“What’s the rest of our family doing that they couldn’t take the time to greet me?”
Theron scowled. “If the roles were reversed, would you bother to greet us?”
Kalie stumbled but caught herself. They walked in silence.
Redmont was clearly another one of Mother’s lavish expenditures. Construction had finished four months ago, and Mother had spared no expense. Light seeped in through stained glass windows, shining on walls of red marble and gleaming tile floors. Portraits of Father’s Etovian ancestors hung in gold frames. Kalie pursed her lips. Those were probably a concession to him; for all Mother’s faults, she refused to follow the blasphemous Etovian tradition of worshipping ancestors.
The palace was so dark. She missed the pale blue wallpaper in her room on Dali, the sunlight streaming in through massive windows, the birds chirping on balconies.
What if this was her new normal?
Kalie shivered. It couldn’t be. She would see Dali again. She wouldn’t spend the rest of her days in an obscure Etovian palace.
Theron led her around another corner, but as she moved to follow him, he jolted back and pushed her behind the wall.
“What’s wrong?”
He motioned for silence.
She tensed and shrank back. Chilling scenarios flitted through her mind—a mercenary hunting her, a team of black-clad legionnaires, men raising pulsers, lasers flying at her…
“Should we call for help?” she whispered.
Theron scoffed. “Don’t be daft. We’re not in danger.”
The pressure lifted off her chest, but when she tried to look around the corner, Theron blocked her path.
“Why are we hiding?”
He grunted. “This one wants to be friends with us.”
Kalie peered around the corner. Judging by the flock of courtiers surrounding her, the lithe woman standing in the hallway was a young noble, someone with power at this court. She swept aside her luscious brown hair, revealing a gold phoenix brooch pinned to her low-cut gown, and Kalie sighed.
“Father’s latest conquest?”
A muscle in Theron’s jaw twitched. “Does she look familiar?”
She wanted to hate her, and there was a part of her that felt instinctive disgust, but the woman was smiling, which was more than Mother ever did. Her features resembled Danae’s. Or, more accurately, Danae’s mother.
“Daphne.”
Theron nodded.
Kalie ducked behind the wall, blowing out a breath through her clenched teeth. “Please tell me this one’s older than me.”
“She’s an adult, at least. Seventeen.”
“At least he didn’t pick another one who’s sixteen,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose. “What happened to the last one?”
“The same thing that’s happened to all of Father’s bedmates since Daphne. He got bored and sent her packing.” Theron cast furtiveglances around them, then lowered his voice. “I suspect we might have a bastard sibling in a cradle somewhere.”
“Just one?”
He grimaced. “I’m trying to be optimistic.”
Kalie gazed at Father’s new mistress, trying to gauge how long he’d keep her around. A few months. Maybe a cycle, depending on how much of herself she was willing to sacrifice to keep his attention. Sooner or later, though, he’d use her up and kick her to the curb with nothing but washed-up beauty and a few trinkets of royal favor. Maybe a royal child, too, but Father would never recognize another one of his illegitimate by-blows. Nor would he ever love another mistress the way he’d loved Danae’s mother.
“You aren’t going to ask how Mother’s taking it?”
