Page 153 of Damsel in Disguise

“Did you destabilize her too, Alistair Hertley?”

“No. She fell in love with me.”

A chuckle. Now that’s interesting.

The Crown descends the steps toward the water surrounding the platform. His reflection fractures darkly beneath the rippling surface.

“Ariella should already be dead.”

My mind immediately calculates a thousand different ways this conversation could end.

“Why isn’t she?”

“I was more interested to see how you would spare her.”

I say nothing.

He stops directly across from me. Close enough that I can see faint silver detailing etched along the edges of the obsidian mask.

“I thought you inherited your mother’s emotional detachment. Turns out my assumption had a flaw.”

A muscle in my jaw involuntarily flexes.

“I knew you locked yourself away for seventy-eight hours with your dead mother and her killer before you finally emerged,” he says calmly. “Do you know why I chose that specific day to approach you? Instead of collecting you when you were almost fading away?”

“No,” I grit out, raw anger threatening to break free.

“You were being cultivated for succession, Alistair.”

The wording feels intentional.

“You’re the most successful neurological outcome this organization has ever produced. Yet emotional contamination continues to threaten your judgment.”

He must see the touch of confusion flickering across my features just for a split second.

“You’re entirely human, if that’s the conclusion attempting to form in your mind,” a faint touch of amusement hits the words.

“And now I need you to produce a perfected heir,” he goes straight to the point.

My eyes threaten to blink as I clamp my lips shut. Don’t tell me it’s what I think—

“With a Synthète.”

Out of infinite possibilities, this is the only one I didn’t see coming.

“What the actual fuck?”

It takes me a second to realize I reacted out loud. So out of my character.

“You’ve become increasingly vulnerable to emotional disruption… something you spent years perfecting in Synthètes,” he sniggers.

“My apologies,” irritation nearly flickers in my tone before I suppress it completely.

For one brief moment, Ariella contaminates my thought process.

“And if I refuse the Synthète?” the question escapes before I fully decide to ask it.

He sniggers. “Are you considering Miss Keinston?”