Page 35 of A True King

“Dad, you did not hear me. You are the rightful heir to Skogdal. Your parents were married. They never divorced. His marriage to Agatha wasn’t legal. Gilbert isn’t the heir and Jasper certainly is not. Hell, he’s not even related to us.”

“What?” Dad’s voice shakes with rage. “Mia, don’t make up things like that.”

“I’m not making this up. I—”

“Max, it’s Christian. Mia is not making this up. My sister did some digging. And she found a marriage certificate. I can send it to you if you like, but rest assured, your parents were married several years before your birth in the Bahamas. You were conceived before Gilbert. Gilbert is the bastard child, not you.”

“I…are you sure?” Dad’s voice suddenly sounds distant.

“One hundred percent,” Christian answers.

The void of conversation is filled only by the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner of the room. I look up at Christian. He’s planted his hands on the desk across from me. He towers over it, looking larger than life. I wait for my dad to speak.

“I’m taking your mother away. We aren’t safe here, are we?”

“I have security watching you, but leaving might be best,” Christian confides. “Just for a while.”

“Fuck,” my father whispers. It startles me because my father doesn’t swear. I’m not sure why that one word resonates more than anything else he’s said today, but it does.

“Dad, promise you’ll be careful. Use a burner phone. Leave your phones at home. Email from a hotel computer to that account I set up years ago.”

“I will.”

“And, Dad?”

“Yes, love?”

“I love you. I know you were trying to protect me. I understand because I’ve done the same, trying to protect you, but no more lies,” I say as I look to Christian because those words are for him as much as they are for my father.

“No more lies, ladybug,” he says to me. “No more.”

“Safe travels, Dad. Kisses to Mum.”

We disconnect and I put my forehead on the table, trying to understand all the bullshit we just waded through. My whole life has been one giant lie. I should be angry, I should be furious, but I’m not, well, not yet. I’m confused and overwhelmed and shocked. I do vaguely remember a woman at the zoo. She was pretty, but not old like I thought she would be. She had curly brown hair, no trace of gray at all. Her eyes were warm. She bought me a stuffed elephant. I still have it somewhere at my parents’ house. I suddenly feel like I don’t even know myself. Who am I? I have family members I don’t know. The ones I do know have lied to me. And now, we’re all in danger.

A hand touches my shoulder. I turn my head to the side and see Christian’s thigh as he leans on the desk next to me.

“It’ll be alright, pigeon. I promise,” he says.

I crane my neck to look up at him. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep.”

“I don’t.” His eyes burn through me, and I know he speaks the truth. This man would die for me. I just hope it doesn’t have to come to that.

Chapter Twenty

Christian

There’s something magical about the gardens here at sunset. The early evening light hits the stone walls and statues at the perfect angle, lighting up each nook and cranny in the most beautiful shades of oranges and pinks as the sun starts to lower on the horizon. It’s where I find her.

After speaking with her father, Mia said she wanted to go for a walk, alone. That was hours ago, and I was beginning to worry. While I haven’t felt a direct threat, there seems to be an ominous vibe constantly surrounding us.

Mia doesn’t look up from the book in her hands. I always find her reading. It was one of the first things I remember finding intriguing about her.

The tapping sound reverberates off the walls as I walk down the hallway toward the alcove in the west wing. As I approach, I find Mia seated on the bench that curves around the tower. She’s leaning against the window frame, her nose in a book. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. A pair of glasses sits on the edge of her nose. Her hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck. The dirty librarian fantasy I had when I hired her rears its ugly head and I have to shrug my shoulders to pull myself out of the daydream.

“What are you reading?” I inquire as I walk up to her and take a seat a few inches from her feet. She pulls her feet away, tucking them beneath her as she places a piece of paper in the book and sets it down in front of me.

A Tale of Two Cities.

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