“She will be dripping—” Caelith began.
“Son.” Isolde cut him off, her tone clipped with disdain.
Caelith lifted his hands in mock surrender. “She will be… most eager to help. To save me when the time comes.”
A sick lurch gripped her gut.Save him?
“You’re sure?” Isolde asked. “After one night?”
“The elements of the Song I gave her would have made the experience… transformational.” The corner of his mouth hitched. “Paired with my other… refinements, all that pleasure was focused entirely on me. If anything could mimic the mythical mate bonds, it would be this. She’ll practically have no choice but to protect me.”
A sick shudder rolled down Emmaline’s spine. She clutched at her stomach, bile burning the back of her throat. He planned this. Every touch. Every whisper. Every moment.
Lady Isolde exhaled, rubbing her arms. For the first time, something unreadable flickered in her expression. Uncertainty. Discomfort.
“You really are quite the brilliant alchemist, son,” she said. “If only you could focus your pursuits… elsewhere.”
“Mother. Is now really the time to rehash this?” Caelith whined.
“No, dear. You’re right.” Isolde pressed her fingers to her temples as if warding off an impending headache.
Emmaline barely breathed, forcing herself further into the shadowed alcove.
“The cook,” Isolde continued, tone shifting to something more pragmatic. “The one who told you where she’d be. She’s been compensated?”
Jenni.
The shock nearly made Emmaline fall forward.
“Yes, Mother, she won’t say anything.” Caelith grunted, adjusting the stirrups with clear irritation. “Deyric usually does this.” He looked up, muttering, “Where is that lout anyway?”
Isolde lifted a brow. “He may not wish to see you, son. After both his sister and now this woman, you might consider how best to compensate him as well, if you wish to keep him in your employ.”
Emmaline’s eyes widened. Isolde already knew. She already knew what Caelith had done to his sister, and she still—
Goddess above.
Caelith scoffed. “He’s my servant. What place does he have being upset with me?”
“Mm. Just make sure the little secretary is ready and willing to confess to the murder by Solstice.” She waved a dismissive hand. “This unfortunate incident must be put to rest before it further stains the Greymane name.”
Emmaline’s blood went cold. That’s what this was about. They were going to make her confess.
She had to leave. Now. Before Isolde turned and saw her.
“Yes, Mother.” Caelith sighed.
“We can’t afford any hiccups before your marriage contract is finalized,” Isolde added.
Emmaline didn’t wait to hear more. Of course, he already had a marriage contract in place.
A future secured. A name protected. A legacy untouchable.
She took a measured breath. Let them believe it. Let them think she was broken and that she was theirs to play with and mold into the perfect little scapegoat.
They had no idea what she was about to do.
Friday wasn’t going to be a confession. It was going to be a reckoning.
