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I didn't lie when I said she looked like the duke's shiny new trophy wife. They have the same heart-shaped face, small turned-up nose, and bright green eyes. For all that, theyfeellike opposites. The animalistic awareness I have for all living creatures doesn’t so much as register with most commons, and I barely noticed the mother. The daughter? I felt her even before I saw her.
No common should have alerted my senses, even as a blip.
Their differences don’t stop at their auras. One has perfectly coiffed blonde ringlets and the other sports a red bird’s nest. Where the duchess wore a skimpy, silky robe that made no secret of the shape of her ample chest, the vixen was dressed like one of my warriors, in well-worn, form-fitting fighting gear not unlike the ones I wear for training. The only bit of skin I could glimpse other than her face were her arms, not as tanned as they should have been for someone who lives in the city. That tells me she doesn't go out much during the day. I wonder what she does with her time. I wonder her name.
I didn't ask, and I shouldn’t care. She’s a common thorn, elevated only because her mother spread her milky thighs to secure a match well beyond her station.
"Your Grace." As my supplicant curtsies, I don't miss how she thrusts her breasts forward to give me a view of her deep neckline. I want to grimace at the common slut, but she’s not worth the backlash. "With your leave, I'd like to ask for my husband's land to remain in my hands now that he's dead."
I shift on the infernal black stone throne inscribed with ancient runes. By the seven hells, why do they keep removing my cushions?
"Who is supposed to inherit?" I ask, bored and frustrated.
I’m tired of handling stupid requests such as these.The only cases of note are overseen by my regents.
"A cousin of my husband's. My Henry is barely cold in his grave and Nick already sent me a notice to vacate the house.” She sniffles and bats her lashes. “I have nowhere to go."
I pride myself on reading people well, and this woman is full of shit. I don't know whether she killed said husband or just married him for his fortune, but she's far from sorrowful. I'd only have to crook a finger and she'd hop on the throne and ride me.
Grieving or not, if she put up with the man, she's entitled to compensation for it, according to the laws of my land. Entailed territories are a tricky business, though. "Your file," I request.
She rushes forward to hand me the folder in her grasp, but before she approaches the dais of the throne room, I extend my palm and it flies out of her fingers.
I'd rather keep my distance from the plebe.
I scan through the document, finding exactly what I expect. She's indeed a common. She’s dyed her hair white and painted her face with paler colors, but no subterfuge can hide the heat of her flesh or the blush under her skin. At twenty-six, she wedded an eighty-seven-year-old minor demi who aged as fast as commons. The guy died of a heart attack. I snort, leering at his salacious wife. I bet she made sure to work his aging heart extra hard. As lucky old Henry was a baronet, his land is linked to the title, and should indeed go down to the next male in his family, one Nicholas Turret.
Henry, like many heirs of once relevant families, gambled away his fortune and sold whatever land he had except for the main house to settle his debts. That's the quandary—he didn't have anything to leave his wife, and she deserves some sort of compensation for taking the limp dick for three years. On the other hand, it's hardly Nicholas's fault if she didn't check the financials before tying herself to a losing horse.
"Nothing can be done about thebaronetcy." I sigh, my disgust tinged with a sliver of pity. Common or highborn, I am fair to all my subjects. "The crown will relocate you—you'll have a comfortable house and a stipend for seven years. I suggest you have your affairs in order by the end of it. Next."
My morning is filled with local disputes, land drama, and the occasional backstabbing quarrel; I pardoned the wife who found her husband in bed with her brother and killed them both, if only because she’s the most entertainment I’ve had all day. By lunch time, I haven't yet buried a bullet in my skull, so I head over to the sparring ring and I work out some of my frustration with my fists.
I don’t reflect on anything concerning the redhead at any point all day, because I don’t let myself.
She’s just common.
CHAPTERSEVEN
IN THE WOLF’S DEN
The man on the other side of the dining room table looks unsettlingly normal.
Dressed in a casual shirt and beige slacks, he eats his eggs and bacon with gusto, smiling at me under his salt-and-pepper mustache. "Don't you love mainland food?" He tears through a crusty bread roll and munches it happily.
"I haven't ever had any other food," I reply, still dumbfounded.
Last night, after the freakingkingleft, Neleda rushed me into the house, introduced me to her husband and quickly ushered me into a room before I could make a run for it.
I opted to stay. I can't get the answers I need unless I’m inside the house, and after yesterday, I'm convinced being a guest and snooping is a lot safer than attempting to break in.The design of the house makes it almost impossible to get inside without being seen. The armed guards deterred me to start with—I wouldn’t have risked an attempt if Khel and Alva hadn’t been so insistent—but I was almost frozen to death. I’m not trying that again.
I paced inside the luxurious pink and silver princess room all night, not even taking advantage of the plush canopy bed. In the morning, a servant knocked and offered me a change of clothes I declined, and a toothbrush I accepted, before leading me to the family dining room—as opposed to the less intimate banquet hall we passed on the way.
And now I’m having breakfast with a duke and, even more surprising, my mother.
"Helyn is a city girl at heart. She hasn't travelled," Neleda answers for me.
My jaw tightens in annoyance. How dare she presume to be aware of where I have and haven't travelled? I could have sailed around Xhera twice for all she knows.
