“The children's hospital.” The words came out hollow. “The toys I made. You knew about those too.”
Her expression softened. Just slightly. “Those were beautiful. Genuinely beautiful. That's what made it hurt.” She paused. “That's what made it necessary.”
“Necessary?” The rage came back. Hot. Clean. Better than the grief trying to drown me. “Murdering my mother was necessary? Torturing me? Destroying everything?”
“Yes.” Marcel's voice. Calm. Final. “Because your father was weak. Because your mother made him weaker. Because the kingdom needed someone willing to make hard choices.”
“Like killing innocent people?”
“Like removing obstacles.” He set the brand down. Picked up the knife again. “Your mother was lovely. Truly. Charming and kind and everything a queen should be. She was also making your father soft. Making him hesitate when he needed to act. Making him care about approval ratings instead of what needed to be done.”
“So you killed her.”
“I removed an obstacle.” He tested the knife's edge with his thumb. Blood welled. He didn't flinch. “And Élodie helped me do it.”
The words hit like bullets.
I looked at her. Really looked. Saw the truth written in every line of her face.
“For what? Power? Money? What could possibly be worth this?”
“Everything.” She said it simply. Like it explained the world. Like it justified murder and betrayal and eighteen years of lies. “I want everything your family has. Everything I was never allowed to have.”
She moved to Marcel. His arm came around her waist. Pulled her close. They fit together like puzzle pieces that had been cut specifically for each other.
“I was twenty-five when Marcel approached me,” she continued. Voice steady. Unashamed. “I'd spent my entire life being the perfect ward. The loyal companion. The girl who smiled and curtseyed and knew her place.” Her eyes flashed. “Do you know what it's like? To watch a family have everything while you're just the charity case? The orphan they took in to look good?”
“We loved you.” The words came out broken. “My mother loved you. My father?—”
“Your father saw me as decoration.” She pulled away from Marcel. Moved toward the table. “A pretty face to make his son look good. Someone to keep you occupied while he ran the kingdom. I was never family, Sebastian. I was a convenience.”
“That's not true?—”
“It's exactly true.” She picked something up. Small. Sleek. A knife that looked like it cost more than most cars. “When your mother died, do you know what I thought? I thought finally. Finally there's an opening. Finally I could be more than just the girl in the background.”
Understanding hit like ice water. “You wanted to be Queen.”
“I wanted to be the power behind the throne.” She corrected. “I wanted what I'd earned through years of service. Years of being loyal. Years of being exactly where I was told to be.” She tested the knife's edge. “Marcel saw it. Saw my potential. Saw what I could become if I stopped playing by their rules.”
“So he convinced you to help him.” My voice was barely a whisper. “To betray us.”
“He showed me the truth.” She turned. Knife loose in her grip. Moving with it like it was part of her body. “That power isn't given. It's taken. That the only way to rule is to be willing to do what others won't.”
“Like murdering my mother?”
“I didn't kill your mother.” She said it flatly. “But when Marcel told me his plan afterward, when he explained what needed to happen, I understood. Your mother was making your father weak. Weak kings fall. When kings fall, kingdoms bleed.”
“So you helped him cover it up. Helped him destroy evidence. Helped him?—”
“I helped him build a better future.” She moved closer. Knife catching light. “And then I positioned myself exactly where I needed to be. Close to you. Close to your father. Close enough to shape both of you into what the kingdom needs.”
“What you need,” I corrected. “What Marcel needs.”
“Same thing.” She reached up. Touched my face with her free hand. “Your father is breaking, Sebastian. I've been watching it happen for years. Soon he'll need someone. Not a queen. Just someone to lean on. Someone who knows how to run a kingdom while he grieves.”
“And once you have him dependent?—”
“I rule.” Simple. Final. “Not as Queen. As the hand that guides the King. As the voice that whispers in his ear. As the power everyone has to go through to reach the throne.”
