Trina breaks first. “Why is Lord Savoy in Dublin?” she asks. “With you? And who is Mirth?”
Satisfaction flits over Rian’s face — like maybe he’s won something? Seriously, all these games are just annoying. And confusing.
I hate all of it.
But I’m here for Rian.
I’m here to just support Rian.
That reminder loosens something in me. Steadies me. “Rian and I belong to Mirth,” I say easily. “She is our crux.”
Trina blinks, then whispers, “What do … but you are …” She looks to her son for clarification.
Rian tilts his head, watching her. Marking her reactions.
She huffs, finally getting a little peeved.
She’s a pretty woman. Handsome, I think, is the correct term. Tall, slim in that strong, taut way of shifters, with a slightly round face. Her makeup looks minimal, but my own experience tells me that it takes her time to make it appear that way. Her hair is straightened to her shoulders, not a strand out of place despite the rain and the wind.
Being peeved suits her far better than the restrained demeanor she was feigning earlier. She is not a submissive. She can’t even pretend to be for long.
“Which part is most shocking? That I’m a mage?” I ask almost teasingly. “Or because I’m royalty? Or is it because I’m male-presenting?”
Trina doesn’t answer. But I can see all the thoughts whirling in her mind, just behind her eyes, before she glances away.
“Did you know …” Rian asks, still in that calm, almost gentle tone that I have no idea how he maintains, “that Bolan is my half-brother?”
Bolan is famous enough to need no introduction other than his chosen name.
Trina swallows, opening her mouth just slightly as if to speak. Then she shakes her head just as slightly.
It’s not a no, though.
Even I can read that.
“You need to tell me,” Rian says, his tone firming, “for us to continue to have any sort of relationship.”
Trina’s head snaps up, fingers flexing around her mug. “That’s emotional blackmail, Rian. We’ve already had thisdiscussion. Just because I’m your mother, just because I love you, doesn’t mean I owe you all the parts of me, all the parts of my past.”
Rian leans forward. A sharp ire cracks through his calm, though he keeps his voice so low that I have to listen closely to catch the words. “You owe me the parts of myself. Parts I didn’t even know were missing. Have you deliberately kept me from my brother?”
Her hands finally leave her mug as Trina presses one of them to her chest, taking a shaky breath.
“You said my father abandoned you,” Rian continues. “That you had no family to turn to. All you had to do was reach out!”
“I did!” Trina whispers harshly, almost crying out. Then she moderates her tone. “I did reach out.”
“To the royal family?” I ask, completely surprised.
“Of course not.”
“To the royal guard?” Rian asks, frowning as deeply as I am.
Trina swallows again, her voice hollow when she speaks. “No, no … I … didn’t want to … ruin … his reputation. And I did … I did think he’d abandoned me. It was three weeks later that I worked out he’d died, that he was just … just …”
More of that sick feeling twists through my stomach. For a pregnant eighteen-year-old shifter. For her falling for an older shifter with an important, dangerous position.
“The royal guard would have taken care of you,” I say quietly. “Rian’s father died protecting Prince Armin and his mother.”
