Page 5 of Traitor Son

And as payment, the Emperor had promised himadaughter. Not the Crown Princess.

Ophele’s heart fluttered in panic. Stars, he musthateher.

She should greet him. She should apologize. But his hand tightened on her arm and that black glare was a weight on her head and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as if it had been rooted there.

“Nothing to say?” he said after a long moment, and turned in disgust, escorting her firmly back to the manor house. “Best get your sulks out of the way now. There will be no time for such childishness where we’re going.”

Ophele’s face flushed. She knew she looked like a child in her short gray skirts, showing a length of shin and bare feet as if she were still ten years old and wearing her hair in two plaits. His strides were so long, she nearly had to run to keep up with him, tripping along with his huge hand clamped around her arm. He didn’t even look down at her. His black eyes were fixed on the manor house.

“Here,” he said coldly in the grand foyer, thrusting her toward Lady Hurrell. “Have her cleaned and dressed. I don’t think much of your guardianship if you let your princess sleep in the woods and dress like a beggar’s brat.”

“I must beg Your Grace’s forgiveness,” replied Lady Hurrell. She was a tall and elegant woman with blonde hair and china-blue eyes, exquisitely coiffed even for a search party. Her red smile made Ophele shiver. “We told you to stay in the house yesterday, silly child. Your feet are filthy. And you will cling to those gray rags, didn’t I tell your nurses to burn them? Dear me…”

They had told hernothing.Ophele blinked as she realized what the lady was doing and dug in her heels, opening her mouth to protest. But Lord Hurrell was already blustering.

“Her Highness means no offense, Your Grace, she will wander no matter what we say. We try to allow her these small pleasures…”

He was making her sound like a simpleton. Lady Hurrell’s fingernails sank warningly into Ophele’s shoulders.

“Leise. Nenot,” she said, and the maids took a firm grip on Ophele’s arms, propelling her down the hallway to the back of the house.

This was terrible. Ophele had known that one day she would be married off and even suspected that Lady Hurrell intended her for Julot, and if that happened, she would climb straight to the highest rafter in the library and throw herself off it. But Remin Grimjaw was equal parts hero and bogeyman, like the Skulkingmen or one of the Stone Teeth, who chewed human flesh between mossy jaws. Remin Grimjaw was a brute stained with blood. They said after his victory, Remin Grimjaw had scoured the Andelin and slaughtered every man, woman, and child to be certain no one loyal to Valleth remained.

And her father had trickedRemin Grimjawinto marrying her.

Ophele sat like a block of wood as she was scrubbed and groomed, the pine sap combed from her hair, her maids going about the task as if they were doing laundry. It hurt. It always hurt. But the marks of harsh scrubbing and rough handling were easily concealed by her clothing, and Ophele knew better than to complain. All the while, Lady Hurrell stood and watched, twittering her brisk, cheerful poison.

“Such a skinny child,” she said, shaking her head. “It is fortunate the Duke is not marrying you for your beauty. Stars, that hair is as common as a sparrow.”

Ophele knew she was plain. Her hair was an unremarkable brown, her eyes a tawny hazel, and she was a skinny, unpromising creature, as if her base conception had stunted her growth. When they were done, she was swimming in one of Lisabe’s old gowns, a faded pink that hung off her shoulders and bared four inches of her ankles.

“My poor Ophele.” Lady Hurrell swayed toward her with the stalking grace of a hunting cat, her hands resting on Ophele’s shoulders as she sat her down at a dressing table. The contrast between the fine ladyand the ragamuffin in the mirror was stark. “His Grace is quite a fearsome specimen, is he not? He has been furious since yesterday, wondering where you were. What they say about his temper is true, I’m afraid.”

There was no sensible reply to this. Ophele’s face was as blank as a doll’s, the only defense she had, but the pulse in her throat was fluttering frantically.

“I was fortunate in my marriage,” the lady continued. Her fingers smoothed through Ophele’s hair, tugging small locks loose and twisting them in her fingers. “Even after your mother disgraced us and brought down our House, my husband never lifted a hand to me. Lord Hurrell is a kind man. There are many who would have vented their frustrations on their spouse in such dire circumstances.”

Lady Hurrell was a liar. She knew the lady was a liar. She wanted something, this was a trick, she shouldn’t listen. Ophele’s shoulders hunched as the lady tugged her hair, a gesture that looked like a caress but was actually painful little yanks, like a chicken pecking a weaker hen. Lady Hurrell’s caresses were as painful as Leise and Nenot’s punishments.

“No one would have helped me, if he had,” the lady murmured. “For we were exiled, and I had not the refuge of my natal family. Can you imagine how desperate it would have been? My husband might have beaten me terribly, or starved me, or even killed me, and there was no one who would stop him. It is why I am so afraid for you. For you are only a bastard, and neither the stars in heaven nor your father on earth would even bother to protest.”

As terrible as Lady Hurrell’s lies were, it was this truth that made Ophele’s heart contract with terror. She was right. Neither the stars nor the Emperor had ever shown the slightest interest in what became of her, not once in her whole life. If she married the Duke of Andelin, she would be at his mercy.

“And you have already made such a poor start,” Lady Hurrell fretted. “The Duke is not a temperate man, and the very first thing you did was to insult him. What will he do, if the story spreads? Oh, no, don’t look so frightened,” she added quickly, her fingers curving around Ophele’s right ear, caressing. “Everything will be fine, little mouse. You can just give him to Lisabe. It’s the least you can do, isn’t it?”

There were so many threats and debts tangled up in her words that Ophele was mute, frozen. The story of how the princess had been so horrified by her marriage that she had tried to run awaywouldspread if Ophele disobeyed. Lady Hurrell would make sure of it.

“Now, now, I know perfectly well you can talk when you want to.” The lady’s thumbnail sank into Ophele’s ear, sharp enough that tears sprang to her eyes. “Speak up, little mouse. Don’t you want to make up for what your mother did?”

“Yes, yes!” Ophele gasped, pulling away and rubbing her ear, furious and ashamed of her own fear.

“Good. We have been kind to you all these years, in spite of the shame you brought us.” The lady wrapped her arms around her tenderly, her smooth cheek pressed against Ophele’s thin one. “Just leave it to me. I can’t bear to imagine what would happen if His Grace learned what your mother did to his family.”

* * *

House Hurrell must have once been mighty members of the Imperial bureaucracy.

They were masters of delay.

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