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Despite the tingles rippling through my stomach at the words he’d just said, I held my composure and my ground. “We can’t do this for him. We have to leave, now, and get as far away from him as possible.”
“I wish it was that simple.”
“Why isn’t it that simple?”
“Because you don’t know my father, Beatrice. If we leave right now, right this very second, maybe we make it out of the city—maybe we even make it out of the country. But trust me. He will hunt us down, and he will not stop until we’re found. You, me, even Max if we manage to find him, the three of us will be watching over our shoulders every second of every day, just like I’m doing right now. Do you really want to live like that?”
“We’ll use magic. We’ll use the amulet; we can stay way ahead of him.”
“And maybe that’ll work for a while, but he’ll find a way. You have to believe me.”
“So, what… we have to get that crown for him and hope it’s not a death sentence for me?”
“It won’t be. It can’t be. You said yourself, your family’s wards are powerful; the only way into the vault is with that amulet.”
“As far as I know, but I’m not an expert or anything.”
“We have to believe that’s true, and we have to believe he thinks that’s true.”
“That still leaves us possibly dying while trying to steal a magical artifact for him. And then what? Even if he can’t use it to get into the vault. What’s the plan?”
Lucien glanced at the door again. “I need to figure out how to get away without him hunting us down.”
“Not to sound insensitive, but it seems like the only way that’s happening is if he’s dead.” I paused. “Actually, no, I am going to be insensitive. It would be way better if he was dead. Let’s do that.”
He looked at me again, only by the look on his face, I didn’t think he had liked the suggestion. “I can’t do that,” he said.
And there it was.
Simple confirmation.
Lucien wasn’t anything like Mason Diaboli. Short of killing his father, it didn’t sound like there was a way for us to escape, and Lucien was either unwilling or unable. I supposed I couldn’t blame him for the situation he was in. Even if I had witnessed my father commit cold blooded murder right in front of me, I doubted if I would be able to enact any sort of justice.
My father was my father. The man that raised me, changed my diapers, played with me when I was young, sang me to sleep when I was scared. Watching him do something terrible wouldn’t have been enough to make me want to kill him.
Whilst I couldn’t imagine Mason being anywhere near the gentle, supportive, and loving parent that my own father was, I didn’t think Lucien was any more capable of patricide than I was.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like I had made a mistake.
He shook his head. “You don’t have to be,” he said.
“No, I do. I’m sitting here, running my mouth about murder… I’m not like this. I’ve never been like this. Before now, I had never even thrown a punch, let alone consider stabbing someone in the throat with a letter opener.”
Lucien’s eyes widened. “When did that happen?”
“The night I was brought to your house… I saw it on a table. I was going to grab it and use it on your mom.”
“Carla isn’t my mom.”
Ah. I guess that made sense.
“Right…” I paused, unsure of how to proceed at this point. “And, your mom?”
“I don’t think now is a good time for that conversation.”
I nodded, mind spinning to find something, anything, to say that would break the tension.
He glanced at the door again, only this time it was to hide something I had briefly glimpsed in his eyes. Sadness? No, pain. There was pain in there, somewhere.
