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But once I tell him what his mother tried to do to his only brother?

No son should ever have to carry a burden like that.

We move from the gym to the living room, the late afternoon light slanting through the windows and casting long shadows across the dark wood floors. I pour myself a rare glass of whiskey—against doctors’ orders and my own strict standards—but some moments demand a little numbing. This is one of them.

Remy is the one who walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured the amber liquid into the crystal glasses, and set one on the table. I know he’s been working hard on his sobriety, attending N.A. meetings on campus. He looks good tonight. Strong. Healthy. Clear-eyed. The last thing I want is to be the one who destroys that progress.

“I know you won’t believe this,” I say, swirling the amber liquid, “but everything I did was to protect you and Whitaker.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” He picks at a loose thread in the hole of his jeans. “Stop stalling.”

I take a slow breath. “Sarah was right. After she had you, your mother was struggling. She thought it was postpartum depression. When she started going over to the House of Night, I just thought she was tired and wanted the familiarity and comfort of the old ways. It was foolish—I see that now. I wasn’t giving her the attention she needed or finding proper help for her emotional and mental struggles. So she went elsewhere to get that.” I lift the glass and take a sip. The liquor burns a clean path down my throat. “Benji was more than happy to welcome her back.”

“Benji?”

“Clive’s son. My cousin.”

I set the glass down and meet his eyes. “Benji was deep into the darkest elements that form the foundation of BRN—taboo rituals, experimental rites that most of us only whisper about. I tried to bring her home, but Amber was lost. Going back to the time when she was last happy, last stable, seemed to be her only goal. But over time, instead of getting healthier, she grew even more depressed. More delusional.”

“She was sick,” Remy says defensively, his voice tight.

“Yes,” I agree quietly. “And when I failed to help her, Benji used that weakness to corrupt her. He exploited the parts of her mind she had no control over. I had Mrs. Willet watch you more and more. I didn’t want you around her. Then she got pregnant. I knew the baby wasn’t mine. We hadn’t had sex in months. She was fucking my cousin.”

“Ouch,” Remy mutters, staring into his untouched whiskey.

I take another sip. “She was ecstatic about the baby, even though my world was crumbling around me. I allowed visits, and we kept up the façade. No one in Forsyth knew about her pregnancy, the cheating, or that our marriage was falling apart.”

“Of course not,” Remy snorts.

“Clive wasn’t happy about the betrayal, but he did approve of the child. A grandson. A legacy.”

It wasn’t until Clive uncovered Amber and Benji’s real plan that everything shifted.

“My cousin had no desire to be King. He had no interest in maintaining the traditions and role of BRN in Forsyth. He wanted free rein over the House of Night, the libraries and ancient texts–the crypts–but there was an obstacle: his father.” I think back to the growing feud between the two. Their differences were more than just basic arguments. It was a fundamental schism. “Benji was entitled, had too much time on his hands, and an addiction to methamphetamine. He wanted to worship death–embody it–and Amber was right there along with him. What they were doing wasn’t born from any true ritual. It was pure blasphemy.” I crack my neck sharply, the tension snapping through me as a crawling electricity squirms over my skin, like I’m trying to shed the memory itself. “It might have stayed contained if he’d only inflicted it on his own followers, but when I learned the full extent of Benji’s plan, he had to be stopped.”

The skepticism in Remy’s eyes hasn’t faded.

I continue, anyway, my voice low, “As a King, Clive was a man of tradition. He followed the rites the same way I have. Leading BRN in a manner that binds us to nature—to the dual facets of good and evil, to the earth, sun, stars, and seas. We are here for balance. To satisfy the elements so that we remain in harmony. In Forsyth, we usher life across the veil. We respect death, but we embrace life.”

I sigh and lean back in my chair, tired not just from the workout but from dragging all of this into the light. “Amber and Benji were drawn to the darker aspects, and when Clive found out their plans, he attempted to put a stop to it.”

“What plans?” Remy asks.

There’s no easy way to say it, so I head straight into it. “They planned to sacrifice Whitaker.”

“Sacrifice?” Remy repeats, his face paling. “As in, strapped to an altar and murdered?”

I nod. “They were so fucking delusional, they planned to murder an infant to appease their dark ways. Amber was convinced this was the only way to rid herself of the voices haunting her, while Benji had just plain lost his mind.”

“You expect me to believe this?” Remy asks, voice rising. “You want me to believe that my mother wanted to kill her own son?”

I ignore the outburst, knowing this is too painful to hear, but we’re in it now. “I was called to bear witness when Clive confronted Benji, but it was too late. He and Amber were too far gone. Once again, in Forsyth a son came for the life of his father.”

“And you killed Benji? That’s how you came to be King?”

“I had no choice after he killed Clive. Not to gain the throne, but because my cousin was out of control.”

He doesn’t push back. How could he? I rightfully claimed the throne, the same as Simon, even if I hid behind a mask for decades.