," she whispered, her lips cracked and her tongue clinging to the roof of her dry mouth, "then I'm afraid... I might not be able to oblige."
She didn't think she owned the fortitude to survive another questioning. The last time, she'd blacked out before she gave in, so focused on protecting the man she loved, that she'd bitten clean through her lip.
Light burned her sensitive eyes as someone set a lantern down in front of her. Eleanor moaned and tilted her face into the faded pillow to protect them.
"Water?" a male voice asked.
Water. Eleanor's eyes sprung open and she reached out, her entire body trembling. The stranger had to help hold her upright as he set the glass to her lips. Her arms were still red and bloody from the barbwire lash of sorcery that they'd inflicted upon her.
Then she realized who was kneeling in front of her. "Sebastian." Eleanor's gaze darted to the locked door, then back. Surely Morgana wouldn't have dared let her son in to see Eleanor?
