Chapter Eight
Standing in Shuli’s white parlor, surrounded by modern masterpieces that looked like they could have been painted by kindergarteners, Beth rubbed her eyes and thought it would be great—just really goddamngreat—if she could wake up from this bad dream. When that didn’t happen, she stared across at her son, and for a split second, her brain insisted on trying to connect the fighter who was over there with the messy bandage on his shoulder with the other eras of L.W.’s life: The infant, the toddler, the little boy, the pretrans.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a falsely reasonable tone. “What did you say?”
“He told me he was stepping down and I was King.”
“Yeah, I thought that’s what—Jesus Christ.” More with the eye rubbing. Not because she was crying. She was still hoping to blame this all on a bad REM cycle. “He didn’t mean it.”
“Sounded pretty convincing to me,” Shuli murmured.
“Well, it doesn’t matter.” L.W. shrugged. “I’m not doing that job.”
“Of course not.” Beth looked over her shoulder as a uniformed butler closed the door she’d left open. “Well, not now, at any rate—”
“Not ever.”
As she recoiled, Shuli cleared his throat. “You know what, I’m going to let the two of you talk. Whillis, let’s leave them—”
“You don’t have to go,” L.W. cut in as the aristocrat wheeled away like there was a gun pointed at his chest. “There’s nothing else to say, anyway.”
Shuli glanced over at her and slowly shook his head. “Yeah, my guy, I’m not so sure about that.”
Wonder what my face looks like, she thought numbly. Not that she couldn’t guess.
As her son’sahstrux nohtrumdisappeared down the hall with his servant, she decided that the night really was just a total write-off. “Look, we don’t need to go into this right now. And I have no idea what your father’s talking about, but I’m going to go find him and get this sorted out.”
“It doesn’t matter what’s happening.” When he went to shrug, he winced like his shoulder hurt, but then immediately seemed to throw off whatever pain there was. “I’m not going to be King. I won’t do it, not now, not tomorrow night or a year from now…not in a hundred years.”
Time slowed to a crawl. Then seemed to stop altogether.
A series of images flipped through Beth’s mind, all snapshots of this male standing before her—a stranger she had birthed.
“L.W., it’s been a long night.”
“All the nights are long. The days, too.”
She narrowed her eyes on the bandage. “How were you hurt?”
“I slipped and fell in the bathroom.”
“You’re not supposed to be out fighting.”
“Says who?” One of those brows lifted. “You can’t ground me, and the Brotherhood can’t stop me. I’m a grown-ass male, and last time I checked, free will was still legal, even for those of royal blood. Or are you thinking you can order me onto the throne like it’s vegetables that I have to eat before I get dessert.”
There were so many things she wanted to say to him, questions she needed answered—even as she feared hisresponses. But instead of going into all that, she walked over to him and looked him right in the eye.
“Do not go after Lash.”
He smiled coldly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There’s no death toahvenge, okay? Your father’s back, he wasn’t killed. There’s no score to settle. It’s done—”
“Thefuckit’s done,” L.W. growled. “The last thirty years? You think all that’s erased just because dear ol’ dad is back. I don’t.”
“Let it go, L.W.”
As they faced off at each other, she felt a familiar helplessness. And then she realized they’d always been heading to this confrontation. Always.
