“I warned you what will happen if you insist on playing this tedious game.” Hewlett dusted a piece of lint off the shoulder of the young man’s impeccable Dalian Skyforce uniform. The pilot flinched away. “You should go home, Grant.”
Kalie’s brows shot to her hairline.Mylis Grant. She’d only seen this man whose name was so infamous once, when he was a scrawny teenager on the fringes of Uncle Jerran’s annual ball. He’d found the guts to ask her—Ariah, actually, but no one knew that—to dance.
Grant was still scrawny, with the same mop of brown hair. His navy blue uniform wasn’t as decorated as Julian’s, though Grant was a cycle older. The insignia marked him as a lower-ranking officer, which was impressive, considering the stigma of his family name.
“Count Hewlett,” Kalie said, gliding between them. “I hope your family is faring well?”
Grant bowed. His hands shook.
Hewlett’s face betrayed momentary surprise, then he bowed deeply, ever the perfect courtier. “Your Majesty, it gladdens me to see you safe. My wife wished me to extend her warmest regards. Morning sickness kept her behind, otherwise she would’ve joined me to welcome you home.”
Grant scowled. “She’s pregnant again?”
“Indeed, she is.” Hewlett smiled at his disinherited godson, who looked like he wanted to strangle the count who held the title he was once supposed to inherit. “She wanted me to inform Your Majesty that if it pleases you, we’d be delighted to send our daughter to be raised at your court. Rhea’s young, but she’ll be the Contessa of Oakwood someday. We’d be honored to have her learn from your tutelage.”
“So you can’t even be bothered to raise your own children?”
Kalie shot Grant a warning look.
“I simply wish to safeguard her future. There are many who wish to see us fall, after all. Surely you understand.”
As Grant’s fists clenched, she gave Hewlett a bland smile. She understood him, alright. His wife was her distant cousin, next in lineto the throne after Selene. He was angling for their daughter to be raised as her heir.
She despised Selene, but she didn’t want to hand any more power to the Hewletts and their extended family.
“I’ll consider your gracious offer,” she lied. “Did you see Count Leighton? He was looking for you.”
“I wouldn’t want to keep my wife’s uncle waiting, I suppose,” Hewlett said, in that shared language of courteous displeasure. He bowed again before taking his leave, winding through the spray of waterfalls.
“I’m glad you made it back safely, Your Majesty,” Grant said quietly.
With Hewlett gone, the disinherited heir to Oakwood stood with a newfound confidence in his stance. He still looked nervous—understandably so, given the bloody end to their families’ long friendship.
“Thank you, Mr. Grant.”
“Please, call me Mylis.” A flush crept to his cheeks, and he looked away. “If that’s not presumptuous, of course.”
Kalie chuckled. “Not at all.”
The thumping of drums heralded the beginning of a jaunty new song, followed by the hoots of trumpets and the fast, rhythmic notes of a violin.
She scanned the exuberant crowd. In the tangle of nobles dancing wildly, the Count of Oakwood had disappeared.
“You should be more careful around Hewlett.”
Mylis shrugged and flashed a grin, but his hands still trembled. “He’s already tried to kill me five times. What’s one more?”
Her eyes widened. “He’s tried to—do you have any proof?”
Powerful count or not, that wasn’t something justice could ignore.
“Uh… no.” Mylis shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “But he’s the only one who has motive.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him that being Uncle Jerran’s former ward made him a target for half the aristocracy. The other half, the ones loyal to her family, would see him dead just for being the traitor’s son.
“You need to be careful. Men like Hewlett don’t take kindly to baseless accusations.”
“I’m not afraid of Hewlett, Your Majesty.”
