Chapter 8
I asked Ethan why he never told me.
He shrugged.
“She said it was grown-up stuff.”
Of course.
Secrets become easier to bury when children are taught adults own the meaning of what they hear.
I sent him back with Sarah.
Then I looked at Genevieve.
“My father chose me.”
“He died.”
“That does not change the choice.”
“He made that choice when you were twenty-six.”
“I was twenty-six.”
“You were a boy.”
I almost smiled.
“And Julian?”
Her expression changed.
There it was.
“He had experience.”
“So did half the room.”
“He had blood.”
“So did I.”
“He understood the old families.”
I leaned closer.
“No.”
My voice stayed calm.
“He understood you.”
Her jaw tightened.
That was the real distinction.
Julian would have kept Genevieve central.
I did not.
When I took control, I reduced ceremonial councils.
Cut inherited privileges.
Stopped asking older relatives for permission before moving captains.
Genevieve remained respected.
But not necessary.
Some people experience loss of control as humiliation.
She had apparently spent four years planning an answer.
Julian stared at her.
“Mother.”
She looked at him.
Something had shifted in his face.
He did not know all of it.
I saw that.
Interesting.
“You told me Ethan would only get sick.”
The words came out before he could stop them.
Genevieve went still.
I stared at Julian.
“Only.”
His face drained.
I stepped closer.
“You knew.”
“I knew there was a plan.”
“What plan?”
“To embarrass you.”
My hands curled.
“With my son’s body.”
“I didn’t know what she put in the box.”
Genevieve snapped, “Stop.”
Julian looked at her.
“No.”
First fracture.
“I hit him because you told me if Dominic reached the kitchen man, everything would collapse.”
Genevieve’s composure finally cracked.
“You idiot.”
Julian laughed bitterly.
“There she is.”
I watched them.
This conspiracy was not as united as I thought.
Genevieve had used her own son too.
May you like
Julian believed he was protecting a political humiliation.
She had prepared something much more dangerous.
