I’ve always thought the Faasa family was a cohesive unit, loyal to only each other until the bitter end. And even though I realized that the king and his brother don’t get along, I never imagined that would extend out to the dowager queen as well.
Not that it makes a difference. In order to end the Faasa reign, I must eradicate them all.
“Tristan, you may leave,” his mother states.
Twisting toward him again, I smile. “Yes, there’s no need for you at all.”
He smirks as he straightens off the wall and walks toward us. He’s wearing all black, as he usually is, his jacket covering the tattoos I ache to see; even though I convince myself it’s to admire his art.
“How can I, when the conversation just became so interesting?” he asks, dropping next to me on the couch. “I think I’d much rather stay.”
“Please, don’t,” I retort, although there isn’t much conviction behind my words.
He tsks, the sound skipping through the air and tapping against my skin as surely as if he touched me with his hands. His legs splay wide and he flings his arm across the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers dancing perilously close to my shoulder.
My body coils tight, muscles stretching thin as I lean to the side to ensure that not a single piece of me touches him.
He’s making it hard to focus, although, maybe, that’s his goal. I’m convinced he loves to watch me squirm.
Infuriating.
“And tell me, Miss Beatreaux,” the dowager queen continues. “How is it that a lady without a father can hold herself so well in polite society?”
My chest cracks at her words, but I keep the reaction from showing on my face. “The same way a widowed queen does, I suppose. With a heavy heart and a strong sense of self.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes flick down my body before meeting my gaze again. “A queen’s duties are far superior to that of an orphaned child.”
The urge to reach out and strangle her grows so strong I have to tangle my fingers together on my lap.
“I look forward to becoming queen then.” I run my palms down my skirt. “Is it nice?”
She tilts her head.
“Oh.” I laugh. “I’m curious if you enjoy not having those duties anymore? I’m sure you’re grateful that you can live your days at a cottage in the middle of nowhere, with no responsibilities left to your name.”
She stiffens, her gaze narrowing.
“It sounds very relaxing,” I continue. “Maybe one day, after I wed your son, we’ll be able to visit, and I can reassure your doubts by showing you all the ways I’ve improved on the foundation you tried to build.”
She sets down her teacup, the liquid sloshing over the sides as she turns to glance at her lady in the corner.
Tingles race along my spine when I feel a delicate brush at the nape of my neck, and I suck in a breath, my insides tangling tighter than they were before.
Tristan is touching me, his fingertips ghosting across my skin, making goose bumps pebble down the length of my body. Panic at his mother seeing mixes with the thrill of being touched, and instead of leaning away, I press back, my stomach flipping and surging until it settles next to my racing heart.
I don’t dare look his way, but I can feel him staring.
And I shouldn’t enjoy it how I do.
CHAPTER 27
Tristan
It takes skill and precision to weave magic with your words, and it’s something I discovered at a young age I had a knack for. Even as a child, I could trick people into thinking that my ideas were theirs, so I spent years fine-tuning the craft, until I was able to tell people to go to hell in a way that they enjoyed the trip.
Which is why seeing Lady Beatreaux hold her own against my mother, by using those same tactics, was intoxicating.
She’s strong-willed. She’s fire.
She’s the devil, parading as a snake, convincing people to eat the apple.
Ma petite menteuse… My little liar.
It’s what’s needed in a queen. You can’t have a fresh-faced, innocent girl ruling kingdoms.
But the thought of my brother having her at his side, when it turns out she’s so valuable, makes bile tease the back of my throat. Violence thrums in my veins, urging me to kill him now and steal her for my own.
Within a fortnight’s time, my brother and all who aid him will fall and I will step into place as the rightful heir to the throne. But having a queen was never in my plans.
“Ready?” I ask Edward, glancing at him as we walk to the banquet hall. The murmurs grow louder with every step, bleeding through the walls, and I smile, an excited energy humming beneath my skin.