No, they’re enraged.
Like everyone else, my mother is in her nightdress, her hair hanging loosely down her back. I know something is wrong just by the state of her undress. She would never leave her room without at least her robe and slippers on.
“I want to know who knew of this!” my father shouts, his glare skimming around the entire entry.
The servants are all watching wide-eyed, faces tight, fear making some of them tremble. But not one of them speaks up.
“I want to know!” he roars.
When my mother winces, I finally snap into action and stride over, loose boots slapping against the tile floor. “What are you doing?”
My father jerks his head in my direction, and something cruel enters his eyes. My mother looks as pale as a ghost. “What am I doing?” my father repeats, the last word ending with a whip of laughter that has nothing to do with happiness. “Oh no, this is all about what your mother has done.”
I flick my eyes to her just as a tear races down her collapsing cheek.
“Tell him.”
She flinches at my father’s order, but her lips stay shut, gaze staying on me.
“Tell him!” he screams, shaking her arm so hard that her whole body shakes with it.
I’m immediately transported back to being eight years old, when my body froze up and the scream only stayed in my head. Yet this time, the word tears from my throat. “Stop! You’re hurting her.”
He lets go, but I’m under no false pretenses that he’s actually doing it to appease me. He shoves her at the servants behind her, but Jak catches her before she can stumble.
My father looks at me. “Since she won’t tell you, I will,” he spits, like venom streaming from a snake’s fangs. In response, my own canines seem to throb in my gums. “What did your mother do when she thought I wasn’t going to be home for the night? She invited another into her bed. Spread her legs like an Orean whore.”
Shock makes my spine prickle and stiffen. It just takes a split second. Just the tiniest shift of my eyes as I look at her, and I already know. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together before. All the times he brought in fresh flowers for her or made sure to serve her first. The small smiles exchanged between them.
Jak’s still holding her arms, keeping her locked against his chest as if he, a magicless Orean servant, can stand to protect her against my father. He’s so opposite from my father in every way. Jak is quiet. Kind. A head full of hair and lines on his face from smiling rather than scowling.
My mother looks at me like she’s afraid of my reaction.
“There, you see?” Father says, pointing at my face. “Slade didn’t know. The truth is right there in the disgust on his face.”
I hate the way Mother takes in a shuddering breath.
“You’re right, I didn’t know,” I reply, taking a step forward. “But if there’s disgust on my expression, it’s not for her. It’s for you.”
My father goes still. “What did you say?”
“Why wouldn’t she seek affection from someone else?” I spit out. “You treat her like garbage.”
The surprise that enters his eyes is nothing compared to the surprise at myself that I managed to say that to his face. Every word is true, and if he thinks I would ever take his side over hers, then he doesn’t know me at all.
He whips around, eyes flaring on the gathered crowd. “I want to know which of you knew about this affair and failed to report it to me! I want to know how long it’s been going on!”
None of them say a word.
He pounds a fist against his chest in a shaky rage, making some of his power slip out, a break appearing in the middle of the floor. The crack of the marble reverberates throughout the room, shaking up through my feet.
“Control, Father,” I mock, throwing his constant command back in his face.
He snaps his finger so fast I don’t even see it, I just feel my pointer finger break in half, right where he did it the last time. A grunt skids past my lips, the pain exploding down my entire hand.
“Stop it, Stanton!” my mother cries. “Slade has nothing to do with it.”
My father doesn’t turn away from me, doesn’t acknowledge her right away. He just watches with sadistic retribution while I try not to vomit. After several long seconds, he snaps his fingers again, and my bones jolt back together with a sickening click.
I have to grit my teeth so hard that my jaw cracks, but I keep everything contained, keep it controlled. After all, that’s what he taught me all these years. To be in control. To master my power.