Page 18 of Mistress of Lies

“Do you know what you are?” she asked, still breathless and raw, and Samuel couldn’t help the smug feeling that washed over him. He had been the one to shatter her carefully constructed airs, and for the first time since she arrived, he felt like he had the upper hand.

Turning away, he took an old handkerchief from his pocket and held it against the cut. Pressed firmly against it until it clotted. “So,” he asked, “am I not who you’re looking for?”

He heard her swallow hard. “No, you are, Samuel Aberforth. But you are also so much more.”

She stepped away from the wall, coming back into his line of sight, and held out the dagger to him, hilt first.

Looking down, he saw the shine of his blood still on it. Her words still ringing in his ears, he took the dagger and started absently cleaning it as well, till not a drop remained.

“I’m sorry, but did you just…” he finally said as he returned the dagger. But he stopped himself, shaking his head roughly. “No, the Aberforths are all dead. All but…”

“Yes,” she said. She no longer seemed shaken; no, she looked at him with a brightness in her eyes, and he might not know this Lady LeClaire, but he knew a schemer when he saw one. She was looking at him like he was the answer to all her questions, and he felt suddenly, desperately, unbalanced. “All but the King. Until now. You are the last living heir of the Aberforth line and the last descendant of our Eternal King.”

“No,” he whispered, freezing up. It could not be. Out of every single option he had ever considered, every nobleman he had wondered about, he had never dreamed it was the Mad Aberforth. Fate had already been cruel enough to him—it could not do this now.

“Samuel,” Shan said, gently, calmly, like she was speaking to a scared child or a skittish animal. “Do you understand what I am saying? Your father was Nathaniel Aberforth.”

“No,” he said stubbornly, looking down at her, at her pleading dark eyes and her gentle smile.

She took her hands in his, unable to hide her glee. “You are the answer to everything.”

There it was—the scheme. “I am not your puppet,” he swore, and she just smiled all the wider.

“And this is what you prefer?” she asked. Dropping his hands, she turned around, gesturing to the room around them. To its small quarters and its cheap, mismatched furniture. She pushed past him—graceful and elegant once more—and rummaged through his little pantry.

Rice.

Dried beans.

An apple so far gone that she wouldn’t even touch it.

“This?” She gestured again. “This paltry life?” Turning, she obviously, slowly, looked him over from top to bottom in a way that made him squirm. “I see you don’t have the strength to be a hard laborer, and your hands are too smooth to suggest that you work as a servant.”

“I am an accountant,” Samuel muttered crossly, clenching his hands at his side, discomforted by the fact that she had noticed him as much as he had noticed her.

“Ah, well, forgive me then.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “Surely keeping numbers for someone else’s profits is the life you’ve dreamed of.”

“What would you have of me?” he all but snarled. “Go the King? Grovel for a place at his side?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There is a perfectly legitimate system in place for recognizing bastard heirs,” she replied calmly. “No groveling involved.”

“But to what end? Don’t toy with me. I’m sure you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“No, of course not,” she said, clearly pleased. She stalked forward, into his space, and he could feel her breath hitch as she looked up at him. Something sparked between them, and she tilted her head to the side, exposing the long line of her neck. His eyes followed it, as naturally as the pull of gravity, and he forced himself to look away.

This was not just foolish, it was dangerous.

Yet he could feel her next to him, the warmth of her presence, the pull of her charm. Except for the brief break caused by his power, she had been strong, confident, commanding, ever since he found her in his room. And that momentary slip didn’t make her any less compelling—if anything, it made him want to take her apart bit by bit, strip away each layer until he found the true woman underneath.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep, steadying breath. “Just speak.”

“The King would welcome you,” she said, softly, her words a whisper against skin. “After the passing of his entire family, he mourned them for years. But now, I can give his family back to him.”

And just like that, the allure faded, all the mystery gone in the blink of an eye. “You want to ride my coattails to power,” he realized. “A simple glory hound.”

He might as well have smacked her. She rocked back on her heels, her hand clenched at her side. “I found you, Samuel Aberforth, don’t you forget that. I am no mere opportunist. I already have power, more than you could ever realize. This? This is just one of my many plans in play.”

Samuel smiled, cruelly, and she leaned in. “And I should thank you for that?”