Page 52 of American Queen (New Camelot Trilogy 1)
nd dismissive. That was unkind to you, and I’m sorry. I only ever had Maxen’s wellbeing as a priority, and for a long time, I was concerned that you would hurt him.”
I’m dumbfounded by this. “Me hurt him?” I ask, thinking of all those nights I spent longing for him, my heartbreak in Chicago.
“You see yourself and your potential much differently than the rest of us do, I assure you.”
“Now you sound like Embry,” I mutter, and maybe that was a mistake, because it sends a frown pulling at Merlin’s mouth.
“Indeed. Well, it’s not so irrational to believe that you had the power to hurt Maxen—one look at his face that night in London, and I knew he was lost to you. And that’s why I introduced him to Jennifer Gonzalez, and did everything I could to make sure they married.”
“You set him up with Jenny to keep him away from me?” I have no idea how to think about this, even though I know exactly how to feel. A slow anger creeps up my body. “You wanted me away from him badly enough that you made him marry someone else?”
“I didn’t make him do anything,” Merlin says mildly. “I introduced him to Jennifer and encouraged their affection as much as possible, but in the end, the choice was his. He chose her.”
Why this still stings, I have no idea, but it does. I wrap my arms around my body. “I never understood,” I murmur, “why you disliked me so much.”
“I told you,” he says, walking towards the door, “I worried you would hurt Maxen. I still worry about this, but it’s out of my hands now. Perhaps this too is destiny. All of our destinies.”
“I won’t hurt him,” I say, following him to the door.
“You won’t mean to. Not the way his sister wants to hurt him. But you will hurt him much worse than she ever could. My only hope is the knowledge that you’ll bring him more joy than pain.”
“You can’t know any of that,” I say, and I hate how petulant my voice sounds. “You’re not actually a wizard.” Then I add, for the sake of the seven-year-old Greer, “Are you?”
Merlin laughs again, the same room-warming laugh, and despite myself, my anger abates a little. “Goodbye, Ms. Galloway. I am sure we will see each other again soon.”
I hold open the door as he walks out, and when he steps onto the front stoop, something occurs to me. “You said you wouldn’t tell me those rumors about Ash because they weren’t your stories to tell. But then why did you feel like you could tell me about Ash’s birth parents?”
Merlin turns and smiles. He seems oblivious to the brutal November wind. “Haven’t you guessed it yet? That story is my story too.”
It’s obvious now that he’s said it, and I can’t believe I didn’t guess before. “You were the boy, weren’t you? The boy on the estate who showed Luther the way into her room?”
“After Maxen’s sister told him the truth, he came to tell me. I’d had no idea, but as soon as I heard the whole tale, I knew. I’d never forgotten that night, the night I met the President. I’d never forgotten how sad he looked, how…gutted…he was with loving someone. But after Maxen told me the story and I put it all together, I realized I should have known he was Luther’s son long before then. Because that gutted look? Maxen had been wearing it for years whenever he thought about you.”
And with that, Merlin leaves, and my anger leaves with him. Confusion remains, frustration remains, but the anger vanishes, leaving an empty hole in its place. I watch him get into a waiting car and drive off, and then I close the door, my body abuzz with too many different emotions. It’s time for the coffee and bourbon I promised myself earlier, except maybe I’ll skip the coffee and go right for the bourbon.
And it’s as I’m pouring myself a steep glass of Blanton’s that I realize Merlin never actually answered my question about being a wizard. I sit back in my kitchen chair, staring at the whiskey, thinking back to the first time I met Merlin. Thinking back to my first kiss with Ash, my night with Embry and everything that’s happened since. I think about Ash’s sister and the brightness in Abilene’s eyes and the upcoming State Dinner and the rumors swirling around the man I love, rumors so dark that everyone seems afraid to speak them out loud.
Lastly, I think about Embry, about the way my heart still aches for him. About the way I still secretly want his heart to ache for me.
I drink the whiskey in four long swallows without coming up for air, and then I pour myself another. Ash and I getting together should have been the end of the story, the happily ever after to our fairy tale. But somehow I have the feeling it’s just the beginning.
I throw back the whiskey and pour myself a third glass.
Part II
The Queen
17
The egg-blue gown rustles prettily as I walk up the stairs to the second floor of the Residence, the silk of the tiered skirt just loud enough to be heard over the gentle strains of music coming from below. The dinner is set to start soon—there’s a string quartet playing Chopin while the guests chatter over cocktails and hors d’oeuvres—and while I’ll be by Ash’s side for most of the evening, I want to find him before the dinner starts. Share a moment that’s only the two of us before the cameras start flashing and the gossip kicks in. Before the hungry wolves realize they’ve just found their next dinner.
I think I hear a sound coming from the living room, and I slip through the open door saying, “Belvedere said I could find you up here—oh.”
Ash isn’t alone.
Looking like a prince or a movie star in his crisp black tuxedo, he’s sitting on the sofa, leaning forward, long legs bent, power coiled in his body. And Embry—also in a tuxedo—is in front of Ash, sitting on the carpet. It’s clear that both of them were engaged in a serious conversation—there’s a furrow in Ash’s brow and a cast of unhappiness to Embry’s shoulders—but that’s not what stops me in my tracks. Because Embry isn’t just sitting in front of Ash, he’s kneeling. Kneeling in front of Ash the same way I would—between his outstretched legs, caged in by the shiny black dress shoes planted on the floor. Kneeling in front of Ash as if it’s the most natural place in the world to be. And Ash isn’t only leaning forward, he’s got a hand fisted in the shoulder of Embry’s tuxedo jacket, as if they’re getting ready to fight or to kiss.
A bolt of unthinking desire sizzles straight to my core, and my chest tightens with an unfamiliar excitement.
