No wonder I couldn’t make the portrait align to this boy.
“You’re not Alex.”
One corner of his mouth rose, delight coloring him. He crossed one leg over the other, sitting back in the wheelchair with a relaxed stance I’d never seen Alex manage. “Brava,” he murmured appreciatively.
“Who are you?”
“Viktor,” he said, as if a single name could explain everything. “I honestly didn’t think you’d figure it out so quickly. What gave me away?”
“Your eyes. There’s a hazel ring around them.”
He made a face, tsking as if it was of no concern. “Julien probably should have been here instead.”
“Julien?”
He nodded. “My brother. Dearest Alexander’s brother.”
I frowned. “Alex doesn’t have any brothers.”
“Then how do you explain me?”
His ears looked just like Gerard’s. “A cousin,” I faltered.
“Father has no siblings.”
“He’s not your father.”
Viktor’s smile deepened. “As often as I might wish that were true, he most unfortunately is.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Alex doesn’t have a brother.”
“You’re right,” he said, surprising me. “He has two. Triplets.”
“Triplets,” I echoed, thinking back to the babies I’d seen in the nursery.
There’d been three of them there.
Three of the plants Gerard had named after Constance.
Gerard had said something about sets of three that night in the greenhouse. I strained to remember what it had been.
Three. Always three. One is too small a sample. Anything it produces could be a fluke. Two isn’t enough either. Both could fail and you’re back where you started. But three, three is the perfect amount.
An uneasy feeling expanded through my gut like a spilled slick of oil spreading out and poisoning everything it touched.
Three plants.
Three babies.
Three sons.
Gerard was experimenting with…something, that much was clear. But what?
I wanted to howl my frustrations, let them rip free from my throat, foisting them into the world where they could be someone else’s problems. If only Constance had shown me more…
Realization dawned over me, sudden and swift.
“You’re not really here.” It slipped out before I could stop it, the idea too big to stay trapped and unspoken. “You’re a ghost.”
Viktor blinked, as if intrigued by my suggestion. “Am I?”
I nodded, uncertain.
His eyes narrowed. “Is this a common thing for you? Seeing ghosts? Talking with spirits?” He leaned back, studying me with amusement. “Ver, you were just sitting in my lap. Kissing me. Being kissed by me…You know firsthand how very solid I am.” As if to prove his point, he leaned forward and traced his fingers from my cheek, down my neck, lingering at the hollow of my throat, feeling my pulse race. His touch felt unmistakably real.
I sucked in a deep breath, pulling away from his seductive fingers. “So you’re alive, then.”
He leaned forward, eyes bright with an unchecked fixation. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I only kissed you because I thought you were Alex,” I snapped, purposefully avoiding what he really was poking at.
Viktor’s smile deepened, turning wicked. “Does Alexander often kiss you that way?”
I folded my arms over my chest, trying hard not to look away.
He laughed. “I thought not. Oh, dear brother. I should have been here to teach you so many things.”
“Where have you been?” I asked, my words as sharp as scalpels. “Alex doesn’t remember you. Gerard and Dauphine have never spoken of you.”
With a groan, he pushed himself out of the wheelchair and stood, stretching tall, his joints cracking. “I don’t see how he sits in that thing all day long. What a toll is must be on his back.”
“It’s not exactly as though he has a choice in the matter.”
Viktor looked down, contemplating the chair and my words, then shrugged and walked to the window.
Carefully, I lifted myself from the floor, righting my skirts and trying to draw up as much height as I possessed. Even from across the room, I could feel him tower over me. I inched toward the open door.
“Oh, Ver,” he said. His gaze was fixed on something outside, making it impossible for him to see any movement I’d made. “Running off to call for help while my back is turned? I have to admit, I’m disappointed.”
“Where’s Alex?” I tried to keep my voice steady and firm, pushing back the worry and fear.
“In bed, sleeping.”
I shook my head. “I looked for him there earlier. His rooms were empty. What did you do to him?”
“Nothing.” He sounded hurt, as though my accusation had wounded him.
It didn’t matter. “Where is he?”
“Downstairs, in the sickroom. He had one of those fits of his last night. That giant of a manservant took him for treatment. I suspect he’s still there, sleeping it off. I meant what I said earlier. Those long nights are taking a toll on him. On us all.”
“But you don’t—”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me, about any of us, little Thaumas girl.”
His temper was sudden and swift, a dark cloud bursting open to unleash its torrent and storm. But when he finally turned to face me, he seemed calm, his anger reined in, held tight in an even tighter fist.
“Since you’re already so close, would you mind shutting the door? There’s a story that needs to be told and I’d hate for us to be interrupted.”
I wanted to call out for help. I wanted to scream and holler and bring the entire staff of Chauntilalie to my aid. But Alex had once said he liked this study best because it was in the most secluded corner of the manor, far from the bedchambers or other places the servants usually trafficked. No one would hear me.
I’d need to run, then.
I reached for the doorknob—a splayed tail of a brass peacock—summoning the burst of energy needed to race out of the room, fling the door closed behind me, and find help. But before I could spring into action, I was forced back into the room as a figure appeared, stepping over the threshold.
For a moment, I thought it was Alex.
Then Viktor.
No.
Julien.
“I thought we’d agreed we were staying out of sight, brother,” he said, his voice clipped and clinical. His eyes, a perfect match to Alex’s, ran over me with a curious disinterest.
“Julien,” I guessed, and he sighed.
“You told her our names?”
“I thought she could help us.”
Another sigh.
“Close the door before anyone else stumbles in here,” Viktor instructed, leaving the window to make his way toward the seating area, striding through the room with comfortable confidence, a king at home in his palace.
The door swung shut and Julien flipped the lock with a decisive click.
I was trapped.
“Why don’t you join me over here, Ver?” Viktor invited, patting a spot on the chaise beside him. “It’s a long, curious tale. We might as well all be comfortable.”