Page 58 of Royally Ruined

“You nearly got your sister killed.” As he studied me, I could see the paper-thin disgust in his eyes. I watched it thicken until all that was left in his heart for me was shame. I was his firstborn son, I was the one he’d spent so much time and energy raising to take over for him.

And I was a failure.

“You can’t do this!” Lula screamed.

It had been several days since the attack. She’d recovered, but most of her memory of the events was mush. Her body would always be a reminder, of course—her scars crisscrossed her body, and though they were hidden, unlike mine, I knew she would think about them constantly.

Like everyone else, she’d blame me for those wounds.

“It’s for your own good.” Our father was pulling her into the private garden bedroom in the east wing of our estate. It was a gorgeous room that our mother often saved for guests. Now it was where my father planned to stow Lula away. “You’re still too affected by the attack. Once you calm down, you’ll see everything is fine, that you’re safer here.”

“I already told you,” she hissed, digging her heels in. “You know how I feel about all of this. I don’twantto stay here, not for another day! I’m leaving before anyone else can hurt me because of your cursed blood!”

“Listen to me.” His voice was dark and disturbingly calm. “You’re suffering from trauma. You almost died—”

“Because of you!”

He breathed in deeply. “We’ll talk about this later, once you’ve had time to relax and recover.”

“How nice. When’s a good time for you,Father?”

Looking down his nose at my sister, he gripped the knob tighter. I saw the veins on his hand throbbing even from where I stood in the hall. “Only a few weeks,” he whispered. “After your eighteenth birthday.”

She went pale; together she and I palmed our ribs. I knew every inch of my tattoo, the design we all had cut into our flesh when we turned eighteen. Maverick wanted her to wear the permanent mark of our royal blood. It was our tradition.

“No,” she whispered. His face darkened. Would he force her? Would our mother even allow it?

“Daddy!” Francesca shouted, rushing down the hallway toward us. What had she overheard? “Daddy, why are you doing this to her?”

Ignoring Fran, our father pushed Lula into the room, then shut the door firmly and locked it. We heard her banging on the steel and wood. I was amazed at how calmly his voice came out when he faced us. “No one is to let her out of there.”

Making tiny fists, my littlest sister slammed her heel down. “Butwhy?” She was thirteen and at prime the-world-revolves-around-me age.

Maverick’s stare moved to me. “Because your brother allowed her to be hurt. Now she needs time to recover and come to her senses. Lulabelle is unstable; nothing she says or does should be taken at face value.”

Francesca looked me up and down as her mouth twisted. “Then it’s true what I heard the maids whispering about. Lula nearly died because of you. And now she has to be locked away so she can get better. Are you evensorry?”

“Of course I am,” I said quickly. My tongue was heavy with my pounds of guilt. “I’m incredibly sorry, Frannie. I never meant—”

“I hate you,” she spit, ending my apology. It wouldn’t be my last one, but it didn’t matter. My little sister would never forgive me.

She spun around and swished past me. My father’s hand closed on mine; he showed me a key. “You caused all of this. It’s now your job to make amends. Guard the door, no one goes in or out.”

I gripped the heavy key. It felt like a knife, reminding me of how hard I’d fought to save Lula. How hard I’d failed. Looking up at the door, I debated what to do. There was a small sound behind me. I almost missed it, but after the attack, I’d become hyperaware; I didn’t know how to turn it off.

Kain was standing in the hallway. With Fran gone, and now our father, it was just us. His eyebrows were low over his narrowed eyes. “I’m going to get her out of there,” he said flatly.

I was already shaking my head. “You can’t. You won’t.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

My mouth opened, but I held my tongue.If Kain releases her, he’ll take the blame.My brother’s pride would have him announcing how he’d freed Lula. And then our father would turn his anger on him.

I couldn’t let anyone else suffer. Especially not when all of this came back to me.

If I couldn’t be a graceful king ...

I’d settle for being a martyr.

---