Chapter 3
EVA
Ma?tre Duret stands behind the desk, hands folded like he’s about to perform a baptism.
“My sincere condolences to you all,” he begins after Pauline and I sit. “The duke and his son were pillars of this duchy. Their sudden loss is not just a tragedy for the Castellane family, but for all Rohinn!”
Brigitte, her inseparable glass in one hand, dabs a linen handkerchief at the corner of her eye with the other hand. Beside me, Millie’s lips quiver. She clasps her hands tightly in her lap and stares at the bookshelves across the room, no doubt wishing she could disappear into them.
I fight the urge to gather her in my arms.
She’s fine, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. She’s grief-stricken, but she’s all right. Her condition is manageable with proper care. I’ve done everything to give her a normal life. The best doctors, ironclad privacy, top-notch treatment plans. Geoffroy was fully on board.
Millie loved him and Julian dearly.
What a shame her father was undeserving of her devotion! I’ll never tell her that, of course. What good would that do? I want her to remain proud of him and of her heritage. Not to mention if I told her Geoffroy wasn’t a good man, I’d have to explain why. And that is out of the question.
As for Julian… Shallow and petty as he was, he doted on his little half sister. He was almost my age, but he used to play with Millie the way a young father would—shoulder rides, hide-and-seek, tag… Geoffroy never did that.
She’ll miss Julian keenly. And I’ll miss him, too, on her behalf.
Pauline sits perfectly straight on my other side with pen in hand and notepad open. Alex’s lawyer, Derek, leans back in his chair with one ankle casually resting on his knee. Should I interpret it as he doesn’t expect to hear anything worthy of noting down?
That’s a good sign, right?
And Alex… Alex is stone. Not a muscle moves.
No sign of life, except for subtle flex of his jaw.
He gazes at Ma?tre Duret with a vaguely bored look on his face.
I imagine Alex wearing that precise look when forced to attend a lecture by a fellow faculty member he considers too inferior, which is likely 99 percent of his colleagues.
Duret clears his throat and opens a folder.
My heart speeds up.
“I appreciate you all being here on such short notice,” he begins, voice thinner now. “Before we begin, I need to state—”
From the corner of my eye, I see Brigitte shifting. She takes a swig from her glass and shoots a glance at Millie. Then at Alex. At Millie again. At Alex again. Then at me.
I meet her eyes, and she offers a smile that’s supposed to be reassuring. But it’s lopsided and utterly unconvincing.
Why is she so nervous?
The only reason Ma?tre Duret invited Alex to the reading was to ensure protocol was followed. There’s no way Geoffroy bequeathed him more than some worthless trinket. I’m certain of it. I haven’t seen his will, but he’s spoken about it on several occasions, in Julian’s presence.
Duret fidgets with a binder in his hands. “So. I… Um… There is no will.”
Silence.
Millie looks up at me. I freeze.
Pauline lowers her pen slowly. “Excuse me?”
“What did you say?” Brigitte asks the notary, her voice shaking.
Duret swallows. “Geoffroy Castellane, twenty-eighth Duke of Rohinn, your son, my lady, and”—he turns to me—“your husband, Your Grace, did not file a will.”
“That’s not possible,” I hear myself say.
“With respect, Ma?tre Duret,” Pauline intervenes, “just because he didn’t file one with you doesn’t mean he didn’t at all. He must’ve used another notary. Probably a royal one in Pombrio.”
Duret bristles. “I checked with every registry, Ma?tre Falkenrath. Both local and royal. There is no legal testament on record.”
Pauline opens her mouth to argue, then shuts it without a word. She looks stunned. So does everyone else.
Duret flips open his binder, head wobbling. “I’ve been reminding him for years…”
I close my eyes, overwhelmed. This can’t be true. Please, this can’t be happening!
When I open my eyes, Duret is displaying the contents of the binder. “I have all the correspondence here. Emails. Letters. Follow-ups. He kept saying he would address it soon. That it was a priority. But…” He looks up at me. “He never did.”
I shake my head. “No. He told me he’d done it. You must check again. There must be a will.”
“Have you seen it, or a copy of it, Your Grace?” he asks.
I hang my head. “No, I haven’t.”
Pauline speaks up, voice sharp. “He told us more than once—both of us, and Julian—that he’d filed his will, along with the paperwork to opt out of the entail.”
