Page 136 of Reign

“Obviously,” I parroted, inwardly wishing he could say something kind without following it with a gibe.

Eager to steer the conversation away from Bash, I turned to Elizebeth.

“Do you wish to wed?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes—I’ve always longed for a family of my own, though I fear that ship has long since sailed for me.”

Regina chuckled. “You already have the child, you merely need to find a man willing to overlook your lascivious escapades of yore,” she quipped, sipping her wine leisurely.

Laughter roared from Wolver, while the rest of the courtiers averted their eyes. Even Billy’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Oh, Niamh, you don’t get the jest,” Regina continued with a mischievous glimmer in her eye. “Elizebeth bore a child out of wedlock—a bastard.”

My gaze darted about the table like a weathercock caught in a storm, finally settling on Elizebeth, whose features were shadowed with shame. Isobel offered a reassuring touch on her leg, but Elizebeth brushed it aside.

“None of the lords would offer a son to wed her once they learned she was with child,” Regina went on, her eyes alight as she relished in recounting Elizebeth’s disgrace. “So, her father extended the offer of her hand to anyone—even a commoner—who could slay the Knucker.”

She gestured toward the gruesome centerpiece—a gilded, decapitated head on display.

“Many villagers tried, but fortunately for Elizebeth, I was the only one capable of vanquishing that beast.”

Elizebeth’s downturned smile bore no gratitude—only heartbreak.

“Where’s your child now?” Fitzroy asked softly, concern furrowing his brow.

Elizebeth’s gaze remained low. “When Regina claimed me as her prize, I was forced to leave her in my father’s care. I haven’t seen her since I was sixteen. For all I know, Niamh could be her, and I’d be none the wiser.”

I recalled the tale Fitzroy had told me, how the Lord of the Wetlands, or perhaps the Marshlands, had promised his daughter’s hand to whoever could slay that beast.

“Who is your father?” I asked.

Elizebeth lifted her eyes to meet mine, her lip curling with restrained anger. “The Lord of the Wetlands,” she sneered, her words brimming with disdain.

I faltered, my breath snagging in my throat, leaving me momentarily speechless.

“Th-that’s not possible…” I stammered in disbelief.

With a strained sigh, she murmured, “I wish it wasn’t, but I assure you, he is.”

“I know his family well,” I said, hesitating. “They only have one daughter…”

My voice trailed off as I drifted into a memory of a travesty that haunted Avice—the harbinger for her hatred of sorcery. Before either of us could talk, in the dawn of the Dark Days, Avice’s elder sister vanished. The Lord blamed sorcery and began a merciless massacre of all things magical.

“My parents had another child?” Elizebeth asked, her question pulling me back to the banquet table.

“Fitzroy was meant to marry her,” I explained, nodding in his direction.

“Avice?” Fitzroy chimed in.

A flicker of hope brightened Elizebeth’s eyes. “I have a sister—”

“Had,” I corrected swiftly. “Had a sister.”

“The Black Shuck claimed poor Avice,” Regina announced.

Elizebeth’s face twisted with anguish as she looked upon her Queen.

“Why?” she asked.