Page 49 of King of Lies
“Nice whisker burn, sister dear,” Taylor says from his seat across from me, and Dahlia giggles.
I’m sure I turn an even brighter shade of red. Rhys says nothing, probably because he’s too busy gloating at his sexual prowess.
“Umm … thank you,” I mutter for lack of anything else to say, and both Rhys and Taylor throw their heads back and laugh. Even Dahila lets out the most beautiful giggle, but the queen, Lady Thomley, and Lord Umbrey look absolutely furious. Well, damn.
“Really, Rhys,” the queen snaps as she cuts into her meal with a very sharp looking knife. “The Carrington Emeralds. What would your father think?”
“I think he’d be thrilled since he told me to give the entire set to her specifically,” Rhys says after he takes a sip from his wine glass.
“He did not.”
“He did,” Taylor pipes up. “I was there.”
“He knows how much I wanted them,” she says. And when both Rhys and Taylor raise an eyebrow, she finishes, “For Dahlia.”
“Don’t worry about me, Mum,” Dahlia says. “They’re not to my taste. Besides, they weren’t from my great-grandmother.”
“That’s not the point,” the queen says. “The point is, that you are the Princess Royal. They belong to you.”
“She is the Princess Royal until Stella and I have our own daughter,” Rhys says quietly. “But the letters of estate were clear that the Carrington jewels stay in the bloodline. I’m sorry Dahlia.”
“Don’t be,” she says smiling at me. “I have plenty. I don’t need more. I would love another horse though,” she says, batting her eyelashes at her eldest brother. Taylor chuckles and Rhys smiles indulgently at her.
“Of course. What did you have in mind?”
“An Arabian, obviously.”
“Just let my office know when you’ve selected the lucky bit of horseflesh.”
“Thank you,” she says with real meaning.
“Always.”
“This is bloody ridiculous,” the queen snaps. “You can’t marry her!”
“I believe that I am,” he says. “Father gave his blessing.”
“Well, I do not,” she snaps.
“Mum—” Dahlia tries to warn her mother.
“I will not allow this.”
“There is nothing for you to allow or not,” Rhys says coolly. “You are not the rightful queen by bloodline, you are the Queen Consort by marriage and when the crown passes hands, you are nothing.”
“Rhys—” I try to wade in but it’s no use.
“I would be very careful when you threaten me, or my queen,” he finishes.
“I am your queen,” Saoirse tries to push the issue.
“You are not,” he says as he tosses his napkin on the table. “You are the woman my father married. You are the mother of my most beloved sister, but you are not my queen. My queen died in a car crash twenty years ago.”
“I cannot believe—”
“Believe it,” he retorts before turning to hold out a hand to me. “Darling, I think a more private dinner is called for while we’re still celebrating our engagement.”
I don’t say anything, but I do nod my head and take his hand, letting him lead me from the dining room.
