Page 116 of House of Roots and Ruin
Julien shook his head. “Papa would never. It’s the single reason you were brought here.”
“Dauphine wanted me to paint Alex’s portrait,” I protested. “Shepicked me.”
Viktor tilted his head, peeking around the easel at my work, and made a face. “You’re not untalented but do you really think you were the best choice, out of all the artists out there?”
“Yes,” I asserted, indignation bubbling within me.
The boys exchanged a glance, furthering my irritation.
“I’m a good painter,” I insisted.
Julien tutted his disappointment in me. “There’s no point in being insulted. You’re decent at best. A decent painter who found herself hastily engaged to a duke’s son. Didn’t you ever stop to marvel at the timing? At the coincidence? Surely some part of you must wonder at the speed of courtship, at all the haste preparing for the ceremony?”
Viktor smiled sympathetically. “I don’t blame you for not. We’ve watched you for weeks, parading about in new gowns,new perfume, new silk nightdresses.” I stiffened as he smirked. “You’re a girl far from home. A girl with a dark secret. A girl down to her last florette. It’s easy to look the other way when you’re being offered the world.”
I wanted to protest, but could not.
His words weren’t untrue.
Gerard had never asked after a dowry.
Dauphine had insisted they pay for everything.
She claimed it was a joy gifting her soon-to-be daughter-in-law the very best Bloem could lay before us and I went along with it, as silent and compliant as a paper doll.
They were master gardeners, sculpting me around their wants as they saw fit.
And I, too scared to be on my own, too afraid my secrets would spill out, let them.
A chill settled over me like a bank of icy morning fog.
“Alex loves me,” I whispered.
He did. That much I knew.
Whatever his parents had done, whatever plans his father had set in motion bringing me here, I was sure that Alex didn’t know. Alex had fallen in love with me, truly in love withme.
Not my gift.
Your curse.
Just me.
I clung to that thought, holding it deep in my heart, unwilling to doubt its veracity.
Julien looked unimpressed. “I’m certain he thinks so. But everything, from the moment you stepped foot in this cursed house, has been carefully arranged, impeccably tended. Neither you norAlexander are anything more than grafted shoots, transplanted roots on Papa’s worktable. He tinkers with everything about him. His house. His plants. His family. Weeding out the imperfections, forcing out more desirable traits. It’s his raison d’être.”
“To what end?”
Julien let out a sigh, as if my incomprehension physically pained him. He raised his pointer finger in the air. “You,” he said, then raised the other. “Alexander.” He merged them together. “One can only assume your union would issue forth a new, distinct set of progeny.”
My mouth went dry as I remembered Constance’s children and just howdistinctthey’d been. “That’s absurd. And…and we don’t even know if…if Alex…” I came to a flustered halt.
Viktor let out a snort of laughter. “With all you’ve witnessed here, do you really think Gerard Laurent would let a little bit of paralysis stop his plans?”
I bristled. “How could he…I can’t imagine—”
Julien rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so completely naïve, please. It makes you look a fool.”
