Page 25 of A Treason of Thorns

“I left Burleigh House. I left my father. I left you,” I tell him, bristling at his tone. “So in point of fact, sometimes I am forced to do things I don’t want to. And I don’tknowhow to stop this.”

Wyn shrugs. “We were children when you left the House. We’re not children anymore. Think of something.”

I let out a growl of frustration. “It’s not that easy!”

Getting to his feet, Wyn makes for the door.

“I’m going down to the kitchen to talk to Mira,” he says as he goes. “I’ll stay for an hour. If you’ve found a way out of this by then, I’ll stay longer—give you the fresh start you wanted. But if you let the king bully you into a marriage of convenience, I’ll be gone again by the time you’re back.”

I scoff. “As if your presence is some great prize. I’m not sure I even want you here anymore.”

Wyn turns, and gives me a long-suffering look. “I’m not the prize to be won, Violet. Your freedom is. If you win it, I’ll stay awhile, because you could clearly use the help. But I won’t stay on only to watch you be ground down under the heel of His Majesty’s boot.”

He shuts the door behind him, and as he goes, all my despair is replaced by anger and stubbornness and determination. That’s always the way with us Sterlings—we fight our hardest when backed into a corner. When facing down the impossible.

I clench my fists and scowl at the door, because of course Wyn knows that. This is no different from the time I hit my head, slipping on damp rocks in the streambed at the back of the grounds. Too afraid to leave me to run for help, Wyn pulled me to my feet and jeered and bullied and cajoled until we made it back to the House.It’s not so bad, Violet, don’t fuss over nothing, you’re being ridiculous, he’d said. I remember Mira shrieking at the sight of me, covered in blood, and Wyn disappearing the moment Jed took charge. It wasn’t until after I’d had my head bandaged and been washed and dressed that I found Wyn, in my cupboard as always. His hands were still shaking, but he’d got me home by waking that Sterling stubbornness.

“Alright, then,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Burleigh House, I don’t want to get married. You don’t want a new Caretaker. What are we going to do?”

Two figures flicker to life across the room—myself, no older than six, and the king. Little Vi sits on one side of a small card table drawn up before the fire, His Majesty on the other. They’re playing a game of écarté, and the king takes trick after trick before Little Vifinally pushes back her chair in frustration.

“Uncle Edgar, I don’t want to play anymore,” she says with a stamp of her foot. “You always win. And I had the king of trumps this round! It isn’t fair.”

His Majesty smiles indulgently. “Life isn’t fair, my dear. Some people win and some lose. You must learn to play a better game.”

Little Vi’s only answer is to cross her arms stubbornly and scowl.

The king leans toward her. “I’ll tell you a secret. The truth is, you’re getting very good at écarté. Truly. You’ve improved by leaps and bounds since we first began playing. I think by now, you could beat most people.”

“When will I beat you?” Little Vi squints cannily and the king throws back his head and laughs, an uproarious and unbothered sound.

“No one beats me, Violet Sterling. Do you know why? Iamthe king of trumps.”

“What am I, then?”

The king reaches out and pats Little Vi on the head. “A small queen.” His mouth twists. “And your father, it seems, is a knave. Now. Shall we play again?”

Little Vi holds her ground. “I said I don’t want to. I’ll only lose.”

“Of course you will,” the king says. “But it’s such fun for me to watch youtry.”

“What about Slaps?” Little Vi asks hopefully. “I can win at Slaps.”

His Majesty’s dark eyes spark with a clever light. “When do we play Slaps? Think carefully.”

“Um.” Little Vi puts her head to one side. “When Papa’s here?”

“Nearly.”

“When my governess is here?”

“Close.”

“Oh! I know—you only let me play Slaps when there’s someone else about. Isn’t that funny?”

“Exactly.” The king’s hands are busy, dealing out another game of écarté, which Little Vi hasn’t yet agreed to play. “Why do you think that might be?”

I’ve never been particularly deep. My younger self only stares at His Majesty.