Page 31 of Reign By Wrath

The butler led us inside. Each step was a rope around my heart—binding tighter, dragging me deeper.

“Did you invite me to dinner with all of them? What am I supposed to say?”

“No, Luna. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

We passed into the foyer. The butler took our shoes and replaced them with warm, elegant house slippers. He bowed again, for no reason that I could see, then led us past the staircase and into the bowels of the mansion.

“Dinner is for the two of us. Just us,” Alistair continued. “Although my father would like to meet you.”

“We’ve met.” I thought of the split-second encounter when he patted my head on the way out the door. “Did he know who I was then?”

“He’s always known who you were, Luna.”

I quieted, looking down. I was that close to my grandfather and didn’t know. But he knew me. William and Dario knew where to find me my whole life, and they didn’t bother to sneeze in my direction. More than that, they knew about Winter, but they didn’t so much as send an anonymous bouquet after her death. What was I supposed to make of that?

“He didn’t rant, rave, or chase me out when he saw me,” I admitted. “I guess that’s something.”

“William means you no harm.” He placed a warm hand on my head. “By now, you know the power he has. If he wanted you gone, he would’ve sold Bowden Manor out from under your stepfather and burned him from the Royal line. Burkhardts don’t go after Burkhardts. It’s the one good thing about us.”

I nodded, taking that in. To say I had mixed emotions would be an understatement. They didn’t attack me or my mother, and they kept my inheritance intact. Was pretending like I didn’t exist what passed for familial kindness around here?

“In here.”

Alistair veered off, heading for a door on the right. I followed him into a space I would not have expected of the Burkhardts. Nothing like the over-the-top displays of wealth in every corner of the mansion that I’d laid eyes on. This room was, dare I say it, cozy. More than that, it was simple.

Yes, that was the word that came to mind as I took in bookcases, comfy white couches, and a small table set for two placed before the window-paned doors. Alistair turned a cozy little reading nook into our dining room. As promised, risotto and scallops waited for us.

We sat down, making small talk and trading stories about our childhoods while eating the most delicious meal I had ever put in my mouth. Of course, I didn’t expect the Burkhardts to hire anyone less than the best chefs in the world, but it still had to be mentioned; the food was damn good.

“Wow. If you’d told me you left Mom so you wouldn’t have to live without Laura’s cooking, I’d have understood.”

His laugh rang out through the terrace and into the garden. “I offered Laura a blank check to get her to come with me. The woman was frustratingly loyal.”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Turn left down the hallway and it’s three doors down on the right. Want me to show you?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

Pushing back, I walked out with a weirdly warm feeling. I was back in Regalia with my guys. Mom was on her feet, doing better than she had in months. Alistair was here—protecting and spending time with me. I’d forgotten this feeling, but it was coming back to me. I think I used to call it happy.

Turning the corner, I skimmed my fingers over the embossed wallpaper, thinking of what I’d say to William Burkhardt. I didn’t want to hold on to a twenty-year-old grudge. In the end, my parents split up because of Everton Starling, not because of him. Besides, Alistair’s childhood stories made it sound like it wasn’t all bad times. Movie nights, fishing, camping, and driving lessons. He might not like the comparison, but William sounded like his counterpart, John Wilson. He tried to be a good father. William just didn’t realize that the trade-off for good parenting isn’t the right to run your children’s lives forever and make all their decisions for them.

I lit on the third door, already picturing what passed for a bathroom in Burkhardt paradise.

I bet there’re gold toilet seats, pearl bidets, and a bathroom attendant who wipes my butt for me.

A door flew open, jarring me out of the fantasy. Saylor stepped out, carrying a food tray. Our eyes met and we froze.

I scanned her up and down, biting my lip hard. There was no other way to describe her. Saylor lookedterrible.

Her normally sweet-smelling halo of blonde loveliness hung in greasy hanks around her face. Puffy, red-rimmed eyes blew up at the sight of me, cracking the dried crust around her lids. Gone were the designer clothes. In their place were stained sweatpants and a blue tank top that had a streak of something orange across her stomach. I think it was Cheeto dust.

Saylor goggled at me, clearly not informed that I was dropping in for a visit. She flicked down to her tray. I followed her gaze, both of us landing on the steak knife. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

Oh, shit.

“Saylor,” I said slowly. “No. Whatever you’re thinking—”

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