I nod, recalling one of those occasions. “The Reigning Prince Richard was present during one such conversation. You can ask him!”
Brigitte chimes in. “I was there, too. Prince Richard said he had no objections to ending the archaic entail. That he would sign off on it as soon as it reached his desk.”
“I don’t doubt your words, Your Grace.” Duret’s expression pinches. “But I’m afraid no such document was ever filed with the Office of Inheritance or the Royal Records Division. There is no original or signed copy.”
“That means…?” I stare at him, not daring to voice the implication.
“In the absence of a notarized amendment to the entail, it remains in force,” Duret replies.
Oh, God.
“It cannot be,” I press, refusing to believe it. “Geoffroy named Millie as the next in line after Julian. He said he’d make sure Rohinn would go to his darling girl, rather than to—”
I bite my tongue before I can blurt “that useless little prick, Alex.” Which is what Geoffroy usually called his half brother.
“No need to censor yourself, Eva,” Alex says.
This is the first time he’s spoken since the shocking announcement. All eyes turn to him.
“I’m quite aware of the endearments Geoffroy had for me,” he adds. “He never hesitated to repeat them to my face.”
Duret looks at Brigitte, his voice a whisper. “I’m sorry, my lady.” Then at me, “And Your Grace.” And, finally, at Millie, “And you, Lady Millicent.”
She stares at him, wide-eyed and uncomprehending.
“Without a will,” he explains to her, “and with the entail still in place… the inheritance and the title default to the male next of kin, Monsieur Alexandre Castellane, the new Duke of Rohinn.”
“You mean, everything?” Brigitte chokes out.
Duret drops his head to his chest. “Yes, everything.”
Silence again, this time colder.
Brigitte won’t look at me. Millie straightens her back, as if to prove she won’t break down. Her father’s negligence stripped her of her birthright and left her with nothing, even though her treatment costs half a million a year. Still, she refuses to let it show.
Oh, my sweet darling! How could he do this to you?
Pauline shuts her notepad. “This is legally outrageous. You’re telling me that a man in his sixties, who oversaw hundreds of contracts every year, failed to plan his own estate?”
“I agree it’s irregular,” Duret says. “But it is the legal state of affairs.”
He gives me an apologetic look, before glancing sideways, at Alex. I follow his gaze. Alex doesn’t move. He sits like marble, eyes steady on the notary. Not surprised. Not smug. Just… resigned.
I turn fully toward him. “That’s why you’re here.”
“I received a summons, just like you did.” He meets my stare. “And, like you, I was convinced Geoffroy had done away with the entail.”
Derek lifts a brow. “My client was under the impression a will would be read. It is preposterous to blame him for the lack of one.”
“No one’s blaming anyone, Derek,” Pauline says, rattled enough to skip the customary Ma?tre Albrighi.
I snap my attention back to Alex. “So what? You’re going to just… take everything? The estate? The title? The duchy?”
Before he can reply, Derek jumps in, “By law, it reverts to the male next of kin, namely, your husband’s brother. My client.”
“Eva, don’t,” Pauline whispers to me. “Not now, not here.”
“No!” I wave her off. “Primogeniture and representation are the law of this land, and my daughter is Geoffroy’s child. His only surviving child. And you—” I jab a finger at Alex, “—you haven’t spoken to your brother in what, five years?”
“Six,” Alex corrects me.
Pauline rises. “We’ll contest this. You can count on it.”
“You are within your rights, of course.” Duret lets out a sigh. “But until a court says otherwise…”
He trails off. Everyone looks at Alex.
Everyone waits.
“I’d like to see the estate’s financials,” Alex says to me. “If I’m expected to manage this duchy, be it for a short while or the long-term, I need the numbers.”
My blood boils.
Millie is breathing too fast beside me. Alex doesn’t even glance at her.
“You don’t deserve any of this,” I hiss.
He gives me a tight smile. “That’s never been a requirement.”
I want to throw something at him. I want to scream that I’ll fight him in the Royal Court, and in the court of public opinion. Oh, and I’ll also curse the entail. He’ll regret ever accepting it! I want to storm out, slamming the door…
But I can’t do any of those things.
I’m physically incapable of it.
Father made sure years ago, when I was Millie’s age, to whip such uncouth acts out of me for good.