Page 128 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Sitting straighter, Emillie blinked back the hot tears, refusing to let them loose. When next she spoke, her voice was rough and broken, “Do you even know who Madan is?”

“How do you know all of this?” Alek searched her face as though seeing her fully for the first time. “Why did you not tell me?”

“Because they asked me not to,” she choked out. “But they kept truths from me, too. I swear I did not know about Azriel.”

“Madan called you his sister,” Alek said. “You said you would explain. Do so now.”

Across the table, her father’s fingers clenched into fists. “Unnecessary. By law, the marriage—”

“Stop lying!” Emillie glared at him. “Madan is your son, and you lied to everyone. You said they died.”

“He did to me.”

“And you would sacrifice him again for your own gains?” She shook her head, fiery rage coursing through her. “Loren will go after him just to prove a point, and if you think your pretty words or new laws will stop him from doing what he wants, you are both delusional.”

Alek turned his attention to his Princeps in confusion. “Your son?”

“My first family died,” he said coldly, “when I learned the truth. Whether Mattias was of my flesh or not, I do not claim him and never will.”

How could she have spent a century and a half loving such a terrible man unconditionally? He had done nothing but lie, twist, and shame. His very existence made her sick.

“This is why you cannot invite women to such conversations,” her father said, returning his attention to Alek with cool indifference. “They derail the conversation for their own agenda. Let us continue uninterrupted.”

The door opened behind them, and a chilling voice said, “Oh, but I do love a history lesson.”

When Loren had received the request for Alek Nightingale to visit the Princeps, a new path appeared before him. The perfect opportunity. He approved it immediately and set out from the Hub to ensure he was included in the stimulating conversation he knew would happen.

Upon his arrival, he stood outside the office door, listening in as truth after truth came to light. Madan was the long-since-believed-dead Mattias Harlow. All the more reason to ensure he did not gain the upper hand in Eastwood Province. If he decided to use his true name, too many Caersans would rally behind him. The Harlow name held too much weight—the same reason he wished to use Ariadne to legitimize his own claims.

But Loren’s favorite part of the night was the look of sheer terror on Emillie’s face as he stepped through the door flanked by a handful of his highest-ranking officers still in Laeton. He could not help the slow smirk that curled his lips.

“Good evening.” He inclined his head to the three. “You all look quite well.”

In unison, Alek and Markus stood to face him. They moved around the chairs and desk but did not extend their hands in greeting. Both looked murderous. The irony was funny, really. As though they had the upper hand.

“I did not receive your request for an audience,” Markus said as though he had any right to declare the need for one.

Loren cocked his head in cool calculation. “Has your daughter returned home yet? I have not seen her, and you were adamant she would be back by now.”

“Perhaps your decree has prevented her travel.” Markus crossed his arms, jaw tight. “Care to explain? Elaborate, perhaps, as to why you have restricted the Council to their homes and kept everyone clouded by fear.”

Unsurprised, Loren merely clasped his hands together and surveyed them both. No need to explain himself to those untrustworthy enough to lead the kingdom. “I expect to be notified immediately upon Miss Harlow’s safe return to Laeton.”

“Why are you so obsessed with her?” Emillie’s voice was stronger than Loren had ever heard it before. She stood then, looking so much like her sister with her hands balled into her skirts as though fearful of what would happen next. Perhaps that fear was not as unfounded as she believed it to be.

Loren chuckled. “Ah. Lady Nightingale. I did not see you there.”

“Answer my question.”

“Silence, Daughter.” Markus gave her a warning look over his shoulder.

But Emillie pushed forward, her pale face turning ashy. Just like Ariadne, there was something beautiful in that unease. She lifted her chin, eyes rimmed silver. Perhaps she thought her new husband would be able to keep her safe.

As though reading Loren’s thoughts, Alek reached out and gripped her forearm. “Emillie…”

“Leave my sister alone.” Emillie’s chin quivered, though she did not look away. She was more daring than Ariadne, that was certain. Less malleable. Loren was glad that Alek had chosen to step in when he did, though he did not doubt their engagement to be some other level of manipulation.

“I think you forget,” Loren said, laying a hand over his heart, “that I have loved your sister for quite some time and wish to keep her safe. When she returns, I will see to it that she is well taken care of.”

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