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Fury was boiling under my skin. I could feel anger building to a simmer, and if one more thing pushed me, it might cause it to finally boil over.
Stop, Maggie. Stop. You still have one final card to play.
It was the card he didn’t know about. The cheater card hidden up my sleeve, or in the bottom of my pocket. That’s what calmed me. Rage, when it was calm, became something entirely different; it became hatred. Hate could push men or women to do the unthinkable.
I lowered my gaze, folding my hands in my lap. Playing meek wasn’t hard. It’s what my father always wanted from me anyway. My fingers fussed with the ruffled bits of my skirt that I loathed.
“I have misspoken, Father,” I sighed. “You’re right, it is your decision whom I should marry.” I forced myself to bring my attention up to his face. He needed to feel the truth in these words, even if there wasn’t any. “I know that you know what is best for me and the kingdom.”
“You don’t get it now, I know it’s hard to understand, but one day you will.” He sighed, lifting his chin with a small, triumphant smile.
I caught his empty hands as one fussed with his crown and the other smoothed his jacket over his abdomen. “Would you like a cup of tea, Father?”
“Yes.” One eyebrow ticked up in surprise. “I’m glad you offered. Frannie wanted to but the girl, though she is lovely, always manages to mess up a simple cup of tea.”
“Honestly, I much prefer coffee,” I said tensely.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if you preferred whiskey,” King Ottack responded. He stretched himself out on the couch, propping his legs where Frannie had been sitting. The floral pattern of roses looked muted compared to the crisp, burnt orange color of my father’s outfit today. It seemed rather bold, but perhaps today he felt rather bold with the news he was delivering. I’m sure it pleased him much more than it did me.
“Why is that?” Avoiding his direct eye line, I stood from the couch. Brushing my skirt down, I walked as calmly as I could to the large tray of goodies sitting against the window where my father’s cup still rested. Frannie must have brought my cup over, or just left it there when my father refused her offer to make one for him. I needed the distance to cover the sleight of hand anyway.
“You hide it well, Maglehmore, but you’ve always been a rough and tumble girl. We both know that. Hell, how many times have you begged me to ride at the front of the armies as they’ve marched? Too many times to count. But not my precious daughter, no; the front lines are where you go to die. My baby girl needs to be safe here, with me.”
My back felt hot with the weight of his gaze but I continued. My mind replayed the words in my head. He never called me precious. He had never used the term ‘baby girl.’ My hand trembled as I reached for the teapot.
My brows furrowed as I look over my shoulder. “Since when do you talk to me with such an endearing tone?”
“Since my daughter will be leaving the nest, off to marry and live somewhere that isn’t within my direct care. Maglehmore, I know I haven’t been the kindest father, or the most present one either, but I’ve done my best to raise you right. Raising a little girl in this world while also taking care of an entire court is a lot to juggle, and maybe sometimes I didn’t juggle it correctly.” He let loose a long breath. “All I’m saying is that I love you, Maggie.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding the pot in front of me. My fingers grew hot from the lingering touch, but I let it burn.He wants to guilt you. He wants to keep his control over you, even when you move.King Ottack was a liar first and a father second.
Steam rose from his freshly poured cup. Carefully, I set the teapot down and took a deep breath. “I love you, too.” I prayed it sounded believable. Slipping my hands into my pockets, I turned and looked at him with a cheery smile. “Would you like cream or sugar with this tea?”
“A little of both, thank you.” And that was it. He waved me off to make his cup and he turned to look at his nails. No one loved King Ottack more than King Ottack himself.
I nodded and as I turned back around, I slipped the vial of clear, odorless liquid out of my pocket. The air bubbled inside the glass tube traveling up to the end of the vial as I plucked the cork from it and tipped it into the tea. It drained within a second and I made myself busy adding just a bit of cream and a spoonful of sugar. I stirred it for a long moment, watching the brown liquid spin like a tornado within the cup.
Pulling myself from my thoughts, I set the spoon off to the side on a napkin and placed the cup and the matching saucer in my hand to present to my father. If someone painted picture of me now I would look just as I should, perfect and presentable, doting and obedient. What they wouldn’t see was the poison in the cup.
King Ottack held out his hand impatiently and I placed it in his fingers. “Careful, it’s still quite hot.”
He hummed under his breath, a jolly tune he often liked to tell me my mother fancied. I gathered my skirt, inconspicuously pulling up the pant legs under it in the same movement. With a real smile, the first I’d worn in quite some time, I plopped down on the overstuffed couch and took my cup in my hand. I watched my father make the same motion.
Soon the poison would be flowing through him and nothing would be able to save him from his fate. Tonight I would be queen. My grin grew at the thought but quickly faded as he looked down at the cup and didn’t drink.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“It just seems a little off.” He eyed me from his propped up position.
“Off? Do you think the milk is sour?”
“Why don’t you take a taste of it for me, dear?” He lifted the cup toward me in a returned offering.
A damp sweat broke out over my neck and down my back. I could feel my dress sticking to my spine where it pressed gently against my seat. He knew something was up. But how? I had hidden it well. The poison itself didn’t have an odor or a taste. His tea should be everything it always was, at least to his knowledge.
I feigned offense. “I don’t want to drink spoiled cream.” My hand fluttered to my chest, the pounding of my racing heartbeat against my palm.
“So, you won't have any qualms with me offering this tea to one of the guards?”
