Tragic King (The Dominant Bastard Duology 2)

“That’s how it would have happened if there was poetic justice in the world, but sadly, it was a heart attack. Quick.” His expression blanked briefly before being replaced with what seemed to be his pleasant resting countenance.

A moment of silence passed before Loïc slapped the arms of his chair.

“Well, enough of that unpleasantness. I’m not here to pretend I regret the bitch is dead.”

Minnow stifled a sound of surprise. Who knew candor was hereditary?

“You weren’t close?” