Page 35 of Royal Ransom

Both of them ignored me. The conversation seemed to mean more to them than it did to me. I hated feeling out of the loop.

“Do you truly intend to do this, Basil?” Netty asked, lowering her voice for the first time since we’d met. I had a feeling she didn’t do that often. “You know what it will mean for Priss.”

Basil was silent for a long moment. For a second, I was afraid he’d back out and leave me holding the bag. I couldn’t blame him for hesitating to put his daughter on the throne. It was a dangerous perch. Immortality wasn’t invulnerability. She could be hurt. She could die. I wouldn’t have put Charlie or Sean in that position for anything in the world. More than that though, Basil was putting a world of responsibility on Priss’ shoulders, even if she survived her reign. It would be easier to remain a rural lady of Winter, never doing much.

“Yes,” Basil said at last. “Yes, we’re doing this. Better Olwen than Janara. Better Priss than Olwen. One Queen has no heart, and the other has her heart settled elsewhere. Priss is what’s best for Winter.”

A frosty smile curled Netty’s lips. “On that, Basil, we canagree.”

***

Priss’s castle scared me a little. The place was cavernous, despite Basil’s insistence that this place had been a humble sex pad he’d shared with my mom. And I still wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I supposed the one percent’s idea of a modest abode was different from that of someone raised by a teacher and a cop.

The main hall could have held my living room three or four times over. The tables were being prepared for the night’s festivities. The smell of seared meat was mouth-watering, and I was tempted to pluck the apple from the mouth of a roasted pig as a group of servants escorted it past. At least, Ithoughtit was a pig, but I’d never seen one with spines on its back legs like that.

“A winterland boar,” Basil said, leaning in as he spoke. “They’re completely feral and a favorite target during hunts. I’m betting Janara killed that one. It’s tradition to bring back something for the host’s table when you’re availing yourself of their hospitality. Priss hasn’t had to go on a hunt yet. Too young. You have to be at least sixty before you make your first kill and join the hunting party. This is the first year she qualifies. I imagine they’ll bring the stag back wounded but alive as a sign of respect.”

Which would have been endlessly fascinating to learn any other day. I’d been so busy running from my destiny that I hadn’t paid too much attention to the traditions of the winter fae. I was trying my best now that I’d somewhat embraced the role, but I had the feeling I’d always be a little out of touch. I’d forsaken the fullness of winter to remain human. I didn’t regret it. But part of me wondered what it would have been like.

“Is there anything else I should know before the party tonight?” I asked. “I mean, you’re going to ask if we can steal Priss’s identity, right?”

I fingered the charm in my left ear. It was designed to resemble a snowflake with tiny, intricate sapphires at its center. The latch on its side was almost invisible, concealing the hairs within. It was impossible to tell it had once been a locket rather than a charm that dangled like expensive jewelry from my ear.

Basil made a face. “Unfortunately. I don’t relish involving Priss in front of the other royals. It could put her in a precarious position. But at this point, it has the most opportunities. Janara will have to rendezvous with Priss at some point. It would be considered a snub to ignore the host of the party for too long. That means you’ll have a shot at her at some point.”

“Hey, think of it this way,” I said in an undertone so faint he had to lean in to hear. “If I assume her identity, your daughter isn’t actually the one who’ll be in danger if this coup attempt goes wrong. That’s got to be a relief.”

“It is,” Basil said without a trace of shame. “I’m grateful to you for that. More than you know. It’s been agonizing, wondering if Janara has figured out her true parentage yet. Everyone knows Priss is a bastard child, adopted by a lord’s barren wife. I spun drama around it and encouraged untrue whispers in the meantime. Priss hates that I’ve made the question of her parentage a spectacle. She hates being in the spotlight.”

I wondered how Priss had felt when she’d learned the truth. Had she felt even a scrap of gratitude for her father’s machinations when she realized who she could have been? Sure, people pointed and laughed at her behind her back, but no one had plunged a dagger into it. Janara had tried to have me done away with when I’d been an infant. Priss must have been a little girl when the coup happened. Had her adoptive parents died during that fateful gathering? Or had they distanced themselves from her, trying to avoid her fate if the truth ever came out?

“So let me get this straight,” I started under my breath.“You’ve been scheming for so long that you have a network of spies in Winter willing to gossip for you? All to keep Priss out of Janara’s sights?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose the way you structured my memory spell was also intentional?”

“It was.”

“I always wondered why something so powerful could break down just from hearing the truth too early. You wanted Priss on the throne from the start. No wonder Fennec wanted you ousted.”

Basil had been angling for power. Maybe he’d actually mellowed since being exiled. Maybe not. Maybe I was playing into his hands and putting his bloodline on the throne, the way he’d always wanted. Either way, I didn’t care a whit. I wasn’t looking a gift sister in the mouth. There was now a way out of the hopeless situation I’d been in only a few days ago and it was a way out that benefitted us both—well, as long as Janara was done away with.

Basil wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I must seem like a villain to you.”

“You’re something, that’s for damn sure. Was that what you were trying to do when you seduced my mom?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I loved your mother, far more than your father ever did.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. About people I’d never known, never even met.

“They had you out of duty, not love,” Basil continued. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. The King preferred the company of loose women and his soldiers and didn’t visit your mother’s bed after she’d borne him an heir. She was lonely. I wanted her, even though I knew it was wrong. I’d always wanted her though, if you want to know the truth. And… well, we couldn’t help ourselves.And after... well, you understand, don’t you? I had to keep Priss safe. If that meant positioning you as Priss’ protector against your will, so be it.”

He kept staring straight ahead, his jaw flexed so tight I thought it would snap under the strain. His shoulders were stiff, anticipating a blow or a rebuke. I didn’t give him either.

Fox once told me that his people had complete discretion over where to hide me. Basil had been the one to place me among humans, specifically within a group of warriors who raised me to believe in justice and freedom. He’d embedded a backdoor in his spell, allowing me to retain that knowledge and sense of duty. In a way, he’d created the perfect knight to protect his little girl—someone old enough to mentor her until she was ready for the throne. I couldn’t even hate him for it. If I could have engineered the ideal protector for my family, I would have done the same. In that sense, he was as responsible for who I was as my parents were.

Basil jumped in surprise when I took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I forgive you, because I understand why you made the decisions you did. Your hand was forced and if I’d been in the same situation, I would have chosen the same path you did. No matter what happens, know that I forgive you, even if Priss doesn’t. I understand. From one parent to another, well played.”

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