36. Chapter Thirty-Six - Leigh
It’s not true, please.
Tell me it’s not true.
It can’t be.
“Mother?” The crack of my voice rings in the cavernous foyer.
The moment I step into my former family home, a wave of unfamiliarity suffocates me.
In the last year, my mom got rid of every piece of furniture that existed here when my father and brother were alive, replacing warm, comforting pieces with cold, modern designs.
The walls, once adorned with cherished family photos, now bear the cold stare of black-and-white images captured by renowned photographers.
Strangers, celebrities, and high-fashion pieces have replaced the smiling faces of my loved ones.
Their lifeless eyes follow me as I navigate the hallways, each step echoing with memories that are like distant whispers.
Hot anger churns inside me.
Mom has been a ghost for months since the truth about Don being the Magician came out.
She left, leaving me to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives alone.
It’s like she’s trying to erase any memory of Father, Fynn, and me.
I follow the scent of mother’s rose perfume toward the sitting room.
I need her to say it.
I need to hear her say Stellan is lying .
Fynn can’t be Don’s son.
It would destroy everything.
It would destroy me .
My mother couldn’t have had a relationship with my uncle.
She despises Don, and he loathes her in return.
But there’s a fine line between hate and love, isn’t there?
I shake my head.
No, I couldn’t have misread their interactions for twenty years.
Mother needs to tell everyone.
She must kill the story before it spreads.
I find my mother seated near an easel, painting a beach scene.
Haunting strings of a violin drift from a nearby speaker as the news plays silently on the TV in the background, its flickering images flickering revealing she’s heard the story about Fynn.
“Are you going to tell them it’s not true?” I ask.
Her magic swirls murky water around her paintbrush, the colors bleeding together like the secrets and lies threatening to drown us all.
“Hello, Leigh.” Mother sighs.
“I had a feeling I’d see you today.”
I scoff.
If that’s true, she could have picked up the phone and saved us both the hassle of me coming here.
I should be at the precinct giving a statement about my failed kidnapping or calling Wilder after what happened at the rally in Aurora, not here.
“Well?” I prompt.
Mother refuses to meet my gaze.
She can pretend Don doesn’t exist all she wants, but the world outside these walls won’t.
Stellan’s accusations are spreading like wildfire, and she’s at the eye of the storm.
One word from her—just one—calling him a liar could shatter his credibility.
His followers would start to doubt, his influence would wane, and this nightmare could end.
It’s time for her to step up and do something to help me.
Be kind to your mother, Father’s ghost warns, appearing beside me.
He stares between me and my mother with watery gray eyes.
She doesn’t seem aware he’s here.
Mother never glances in his direction.
Is he concealing himself on purpose?
You two need to talk.
I will only get in the way, Father explains to me.
“Stellan’s article—I know you’ve seen it.” I gesture wildly to the TV as reporters speculate about Stellan’s words and what they mean for the monarchy.
“The accusations are outrageous, and it’s on every channel.” I pick up the remote with a shaky hand and scroll through channel after channel for emphasis while my mother pointedly stares at her painting.
“They are saying Fynn is Don’s kid.” Mother’s ice blue eyes finally meet mine.
I’m struck by how devoid of emotion they are.
I squeeze the remote.
The plastic creaks under the pressure.
“Some people might question if I am, too.”
Mother returns to her painting.
“Now that’s just ridiculous,” she says.
“You are Gwyn’s daughter. Anyone can see that—you two are so much alike. So headstrong in your beliefs. Heaven, help anyone who stands in your way. Even as a child, you were steadfast in your ways. I’d tell you no, while Gwyn would say yes. It was?—”
“I know I am my father’s daughter. I can see his ghost. But that doesn’t mean people won’t speculate. What about Fynn? Are you going to let Stellan tarnish his memory by linking him to that . . . murderer?”
Slowly, Mother sets her paintbrush down and faces me.
“Leigh, there’s something you must understand.” Dark circles bruise under her eyes.
Has she been sleeping?
“When I discovered I was pregnant with Fynn, your father and I were already getting married. We made the choice not to say anything about Don or?—”
“Wait. What? ” I shriek.
Her words steal my strength.
I grip the back of the sofa and notice my father still hovering nearby, hidden from Mother.
When our eyes meet, he doesn’t cower or flinch.
“You knew?” I say to him, my voice breaking on the words.
He nods, and my world shatters like crystal.
“Of course I knew,” Mother responds, thinking I am talking to her.
“I had been in a secret relationship with Don before your grandparents betrothed me to Gwyn. We were having fun and hadn’t been the most careful.”
“You speak as if you and Don broke a rule or two, not as if you were having sex with your husband’s brother!” The words explode from me.
Mother cringes, but I can’t find it in myself to feel guilty.
Not when every revelation is another knife in my back.
Stellan will have a field day with this.
I came here expecting— needing —her to debunk Stellan’s lies.
Instead, she’s confirming the unthinkable: she and Don had a relationship.
My father knew.
He helped her hide it.
My mother and Don.
The words are like poison in my mind.
All those years I watched them trade barbs and cold shoulders across dinner tables and family gatherings.
Was it all just an act?
“I was never unfaithful to your father, Leigh. I called things off with Don months before my first date with Gwyn. Three months before we were betrothed.”
I clutch at the hollowness in my chest.
It’s like a chasm threatening to pull me and everything around me into a sunless void.
So Stellan was right about Fynn, after all.
But the question remains: how did he know?
“Who else knew about you and Don?” I ask.
Mother purses her lips and rises from her stool.
“Sit down, you are upset?—”
“Of course, I am upset! I just learned that you had a relationship with my uncle! The man responsible for my father and Fynn’s deaths! Do you have any idea how this could ruin our country?” I exclaim.
As my mother drifts past me, her perfume envelops me, tightening like handcuffs.
This woman lied to me for my entire life.
Even my father lied to me.
We thought we were doing the right thing , Father’s ghost says.
The right thing would have been telling me the truth years ago.
Instead, I had to learn about my family’s secrets alongside millions of strangers, watching my life unravel in real-time on social media.
The humiliation burns deep, horror clawing at my insides.
And now, standing here in my childhood home, facing my mother’s guilty silence, I’ve never felt more utterly, completely alone.
My mother collapses on the pristine white sofa in her matching white dress.
White is the color of purity, perfection, and honesty, but it no longer suits her.
“Sit with me, Leigh. We need to talk.” Mother’s voice cracks, a sound so unfamiliar I flinch.
I perch on the edge of the couch beside her, my spine straight, muscles tense—ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
Father’s ghost sits close to Mother, his ethereal presence a mean reminder of all the secrets between us.
She can’t see him, can’t feel the comfort he’s trying to offer her, but I can.
And it burns.
She’s had twenty-four years to live with this truth, while my world is shattering.
My nails cut into my palms.
Hot tears of rage blur my vision.
Is this why my father came back?
Not for me, but to keep watching over my mother and her secrets?
I swallow the golf ball of grief in my throat and say, “Start from the beginning.”
Mother nods, her eyes glassy.
“Don and I were in the same year at Sussex, and every girl had a crush on him. Unlike your father, who preferred the company of books, Don was the life of the party. We should never have fallen for each other. There was a rumor that I would marry Gwyn one day, but Gwyn was four years older than me, and we hardly had anything in common. He was already performing his princely duties and was not interested in me, so I wasn’t interested in him.”
“You sound na?ve.” I cringe at the cruelty in my voice.
Mother’s eyes flash with a hint of the fire she keeps carefully hidden beneath her cool exterior.
“Leigh, I was eighteen. You try to control a hormonal teenager. I couldn’t with you.”
“We aren’t talking about me.”
“No, we aren’t,” Mother agrees with a sigh.
“Anyway, Don and I had our first friendly conversation at a Yule party a year before my engagement to your father. Your father ignored me. He was too busy with his friends and appeasing his future councilors, who all wanted a word with the future king. But Don made time for me. I’d been a wallflower, dressed up like a doll to resemble everything my parents were told your father wanted, but it wasn’t your father who noticed me. Don and I spent the whole night talking about the impossible expectations of our parents. I had never felt so seen .”
Bile inches higher and higher.
My uncle brought my mousy mother out of her shell.
“After the party, Don and I were inseparable,” she continues.
“But, to avoid disturbing the fragile peace between our families, we carried on secretly. As the months ticked by, the more besotted we grew, the more risks we took to be together. Our meetings were often spur-of-the-moment and reckless.”
I groan.
“I’m going to hurl.”
Leigh, Father chastises as Mother’s cheeks flush.
I ignore him.
How he sits composed while Mother spills her heart out about her intimate relationship with his younger brother is beyond me.
“If you and Don were together, and you were pregnant, why did you not marry him ?” I ask.
Mother shakes her head.
“Don never knew. Knowing the scandal would disrupt the realm, your father and I kept it between us. We raised Fynn as ours and promised each other that we would never speak of it to anyone again.”
“Stop lying,” I say.
Someone told Stellan.
Either Mother is the mole, or she confided in someone.
That someone is my rat; the traitor in our midst.
Mother pales.
“Leigh, I wouldn’t?—”
“You’ve been lying to me my entire life. Someone told Stellan about Fynn, which means you or Father told another person about your secret. Who?” I stare between my parents, my gaze accusing.
Once I unmask the mole’s identity, I can get the Council to stop pointing fingers and listen to me again.
