Page 88 of Bloodgrove

“Then stop being such an idiot and thinking you have to protect me! You only make it harder!”

Eric dragged a hand through his hair, loosening strands from the neatly combed style. “There will be nothing left of you if you take the office. The King breaks you. He controls you.” Breathing hard, he took a step back. “I have wanted to tell you that for so long,” he whispered.

“My father trained me for it. Everything he did was meant to make me stronger.”

“First and foremost, he made himself stronger.”

“Do you think I don’t know who my father was?” she hissed.

“No. Sometimes I think you still worship him in some twisted way. He was a sick bastard.”

“I know!” Elodie’s voice echoed through the room. “I was there when he ate my sister’s stillborn child because he believed the blood would give him more power!”

Will’s eyes widened, and even Eric faltered. His mind painted images he did not want to see, but as on his first day in the ballroom, they laid themselves over his vision: fairy lights bathing the dining room of the Ormonde grand townhouse in green, a banquet, the head of the family seated at the end of the table. With a violent jerk, he tore himself from the image and shook his head.

But Elodie was not finished. “I know he was cruel. I was there for his rituals. I danced with the others while people were bled dry above us. Sometimes he hung me there with them, just to see how long I could survive. How long I could remain strong.” Her entire body was trembling now. “He hung me from chains beneath the ceiling, cut open my veins like a lamb at slaughter, and then fed me blood. I can still see myself kneeling naked on the blood-soaked floor, vomiting up all the blood I needed to survive. He beat me for it. In front of his damned circle of friends.” Tears ran down her cheeks, her eyes glassy with memory. “He ate my niece!”

Will reached her before her knees gave way and caught her in his arms. Sobbing so hard that her entire body shook, she struggled around the words that kept spilling from her lips. “My sister’s child. He ate it. Like an animal. Oh, gods!”

Again, the images came: a younger Elodie, gangly, small, and so fragile, her milky skin covered in blood. No, he did not want—could not—see that. He forced the image away, nausea rising in his throat, and found his own shocked expression reflected in Eric’s. A moment later, Eric reached for the wine decanter, and sniffed its spout.

“That bastard,” he hissed. “The wine is drugged. He must have laced it with a truth serum.”

Slowly, Elodie emerged from her shock and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Will offered her a handkerchief, unable to do anything more.

“He thought he would be here with us… He wanted to interrogate us. He still does not trust me.” She shook her head and swallowed the last of her tears with one final sniff.

Slowly, they sank back onto their places, far enough apart that none of them touched, as though that alone might coax another secret from them. The dogs settled back down as well. One curled up beside Eric, whose hand disappeared into its black fur.

“How long does it last?” Will asked at last, but both of them only shrugged. “Perhaps it would be better if we remained quiet for a while.”

Eric nodded, but Elodie shook her head. “No. We need this. I know my secrets, and I am not ashamed of them. But I would be very interested to know what other foolish thoughts Mr. Arcos carries around inside that pretty head of his.”

Eric folded his arms. “If you would listen to me, you would understand why becoming the Red Hand is suicide.”

“And you are willing to sacrifice yourself for Elodie?” Will joined in now, tired of watching the two of them talk past each other, tired of seeing every word and every act born from love turn into another wound. They had forgotten how to speak to each other any other way, exchanging nothing but barbed lashes and striking the most sensitive parts because they knew one another too well.

“Yes. I wanted to warn you, but I could not say it—not until the truth serum became stronger than the curse. Elodie, the Red Hand is the king’s puppet.”

Elodie swallowed, but her brows drew together. “My father and my uncle tried, in their perverse way, to prepare me for that—perhaps because they hoped I might become the first Red Hand with a will of her own.”

“Then why does he not appoint you as his successor?” Will asked.

“Because I disappointed him.” Elodie slipped off her slippers, drew her legs onto the sofa, and wrapped her arms around them. One of the dogs came to her and rested its muzzle upon the cushions. With a tired smile, she scratched behind its ears. “He wanted something from me that I refused to give him. He wanted me to⁠—”

“You do not have to say it,” Will interrupted, and she smiled at him gratefully. Her fingers trembled faintly as she tucked a strand behind her ear.

“Until I agree to do it, he will never make me the Red Hand. By now, I think I could fall to my knees before him and scream yes, and he would still give Wilkinson the office simply to punish me for making him wait.”

Eric clicked his tongue. “As though he had any real chance.”

“You have seen how he treats the Red Hand and what he gets away with. My uncle would never have agreed to let him marry me if Wilkinson did not have an ace up his sleeve. He is far too jealous. Wilkinson must have some way to reach the king—he is our only other true rival.”

Eric reached for the cookies and hummed with satisfaction. “These taste like home.”

“Why do you never talk about your parents?” Elodie asked Will, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “I am so sorry!”

But it was too late. The answer was already forming on Will’s tongue, and after what she had revealed, he would have told them anyway.