The trail ends there. My phone trembles as I scroll so fast I nearly get a nosebleed. Eric has to be twenty-four now, and those two years since his last graduation are unaccounted for.
Instead, the mics and cameras drift towards his ‘difficult behaviour’ and the ‘rebellious streak’ his lifestyle has contributed to. Everyone references how arrogant he is, yet not a single one comments on how lethal his mind is. It’s almost sad;the one thing he was good at, they tried to bury. Because it had to have been deliberate; no sane person would walk away from all that. The less I find, the more the walls screams at me that Eric Atherbourne just became a whole lot more intimidating.
Duchess Adelina got a sword-swinging would-be usurper. And I, centuries later, get stuck with a prince who probably would’ve given Aristotle an inferiority complex.
13
STONE THAT LISTENS
ERIC
Francesca thinks I’m here because of her family name. She hasn’t said it outright, but I’m not foolish enough to overlook the nuances within every word she utters—like I’m just another one of my father’s entitled dogs sent to sniff around before obediently being summoned back to his kennel. I don’t know which I’m more offended about, the thought of being likened to a bastard like Anthony or the idea that I’d ever do anything willingly for the king.
Yet the honest, miserable fucking truth is that I’m not even here for something as clean as strategy. I’m here because my father couldn’t keep his cock out of a woman that isn’t his wife.
And Francesca—terrifying little thing that she is—stares at me as though I’ve got secrets. She doesn’t know the worst one is that this wasn’t my fucking plan either.
The corridors are too quiet as I make my way to my rooms. Either the staff is avoiding me, or the walls are listening to my footsteps. Could be both, honestly. My thoughts are still with Francesca and where I left her with her steward, an elderly man named Pascoe, who refused to blink at me. They circle the shape of her smile, lingering around how her eyes flickered whenI voiced her fright for the statue in the garden, before finally settling on the way she didn’t flinch when I called her terrifying.
My hand closes around the doorknob, and I stroll into my room to find Kai still lounging on my sofa, though his shoes are kicked off by now. On the end table, there’s a jumble of crisps and sweets strewn about a tray of fruit and whatever is in the pitcher. In this light, it appears to be cranberry juice, but after speaking with Francesca, I’m mentally jotting down blood as an option.
An annoying tune comes from the TV, and I don’t even bother identifying it. He looks up when I kick the door shut, lips already contorting into a shit-eating grin.
“How was the sex letter? You’ve been gone forever.”
“And you’re horizontal in my room. The fuck are you still doing here?”
He’s changed into joggers and a T-shirt at least, leaving me feeling overdressed and overwhelmed with all the things I didn’t say during the tour. I shrug out of my coat and neatly hang it on the rack before kicking off my shoes. The rug beneath my feet swallows my heavy steps, and I sink onto the edge of my bed. It exhales at my weight, and I run a tired hand over my face.
Kai starts snapping his fingers. “Eric? The haunted sexletter. Did she let you read her ancestral filth or what?”
I think back to the archives, how thoroughly she unravelled me with just one question. Somehow, she read an ancient letter soaked in equal parts sorrow and a longing for recognition, and managed to find the same poisonous mixture beneath my skin.
My voice comes out rough, and I clear my throat, unsure how to even begin to explain it to my brother, who will no doubt overlook my dilemma in favour of unseriousness.
“She was making a point.”
Kai mutes the TV and, once again, proves me right. “And I’m sure that point was very erect; now tell me what was in the letter, you bastard.”
I’m on my feet before I even realise it. “Would you shut up? I left you alone for two hours.Two. And what have you done? Sat here like fungus in a pressed suit watching—” I glimpse at the TV and find my heart rate spiking “—Love Island? All whilst I’ve been trying to make sense of this place, having my soul read like scripture by a girl who can disarm me with one fucking question.”
And of course, he barely reacts, just gives me a lazy smile and flips the remote in his hand. I watch it hit his knuckle and how he pretends it doesn’t hurt like a bitch. My left eye twitches.
“Kairos.”
He abandons the remote and sits up. “I’m not entirely useless, alright? I’ve had three different staff members come by to bring me snacks. One woman brought tea, and, believe it or not, weconversed.” He gives a dramatic gasp. “When I asked for honey, she smiled fondly and told me Lady Francesca always takes two spoonfuls in her rooibos tea every night. While you’re out there dissecting politics, I’m learning preference?—”
“And what does preference get me, Kai? Sentimentality?”
“It tells you who she trusts.”
Kai raises a brow, waiting for me to ask. And I do. “Her name?”
“Lydia. She’s been working for this family for about twenty-five years. Her accent tells me she came from South Africa with Lady Beatrice,” he says matter-of-factly, reaching forward and plucking a grape from the bushel on the platter. “Dare I say, she was the woman’s best friend.”
Preference. His voice echoes irritably in my head as he waits with a knowing glint in his eye. The word should feel beneath me, petty and small, something I’d file under indulgence orirrelevance. I’ve been trying to track vulnerabilities, cracks in the marble facade of this family, and yet Kai has effortlessly exposed my oversight with one casual observation on tea and honey.
My eyes narrow. “What else have you learned?”
