The king was in his counting house,
Counting out his money;
The queen was in the parlor,
Eating bread and honey.
AN: This takes place during the middle of Season 1.
He sits in his office, the windows overlooking Manhattan's splendor – one of the perks, he thinks, of owning it all. He gets to live his life on top of the world, and who cares if Victoria doesn't love him any more? Victoria never loved him anyway, it was always only Vicky Harper. He can forget about that with Lydia, who might want him only for his money, but it does buy him so much. Her golden skin and golden hair – paid for by him – reflect the Grayson family's ever-growing coffers in a way that satisfies him far more than Lydia's presence in his bed.
What did Victoria want from him? She refused to give in to him for anything, yet demanded he pay court to her all the same, insisted that he sue for her attention like the rest of her swarm of attendants. He takes great pleasure in taking one of them, at least, away – her handmaiden, her friend. What matter that Lydia approached him first? Sometimes he suspects that she knew that house – the house she wanted so badly – was owned by their shadow company. That she had approached him only for the house. But she persists in the charade, no matter what her motivations, and by selling her the house he feels that he's paying her for services rendered, as well as her loyalty.
She could have asked for far more and he would have paid it gladly, if only to see Victoria suffer.
She twiddled her thumbs while Rome burned; well, at least, while her world came crashing down around her. Once again, and yet again – again and again and again.
Well, she didn't really, did she? She was continuously running interference for him, for them – but it wasn't enough, it was never enough.
His house is closed pending investigation and when it is put on the market, she and Conrad buy it. She spends the next decade escaping there infrequently yet regularly, making a pilgrimage the way she could not to his grave.
Visiting that house was a kind of self-flagellation and being there was the only way she could feel alive. She would never – could never – forgive Conrad for selling it to Lydia and Michael. It was harder to forgive him for that than anything else... well, almost anything else.
And now Lydia is sleeping with Conrad and the house belongs to Emily Thorne – none of which would have happened if only they had kept control of it.
She stands in her tower like a princess in a fairy tale; watching the house, she takes a sip of brandy and sinks, once again, into her memories.