I did not return her embrace, only stood frozen in her grip. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t, he’ll–”

“No,” I interrupted. “Why did you tell Father that Tristan was going to try to get the law changed?”

“It’s information everyone will know by tomorrow,” she said.

“That’s not the point,” I exclaimed, pushing her away. “If the law had been changed, think of how many lives could’ve been saved. But now Father will go to the public audience tomorrow, and you know he’ll argue against it.”

“Penny–”

“I thought you were better than that,” I said. Wasn’t that half the reason I was doing this? To pull Tristan from the throne and put Anaïs on it in his place because she’d be an improvement? Or had I been wrong to believe that? “Don’t you care about making Trollus better at all?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

I glared at her. “If you were Queen, you’d have a chance to undo laws like these. A chance to improve circumstances for the half-bloods – to allow them lives worth living. Haven’t you ever thought of that?”

“I’m not a sympathizer,” she blurted out. “What exactly do you expect from me?”

So much more.

“I never thought I’d say this, but you’re cut from the same cloth as Father,” I spat. “Self-interested to the core, no matter what it costs everyone else.”

A flash of something crossed over her eyes. “Penny, that’s not… I…”

She couldn’t even say it. Couldn’t even deny that it was true.

“I care about you,” she finished weakly. “You know I love you.”

“I do,” I said. “But between you, Grandmother, and Father, I’m not sure what love means. If it means anything at all.”

I purposefully left early for the palace to avoid having to walk with my family, entering with the crowds of commoners and half-bloods who’d queued to ensure they secured a place in the throne room. Public audiences with His Majesty often grew quite raucous – a form of entertainment for those who could afford no other.

Making my way into the enormous room, I wove my way to the front where the aristocrats had their places, searching for Marc’s tall form. He stood next to his father, their heads bent in conversation, which they broke off at my approach.

“Pénélope? I… What are you doing here?”

I couldn’t see Marc’s face, but there was no missing his anxiety as his head whipped back and forth between me and his father, confirming my suspicion that he had no desire for his family to know we’d been spending time alone together. Which wasn’t unexpected, but it stung, nevertheless.

“My lord,” I said, bobbing a slight curtsey for the Comte, who inclined his head, brow creasing with a frown. “I came because I heard I might find you here. I’m sorry about how we left things when last we spoke.”

Marc’s father’s frown deepened, but he only said, “If you’ll excuse me,” then walked in the direction of the throne.