Page 79 of A Prince Among Pirates
He releases me and I fall back a step, then whirl around and stumble over to the fireplace. I lean against the mantel, gripping the solid wood as I hunch over and suck in the hot air from the fire. It tastes of soot and bile, and the effect is immediate: I swallow hard and give a cough, but I manage to keep the now-soured wine in my stomach.
“I need—”
“I’ll leave you be for now,” Henry—no, myfathersays from behind me. “I’ll return when you’ve had some time to collect yourself.”
How can Ipossiblycollect myself? I’ve lost everything, all at once. I’ve lost Captain Sharpe and the twins. Billy and Mr. Tydes and Rodriguez and the whole crew. Now my father and my stepmother, and even Victoria—whom I admit I never much liked, but Ihadalways considered her blood. He’s takenallof them from me.
And at the same time, he has given me this immeasurable gift: my mother’s face… andhim. My father. Myrealfather, who pulled me into his arms without hesitation to comfort me in a moment of need.
That has to mean something, doesn’t it?
I listen to the sound of his heels retreating, but I don’t dare break my gaze away from the fire until I hear the click of the drawing room door closing behind him. He never answered my questions about my crew—about Captain Sharpe. A new wave of grief washes over me.
But even in my current state, I note that for the first time since I arrived here, the door to the apartments is left unlocked.
Twenty-Eight
I don’t know how Henry imagines I can simply act as if my entire life up till just last week hasn’t been a lie, but he does. I can’t yet bring myself to call him Father. I’m not even sure he wants me to—but at least the children of kings are still expected to use their formal titles in public spaces, so I am safe from any awkwardness for now.
The realization that everyone around me knew the truth before I did comes in the days that follow. Even Renard knew. He knew my deepest secret before I did, and he used it against me. Against mycrew. The utter violation of it makes my innards twist into nauseating knots. I hate him more with every passing day. And I miss my crew, and my dear captain. Every time I think of it, my heart starts racing and I fear I will be sick.
At least one good thing has come of it: Thomas is officially my valet, and I do like him a great deal. Somethingabout him feels like home—the same way the twins felt like home. There is a camaraderie between us that is at once painful and beautiful.
Even now he is setting my nerves at ease simply by annoying me as he expertly plaits my hair back. “Are you certain you won’t wear a wig, Your Highness?”
“I’m not sure you’re supposed to call me that,” I point out. “I’m not a prince.”
“But you are His Majesty’s son.”
“Not officially,” I remind Thomas. “And yes, I’m sure I won’t wear a wig. I don’t have a title or a place in the House, so I don’t have to wear a stuffy wig.” Thomas gives an exasperated sigh, and I smile. “I’ll let you rouge my cheeks if that will placate you.”
Thomas laughs at that and steps around me after tying a ribbon into the bottom of my plait. “I’m not going to rouge your cheeks, my lord. You already look like a rake without a wig, simply because youareone. Rouging your cheeks would only heighten the effect.”
This startles a laugh out of me. The only time I feel normal is when Thomas is around to bicker with me. I like that he is comfortable enough to do so, because Ineedthat. It feels familiar, and safe, and so long as I am doing verbal battle with Thomas over meaningless things like my choice of clothes or hairstyle, I’m not thinking about how my life is in shambles or how my recklessness likely got the crew of theDeliverancekilled.
The only true family I have ever known, and their blood ison my hands. Viscount Falmouth was right about one thing—Iamcursed.
It has been days with no news, despite my asking every day. I truly fear the worst—that if theydidsurvive, each day that passes is another they could be hanged at the executioner’s dock. While I sit here, being dressed for a goddamnedball.
The ball tonight will be held in the Orangery, a pavilion built in the gardens next to the palace. I let Thomas pull me to my feet so he can smooth out my silk jacket. He has selected indigo for me to wear, which is a bold choice. I’m sure I’ll get a few looks for it—but I imagine he wouldn’t have chosen a royal color for me to parade about in without the king’s suggesting it.
I stare at the shape of myself in the mirror as he checks me over for any flaws. I almost look the part of a prince tonight—a bastard prince, but a prince nonetheless. I wonder what the Christopher-Henry of nine months ago might have thought of this revelation. I think I would have relished the news, had it come before my great escape into the world—before I learned what familial love feels like.
I suck in a breath and blink my eyes to keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks. I let Thomas and the room around me fade away as I stare into my mother’s face gazing back at me in the mirror. I wonder if Tristan fell to his death from the rigging, like in my nightmares, or if he was arrested and hanged like the rest of them.
Would they have been merciful to him, if they realized he wasn’t entirely as he appeared? Would that even be merciful, toallow him to live while the rest were hanged? And what about Billy and Naeem? What about Jacoby and all the other men I didn’t have time to get to know firsthand? Were they sold and sent back to the colonies?
The very thought makes me sick.
I turn, startling Thomas with my sudden movement. I don’t stop to apologize, though—I push past him and grab the pitcher of clean water from the washbasin. But before I can pour some out, Thomas snatches the pitcher away.
“Oh, no you don’t!” he says, setting it down and ushering me away from the basin. “I won’t have you getting these silks wet with another of your fits. Have some tea.”
“I don’t want tea.”
“Then have some wine.”
I glance to the decanter full of wine on the small tray Thomas smuggled in for me after walking into my room following Henry’s confession and finding me crying on the floor. I nod and pour a small glass from the decanter. It’s a robust, sweet red wine with a hint of oak and cloves. I sip at the glass until my nerves are calmed, then finish off the rest in one gulp.
