Maxon

I should have known by the look on Aspen's face what he wanted to talk about, by the slightly stiffer way in which he carried himself up from the table, by the careful way in which he allowed all of the other council members to leave before he turned back.

I had a bad habit after meetings such as these to be so preoccupied with matters of State that I would be almost entirely unaware of my surroundings until it was almost too late. Fortunately, "too late" these days really only meant that I had a slightly less pleasurable conversation with someone because I had no time to prepare mentally beforehand. At one time in my life, it might have meant death or a caning. I much preferred this version of "too late," no matter how unpleasant.

"Your Majesty," he said as he nodded his head in my direction. "If you don't mind, I do have something of a—" His voice trailed off for a moment, and he took another furtive glance around the room before he lowered his voice and continued. "—a delicate nature to discuss with you."

I raised an eyebrow as I nodded. "Of course."

What was it? An update on Elise's New Asia ambassadorship? It had only been a couple of years since we'd ended the ridiculous war my father cared so much about, but I couldn't think of anything which could be putting up roadblocks in that negotiation. Not now.

Could it be something about America's family? My aunt Adele and her children? Were they all safe? Was it the Northern rebels? Was I approaching the day when I would regret making even the slightest alliance with them?

Aspen seemed to be watching me. "It's about the Robin case you put me on."

I gathered from the code name he gave me that he had realized how confused and lost I was. The word Robin brought it all sharply back into focus. After all, historically, there had been a tendency to use bird species to discuss the movements of heads of states for decades. "Eagle" had been a code for the President of the United States of America who knew how long ago, and while it wasn't currently used (to my knowledge) to describe the Royal Family of Illéa, I knew enough to catch the meaning.

Aspen was talking about my sister.

"Oh." My voice sounded flat and resigned as if I had no interest behind the code name. It was, of course, somewhat of a ruse to protect against any listening ears. I was, in fact, deeply curious. More curious than I'd even dared to tell America.

What was her name? What was she like? Was the woman I'd found to be one of the villains in this breach of my family's sanctity as horrible a parent as my father? Had she passed her inflated ego and entitlement to her daughter? Would I even be tempted to follow protocol and have her executed? Did I want to be?

The troubling questions ran round and round my head. The worst part was the fear that I'd never get the answers—that Eadlyn would find herself blindsided by an aunt she hadn't known existed with a claim to the throne which she'd never expected.

"I take it you found something?"

I tried to play it off as casually as possible, but my heart hadn't gotten the memo. It had leapt into my throat and begun thumping loudly in my ears.

He nodded curtly as if he was afraid the walls had ears. He handed me a stiff paper which he'd folded up in quarters so that it would easily fit in the right pocket of a uniform.

I looked at him as I unfolded the paper. Then, I glanced down, surprised to find a photograph. It looked creased as if it had been looked so many times that the photograph was nearly falling apart. It seemed so odd to me that I almost missed the picture of the girl in the park with glasses over her eyes, half of her face hidden as she studied what appeared to be an old page in a large, heavy book.

I blinked.

Books were practically extinct in Illéa. America and I had hopes of sparking a journalistic revolution down the road, but that didn't mean I wasn't startled by the picture nonetheless.

"This is her?" My voice sounded hoarse, and I realized I had the beginnings of emotion stirring in me at this image.

A memory of asking my mother for any siblings, not just a little brother but anything she was willing to give me came back all of a sudden along with the melancholy smile she offered me as she told me that no one gets everything they want, not even the royal family.

I could almost see my mother's fingerprints on the possible family reunion though the thought of my mother as I looked at my father's illegitimate daughter made my heart ache. No matter how painful it might have been for her, I knew my mother would have asked that I get a chance to meet my sister, to know I was not alone in my burden.

Aspen nodded in response to my question. So, this was the infamous half-sister I'd been tracking down.

America was right, I sighed as I ran a thumb over the well-worn photograph. I couldn't just have her executed. It was against my nature to throw away human life as cavalierly as my father had once done.

My chest tightened as the realization dawned on me. I was likely signing away my daughter's rule, and she was only a few months old. One day she'd grow to resent me for it, I was sure.

"Where?"

My throat was too tight to be able to express my question adequately, but Aspen seemed to understand that the question referred to the photograph in my hand.

"There was a box of carefully squirreled away items your father's butler removed before you had a chance to find them," Aspen said as if secret royal time capsules with photographic evidence of a second Schreave heir was a regular occurrence in the palace.

Something inside me wilted as I realized how often my father's fingers had once opened and closed this photograph. "Do you know what this is?"

Aspen was silent, only raised an eyebrow in my direction.

"Further confirmation that I was my father's second-favorite child." I sighed as I folded the photograph back up.

I could feel Aspen's gaze on me though I was determined not to give any more information than I already had. The truth was that I had once again coerced Aspen into helping me commit treason—and I was the king.

I didn't really like the idea of adding anything more to what Aspen must already think of the previous king. I'd save that for America when I saw her later tonight. I couldn't help noticing the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Why, after all of the criticism and the abuse, did I still care about my father's approval? Why when the man had been dead for over two years did his disapproval still sting so sharply?

"Have you found her then?" I asked, looking up at Aspen.

He shook his head. "Not quite yet, Your Majesty. There were letters in the box. Papers. A house which might have been purchased under great secrecy by your father nearly fifteen years ago. I've nearly unraveled the money trail to determine for sure."

A sick feeling churned in the pit of my stomach as I remembered my father's infidelity. How like the hypocrite to condemn a guard and a girl to death for some so-called traitorous infidelity while he lavished expensive gifts on his own mistress under the nose of my own trusting mother.

"It should be easier now that you know what she looks like," I said with a sigh as I passed the photograph back over to him.

He nodded once again. "The sketch you managed to give me of her mother helped as well."

I nodded grimly. "I expect it did though I wish I could have given you more than just a picture."

Aspen shrugged as he tucked the photograph back into a pocket in his uniform. "When I find her, what would you like me to do?"

I swallowed. That was the question, wasn't it?

"Just tell me what you find," I said slowly as I sank into my desk chair. "Tell me what you find, and I'll take it from there."

Aspen hesitated for a moment. I wondered if he was questioning my wisdom, but he was too loyal to say anything less than perfectly respectful here. Then, he nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. I hope to have more information for you in the next week."

He bowed slightly before he moved toward the exit. I rubbed my face with my hand. Oh, it was all getting so complicated. And I owed it all to my exemplary father, the Honorable King Clarkson Schreave of Illéa.

A look of disgust settled on my features. Loathing pooled in the pit of my stomach like it often did with even the slightest hint of a thought of my father.

Thanks, Dad.