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They thought she had been made loyal.
But she had been lying, for all her life, out of a sense of self-preservation. And now she finally had a chance to make up for it all. Now she had a chance to finally make a difference. To make the years of farce worthwhile.
She just had to convince this playboy, who she was given to believe was a secret assassin, to become her protector.
She needed a man by her side. This was the problem.
Annick was a realist. You could not live ten years as a prisoner without being a realist. The world was harsh. And nobody cared if you were a child. Nobody cared when there was power to be had.
Annick had been forced to play the part of silent figurehead to a country that she loved, to stand beside men who made her burn with hatred and smile. So that for all the world to see, Aillette was a functioning government.
It was not.
Her people were badly treated.
Reform. Revolution.
Those had been the rallying cries of the men who had stormed the palace and destroyed her family.
It had been none of those things.
And now that she was back in power she would see that her people were never harmed again. She needed his protection. For her people, not so much for her.
Dangerous men did not scare her.
She had made a bargain with herself when dealing with such men for many years now. Making a bargain with a man such as this bothered her not at all.
“You wish me to return to Aillette with you?”
“I more than wish it. I command it.”
“Or?”
“I will think nothing of exposing your identity.”
“You see, in order for that to concern me,” he said, his voice hard, “I would have to care a great deal more for my life than I do.”
He was bluffing. At least, she was counting on this being a bluff. If it was not, then she might have a little trouble.
But he was. Surely.
This was the part she’d known she must steel herself for. Threats made her stomach shake. She did not wish to issue them. But she would do what she must.
“Your sister Violet? Who is a Princess, I believe, in Monte Blanco. What would become of her and her country, of her husband, if the world found out that her brother was an assassin?”
His eyes went sharp. Good. “You are playing a dangerous game, Annick.”
“Life is a dangerous game, is it not? And what of Minerva. Your sweet sister and her lovely children. Her husband. Your mother and father. What of them? If your identity was known, then their safety would be at risk.”
“You dare threaten my family?”
“They are not threats.” She shook her head. “I am merely presenting you with a piece of reality. It is not a threat—it is just true.”
“The end result of your truth is that innocent people, innocent children, may die.”
“Innocent people, innocent children, have died in my country already,” she said. “And if I cannot successfully wrest control here, do I not risk another revolution? An invasion from my neighbors? Yes, I think I do. I know I do. I am not open to such risk-taking.”
“And yet you have taken a risk coming here.” He reached into his pocket and took a device out, and with a flick of his wrist, the lights came on.
