“That wasn’t a store-bought kit,” I say, pointing at her desk drawer. “And you’ve used it before. Often.”
Her fingers tense around the Velcro strap.
I tilt my head. “Millie. I’m your uncle. You can tell me.”
She meets my eyes. Hers are guarded with a flicker of fear. And hesitation.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she says.
Her voice is sharp, almost angry, as if she’s daring me to argue.
“I promise,” I say.
“Not my friends or their parents,” she adds. “Not teachers. Not the staff. No one.”
“Not even your mom and grandma?” I tease.
“They know.” She gives me a piercing stare. “Now that Dad and Julian are gone, they’re the only ones, aside from the folks at the hospital. But they’re bound by doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“What about your maternal grandparents?”
“They don’t know,” she says. “Maman and I don’t see them often.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s my body, my life,” she snaps, chin jerking up. “I refuse to be gossip for dinner parties. I want to be normal.”
“You are,” I assure her.
Another signature eye roll. “Yeah, right.”
“Considering the way you dress, talk, and move,” I count on my fingers, “the music you play, and the books you rave about, you’re the most typical fourteen-year-old Evorian girl.”
“No, I’m not.” She looks down.
I wait.
“Hemophilia A,” she blurts. “That’s what I’m hiding. It’s mild…ish, but still. I’m asymptomatic carrier.I get bruises I can’t explain. Bleed longer than I should. Freaky shit like that.”
“And your mom constantly worries about it, doesn’t she?”
Millie scoffs, “She’s mom. She worries about everything.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That tracks.”
Suddenly, Eva’s claim that it was Geoffroy who didn’t want any more children with her makes sense. If she’s a carrier, which she must be, because there’s no record of hemophilia in the Castellane dynasty, then there’s a 50 percent chance any future son would have it. And if it’s a girl…
I shut my eyes, recalling an article I read years ago. I think the chance is in the 20 percent range. It’s very Geoffroy to be unwilling to take that risk, no matter how much Eva may have wanted another child.
I sit forward. “You’re managing your condition remarkably well.”
“Thanks. I’m getting top-notch treatment, plus factor infusions when needed. I’m aware of how lucky I am in my misfortune.”
“It’s mature of you to say that,” I comment.
“It’s the truth. Most kids around the world don’t get this kind of care.” She hesitates, then adds softly, “My dad, he always paidfor whatever the doctors said was the best option for me, no questions asked.”
The half brother in me is pleased to hear that Geoffroy wasn’t a complete jerk, after all. But the logical part of my brain wonders. If he truly cared for his daughter, why didn’t he make sure she was the next in line after Julian to inherit the duchy? Why didn’t he have Maître Duret file the entail paperwork, which he knew Prince Richard was willing to sign? Why did he let me, his estranged and disliked half brother, take precedence over Millie?
