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“Your hand,” I said.
He pulled back. “This is exactly why I don’t trust you. Every time I want to know something that actually matters, you lie. Will youeverbe honest with me?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“The truth is always a good place to start,” he said.
I shook my head. That was the opposite of what I’d seen to be true. I’d survived on lies my whole life. From the moment I could talk, my father had trained me to keep secrets about him and his stolen identity, hiding our climbs over the wall and our journeys to Tramore. Lying was safety. The truth got me in trouble far more often than lying did.
Graham studied my eyes, and I looked back into his.
Curfew bells tolled throughout the city.
He looked out at the rainy night. “I’ve stayed too long.”
“You sure you want to go?” I asked. “It’s after curfew.”
“Well, I have the Brennin carriage, which keeps me from getting stopped, even if it is a little after curfew.”
“Must be nice to be the future king.”
“Hey,” said Graham, “only one of us has worn the crown and it wasn’t I. You had your chance.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
He put his hands back up to my neck, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t mention the bruises again. Instead, he held my face and kissed me one last time, long and slow.
When he pulled away, I thought I might faint.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’ll have to lock you in again. Untrustworthy and all that.”
“I know, I know. Will I see you tomorrow then?”
He bowed. “Yes. Good night, milady.”
“Goodbye, Sir Brennin.”
He closed the door and locked it, making me a prisoner once again.
But with visits that good, I wished I could stay trapped a little longer.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
In the morning,I left my room to find my father on the sofa with the day’s newspaper in hand. The featured story was still about Cardiff Pearce’s sudden death, though there had been little suspicion about the circumstances. Cael was quoted not only in this article but in most of them. His grasp over the city was rising with every lie he told.
I cleared my throat, preparing for a conversation I’d been avoiding. “Father?”
He didn’t look up at me as he answered in monotone. “Yes?”
I sat in the chair across from him.
His feet were propped up on the tea table between us. He looked almost as content here as he had at our own home. I used to think he lived the hermit life as a matter of necessity while trying to keep me unrecognizable, but I realized he preferred it. He could’ve possibly lived like this forever.
But I couldn’t.
“Father, if . . . if the hostage exchange goes well, I plan to leave the city.” I watched him closely. “Please come with me.”