They will reunite once Stellan no longer threatens them, and they will hear me out when I say marrying Alden doesn’t secure peace for our nation.
There are other ways to do that.
Mother follows my gaze to where Father sits.
Her eyes widen.
“Is Gwyn here now?”
My father scowls at me.
“You have no right to be angry,” I tell him.
Mother blinks.
“What’s your father saying?” she asks, but I refuse to look away from Father.
We made a mistake, Father’s voice is firm.
My smile is unkind.
“A mistake is forgetting to take out the garbage. What you two did changed everything! Fynn was never the rightful heir to the throne. Yet you lied to me and everyone about it to protect your secret.” I was always meant to be queen, and my family was intent on never telling me.
My mother bursts into tears, covering her face with her paint-crusted hands, shoulders hunching.
“Did Fynn know?” I ask.
“No,” Mother says, while my father says, Yes.
My jaw sets.
I don’t know whom to believe.
“Leigh, you were never meant to know,” Mother exclaims.
“So that makes it okay?”
Mother cries harder.
“You made me feel that my becoming queen was stealing from Fynn.” I focus on my anger to keep my tears at bay.
“I almost gave up the crown to Don because I didn’t think I deserved it. But it’s been mine all along.”
I lift my hair off my neck.
The room is boiling.
It is too full of secrets and lies.
“None of this is okay,” Mother wails.
“But, Leigh, I have no idea how Stellan found out.”
“I do,” I say.
“It was Don. Even from prison, he is still calling the shots.”
Mother’s eyes bulge.
“You’re mistaken. Don never knew about Fynn.”
Father nods.
“But do you know for sure?” I lean forward.
Mother’s hands fidget in her lap.
As the Magician, Don had access to many secrets.
It’s possible that someone in Eos somehow found out about Fynn and reported their findings to him.
Alternatively, Fynn might have confronted Don about his true parentage, even though they were never close.
Don might not be the one contacting Stellan directly, but he could have a loyal supporter on the Council who is leaking information on his behalf.
I think of all the letters at home, unopened on my bedside table.
Could Don have warned me this would happen?
Is there something about Fynn penned on those pages?
“Don couldn’t have known,” Mother says with conviction “In the months leading up to my wedding with Gwyn, Don got back together with Lilura di Siena. The night he found out I was pregnant, he announced his intention to marry Lilura, but she called off the engagement shortly after. Don was dealing with quite a lot when Fynn first came into the picture. Questioning mine and Gwyn’s timeline was not his top priority.”
My chest tightens.
I try to control my breathing, but each exhale comes out short and ragged.
I never knew Don had been engaged to Gianna’s aunt.
Our family history is overflowing with more scandals than Tsilah Cemetery has bodies.
People are furious about Stellan’s articles, and I understand their anger, but how can I prevent these explosions when I’m constantly blindsided by the past?
“We need to confront Don,” I say.
“If he’s behind the information leaks to Stellan, we must get him to confess or reveal who his accomplice is. Once we have that information, we can go public with it.”
My eyes lock with my mother’s.
“Think about it. If we can expose Don’s involvement and the identity of his informant, we can take control of the narrative. We can show the people that we’re not hiding anything and are willing to be transparent about our family’s past to build a brighter future.”
“No! Stellan is trying to tear our country apart by discussing my private business. I will not help him by indulging in the gossip mongering.”
I balk.
“You are helping him by saying nothing. If you come clean, you can clear my name and any questions about my rule. You can help me regain control of the Council.”
Mother glares at me, her jaw set.
She will weather this storm, holed up away from prying eyes, thinking it will all blow over.
Except it won’t.
“I won’t do it,” she says with finality.
“You’re making a mistake.” I rise on jellied limbs.
“You know I love you, L-Leigh.” Mother’s voice cracks.
“Then tell the truth. Regain our people’s trust. Regain my trust.”
“My silence is protecting you.”
My heart is as heavy as lead as I turn and stride for the front door.
Mother doesn’t call after me.
Fine.
I’ll find my own answers.
My father follows.
What are you doing?
I take my belongings from the housekeeper.
“Sorting the mess you made,” I reply.
How?
Father asks.
Stepping outside, I shrug my coat on.
“By talking to the person responsible for ruining all our lives.”
I slide into the back seat of my car and shut the door at my father’s look of horror.
“How’d it go?” Isolde asks, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Terrible.”
“What did your mom say about your brother?”
“I need time to process. Please take me home.” The words come out calm, controlled, even as my mind races ahead to Don’s letters and the conversation I need to have with Ravi.
I don’t have to see Don in person if there’s a way to astral project into the prison.
Isolde drives along the familiar road to the palace.
I stare out the window, watching the world pass by in a blur of colors.
How did my life get so wrecked?