I stand up and cross my arms. “So, that’s it? What about my sister?” I ask, thinking of Sylvie, my half-sister. A true princess—with actual royal blood. Unlike me.
And what about…
I briefly close my eyes. No point in thinking about it.
“She may visit whenever she wants to, though you’ll have to come up with a story to tell her because she can’t know about us.”
Us.
What the fuck would I tell her? That’d I’d suddenly become friends with a random assortment of Lords and now lived with them?
I feel weary just thinking about it.
I’d have to figure it out tomorrow.
“And if I decide not to follow through with this?” I ask.
Alaric’s expression grows dark. “Don’t be daft. You know exactly what will happen.” I clench my jaw at the unfairness of it all. “Do you believe in fate, Alexander?” I don’t answer, but Alaric just tilts his head. “I do. And I don’t think tonight was a coincidence at all.” He smiles. “Breakfast will be served in the dining room every morning. Lunch is your responsibility, and even though everyone is taking tomorrow to grieve, we will reconvene for dinner at six sharp.”
I want to kick or punch something. I want to tell him to fuck off. I want to call my driver and tell him to take me back to Buckingshire Palace, where the man I once called my father is letting me reside.
For now, at least.
But… then what? What if he decides to kick me out? Who in their right mind would want to be reminded of their late wife’s transgressions?
Will I spend my life listlessly floating through the historic halls of the palace, drinking myself into oblivion?
Will I continue pretending I don’t see the articles written about me or my mother?
Will Sylvie continue pitying me and allowing me to complain to her day in and day out as she attempts to move on with her life?
I’d only hold her back.
One day, she’d get married and have children, and I wouldn’t be able to whinge to her about every injustice.
One day, I’d have to move on.
Being a Lord of Darkness could be the way I move on. It could be something forme. I don’t exactly have a choice, but maybe being thrust into a thrilling and dangerous occupation is exactly what I need.
Though, if I had my way, I would’ve preferred to win the lottery.
The media could go fuck themselves—I wouldn’t allow them to continue printing the bullshit about me, but especially about my mother. As a Lord, perhaps I could get back at them.
Nowthatsounds like fun.
Alaric is right. I’ve never shied away from a challenge, so why start now?
“Okay,” I tell Alaric. “I’m in.”
Alaric smiles. “See you tomorrow, Your Highness.” He grabs the handle of the door, and I can’t help but blurt the question I’ve been wondering about all evening.
“Your rings…” I swallow and point to his hand, and he looks down at the four thin, gold bands. “What do they mean?”
Alaric smirks. “They’re wedding bands.”
A shock rolls through me. “You mean…” I think back to earlier in the night.
“Harlow joined the Lords when she was eighteen. When she was twenty-two, we all decided to let the Lords die with us, and shortly after that, we conceived our daughter, Edith.”
