Chapter 2
I took Peter upstairs first.
Always the child before the conspiracy.
He sat on my bed with the framed photograph beside him.
Not holding it.
Just staring.
“Are you dying?”
“No.”
“Tonight?”
“No.”
“Tomorrow?”
I almost smiled.
“Not planning on it.”
He considered that carefully.
Then:
“Gwendolyn said everybody dies.”
“Eventually.”
His eyes widened.
Wrong answer for five.
“Not tonight.”
Better.
He leaned against me.
“What did they say happened at dinner?”
Peter frowned.
“Miles said you get tired.”
“What else?”
“That you go somewhere quiet.”
“Where?”
He pointed vaguely toward the grounds.
“The old room with bottles.”
The wine cellar beneath the west dining hall.
I had been expected there after dinner.
Silas invited me personally.
Private tasting.
Just the older men.
I had declined at the last minute because one of my captains arrived unexpectedly.
That small change had apparently saved me from whatever they arranged.
“What did they tell you about tomorrow?”
Peter touched the photograph.
“I sit by flowers.”
The wreath.
“And cry?”
He nodded.
“Gwendolyn said if I don’t cry, people think I don’t love you.”
I closed my eyes.
Cruelty layered over grief that had not even happened.
“What else?”
“Miles says he holds my hand.”
There.
Miles.
At my funeral.
Beside my son.
Publicly.
Protector.
Guardian.
Temporary father without the word.
I looked at Peter.
“You never have to prove you love me by crying.”
He stared.
“What if I don’t cry?”
“Still love.”
“What if I cry?”
“Still love.”
“Both?”
“Both.”
He accepted that.
Children understand freedom faster than adults.
Then he asked:
“Who gets your chair?”
My entire body went still.
“Who told you there’s a chair?”
“Miles.”
Of course.
“What did he say?”
Peter repeated it almost proudly:
“When Daddy’s gone, Uncle Miles keeps it warm for me.”
I stood slowly.
There it was.
Not simply murder.
Succession.
My death.
Miles’s temporary command.
Peter’s name used as justification.
A five-year-old heir placed in front of adults who wanted power now.
I looked toward the door.
May you like
My family had not been planning only my funeral.
They had been planning the government that came after it.
