“It seems you are the one needing an education in our laws, Lady Damia,” he said, settling down on a chair. “Allow me to bring you up to date. Following my decision to bond my dearest son and heir to this fragile human girl, I decreed that anyone found to have directly or indirectly harmed her in any way would be subject to severe punishment.”
Damia looked ill. “It was not my intention to harm her,” she repeated.
My father leaned forward, his eyes glittering. “Intentions mean little when the results are the same. Your actions jeopardized the welfare of my heir and, as such, they cannot go unpunished.”
The Dowager Duchesse dropped to her knees. “Mercy, Your Majesty. I am but an old woman.”
My father snorted at her pitiful display and opened his mouth to say something, when Cécile interrupted. “Your Majesty, if I may?”
I winced, but my father only nodded, brow curling with curiosity. I wasn’t curious—I was nervous. Cécile had managed to keep control of this entire exchange through silence, but she clearly intended to have her say.
“I do not care to see any more violence—I have had my fill today,” she said, turning to Lessa who had remained kneeling on the floor this entire time. “If you insist on punishing the Lady Damia for her actions, I would prefer that it came in the form of compensation.”
My father rested an elbow on the arm of his chair and propped his chin up. “I’m listening.”
“I have been led to believe that the laws prohibit the purchase of one’s own relations, regardless of whether they are related by blood or marriage. Is that correct?”
I grew very still. She was treading on dangerous territory.
“You are correct.”
“Illegal to purchase, but what about to own? Say, if one received the individual as a gift?”
A faint smile rose on my father’s lips. “A loophole, I believe. Is that what you want then?”
Cécile nodded.
My father rose to his feet. “There you have it Damia. You will give us Lessa.” He paused, tilting his head in thought. “Or you will give us your head. Your choice.”
The Dowager Duchesse made no attempt to hide her fury. She had gambled heavily and lost. To a human. I smiled inwardly.
“I’ll have her papers delivered in the morning,” she hissed, then stormed out of the room.
Lessa straightened, turning to watch her former mistress leave. She did not, I noticed, look particularly pleased with this turn of events. Cécile may have thought she was doing her a favor, but Lessa seemed to think otherwise.
My father flicked his fingers in Cécile’s direction. “You can go.” She hurried out, Marc and the twins trailing after her. I started to follow them, but my father held up his hand. “You stay.”
I waited silently as my father contemplated Lessa, but as to what he was thinking, I could not say. Sighing deeply, he raised a hand and a dark sphere encircled her, blocking off both sight and sound.
“I’ve always hated that manipulative old bat,” he muttered. “It was high time one of her plots turned back around to bite her on the ass. Although I didn’t expect Cécile to be the one doing the biting.”
I made a non-committal sound.
“I hate that whole bloody family,” he continued, pouring a glass of wine.
“Then why did you foster Roland with them?” The words were out before I could think.
A glass floated my direction and I snatched it out of the air, drinking deeply.
“You know why,” he said. “I didn’t want your aunt whispering in his ear like she did to you.”
“But why them?” I persisted. “Why a family that has been our enemy for centuries? Our most powerful enemy.”
“Ah.” He stared into the depths of his glass. “It was because they are our enemies.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted the girl Anaïs for you—she had all the makings of a good queen, and uniting the two of you would have done much to reduce tension between the houses. Angoulême was of an accord, with the exception of one aspect of the contract: he would not allow her to be bonded. And I could not risk such a union—there would be too much chance that she’d stab you in your sleep.”
I nodded slowly. Those of that family did not bond—they considered it a weakness. Anaïs’s mother had died mysteriously a few years ago, and there were whispers that her husband had murdered her. It was to his advantage—he had only two daughters, one of them now dead—and a new young wife gave him another chance at a son. Though in my opinion, anyone who married him was a fool.
“I gave them your brother to sweeten the pot, so to speak. The Duke agreed, and the contract was finalized.” He drank deeply. “Later, of course, we discovered that Anaïs and her sister were afflicted, and I broke off the engagement. She was unfit—something your cousin did a fine job of demonstrating when he made the mistake of bonding Pénélope.”
