Page 44 of Heir to His Court

“I only want you to be free, and happy,” he says. “Like you deserve.”

Free? Did he really say that? I stare at him, baffled by his naivety.Raniel. . .what’s wrong with your son? Didn’t you teach himanything?

“There are things you can't know, can't understand until you've lived at least five hundred of our years, Aerinne. You may love him, the bond may be true, and I do not doubt it is, but you have no idea what you're doing.”

“And you want to save me from myself?” This is getting worse and worse.

“No.” He rises. “I want to save you from my father.”

“Right.” I tilt my head, eyeing him up and down. “Out of your innate nobility. A Lord of House Montague, the Heir to the Prince of Everenne.”

“You're very young to be so cynical.”

He thinks I’m stupid. “I am the daughter of High Lord Muriel Kuthliele.”

His eyes go stormy. “I know exactly whose descent you are, Aerinne. I know the potential you carry in your blood. My father knows it. When you’re ready, come to me and I will teach you everything, without care for House or political motivation or ambition. I will give you knowledge for its own sake, and you may do with it what you will.”

I understand what he's implying, the power of his offer, and it doesn't even really matter.

“The answer is no. I'm not going anywhere, and when I’m old enough, I’ll be Raniel’s consort.” A thought occurs to me. “Is all of this loyalty to your mother because he divorced her?”

Now he does roll his eyes. “Sati faha. My mother and grandmother would offer you sanctuary. They have both sympathy, and empathy, for your plight. They watch over you as they are able.”

“Ha!” Sounded like jealousy to me. “Say that again in Ninephene.”

He does, and I mull over the inflection he chose for the word ‘watch.’ It implies neither threat, nor protection, but rather the possibility of intervention if needed, in dire circumstance. It declares them neither ally nor enemy.

Everyone thinks my mother is neglecting my education. She's not, she wants me to master the languages first, to understand the complexities of communication between High Fae. History and politics don't mean anything if you don't understandwords.

My father, our diplomat, approves. He also understands the value of words as weapons. He hopes I won’t always have to fight. Neither Maman or I have the heart to destroy that very human hope. Danon. . .well.

“The offer is open, little sister, when you change your mind.”

“You know Raniel hears everything you're saying, right?”

“Of course. And I would wager that he has advised you to accept my offer.” Embriel offers me a slender, unpleasant smile, and for the first time I'mtrulyreminded of his father. “My father is sly, Aerinne. Never forget—he does nothing without a dozen hidden motivations, those motivations rooted in past, present, and future. You cannot hope to outthink him as you are, though I could teach you. If after a hundred years you have survived him, I will be pleasantly surprised.”

“You think he can't protect me.”

He stares down at me. Then shakes his head. “This is why you need to come to me and begin your real education. Can he protect you? Yes.Willhe? Does protecting you from all danger serve his purpose? The Prince-General has no use for a weak creature who cannot stand at his side, her fangs as bloody as his own. If you cannot survive the machinations of the Courts, he will allow them to sweep you away. Even if he loves you.Especiallyif he loves you.”

“You know Raniel, Lord of Avallonne. You do not know the General of Ninephe. Little sister—even I fear the General. Even I am not safe from him, and I am his firstborn son.”

There's nothing I can say to that. It's not a lie.

For the first time, I start to worry.

AGE TWENTY-TWO

“You don't have to do this,” Embry says, staring up at me. He doesn't move, my blade biting into his neck.

If I pull back now, he can get to a healer in time to repair the fatal wound. There is something about this male, something that feels familiar, but also something that I loathe. As if he has taken something from me, and I don’t know what.

“I don't have to do this the way your father didn't have to murder my mother.”

“I knew Maryonne,” he says in his patient professor voice that leaves my teeth on edge. Though he looks anything other than a professor right now, his golden hair stained red, his lightly tanned skin pale from blood loss. “She wouldn't want war for her only daughter.”

I snarl at him. “What does vermin of House Montague know aboutmymother?” I'm so infuriated I ball up my fist and slam it into his jaw. “Can you guarantee that my brother lives?”

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