Heat rushes to my face. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” He leans forward. “We’re drawn to power, Seraphina. It’s in our blood. Your mother sought it. I seek it, even you yourself seek it. It’s not shameful to be ambitious. Your mother has to deal with the consequences of her actions.”
I shake my head, trying to process everything. My mother’s ambition I knew about, but I never imagined my father was so...accepting of it.
“Do you think she knew?” I ask suddenly, my voice smaller than I intended. “That I wasn’t really his—Vincent’s, I mean.”
My father’s eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching. “Yes, I do.”
The certainty in his voice hits me like a punch to the gut. I grip the arms of the chair to steady myself. “And Vincent? Do you think he knew the truth too?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “If he did, he wouldn’t have cared about you getting tangled up with his son. The fact that he’s fighting so hard against the choosing tells me he genuinely believed you’re his daughter.”
“So my mother’s been playing everyone,” I say, a bitter laugh escaping me. “She let Vincent believe I was his, let me believe Vincent was my father, all while knowing neither was true.”
“Your mother plays a long game,” my father says, and I detect a hint of what might actually be admiration in his voice. “She always has.”
“Lucien had a test done. Even if I didn’t look like your grandmother, I can prove we aren’t related.”
“He’s not stupid,” my father says. “and he has resources. The DNA test he mentioned in that council meeting must be one in the same.“
“Wait, what council meeting?” I interrupt, my head snapping up.
My father looks momentarily surprised. “He didn’t tell you? Vincent called an emergency session of the Thirteen to try to dissolve your choosing bond, claiming you were half-siblings.”
“That fucking asshole,” I seethe, pacing now. “When was this?”
“Two days ago,” my father says, watching me carefully. “Lucien shut it down rather spectacularly, from what I hear. Defending both you and his mother. Quite a tale Vincent tried to spin. I hear your Chosen was almost quite terrifying.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell me about this?” I mutter, more to myself than to my father.
My father studies me with that clinical gaze of his. “Perhaps he didn’t want to worry you. Or perhaps he enjoyed handling it himself. Men like Lucien Devereux prefer to fight their own battles.”
“That’s bullshit,” I snap. “This involves me directly. I had a right to know.”
“Did you?” My father raises an eyebrow. “What would you have done had you known?”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. What would I have done? Stormed the council meeting? Confronted Vincent myself? I don’t even know where these meetings happen or who sits on the council besides the obvious players.
“That’s not the point,” I finally say. “He should have told me.”
“Perhaps.” My father picks up his reading glasses, a clear signal that our conversation is wrapping up. “But ask yourself this, Seraphina—are you angry because he didn’t tell you, or because he handled it without needing your help?”
The question hits closer to home than I’d like to admit. I’ve always prided myself on fighting my own battles, on never needing anyone else. The thought that Lucien might haveprotected me without my knowledge or permission is both infuriating and...something else I’m not ready to examine.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, standing up. “I need to go.”
My father nods, already opening another file folder. “One more thing, Seraphina.”
I pause at the door, hand on the knob. “What?”
“Be careful with how you confront him.” My father doesn’t look up from his papers. “Men like Lucien Devereux don’t respond well to accusations. Especially when they believe they’ve acted in your best interest.”
I almost laugh at that. “I think I know how to handle Lucien.”
Now my father does look up, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable. “Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, he’s several moves ahead of everyone on the board. Including you.”
“This isn’t chess,” I say, my hand tightening on the doorknob.
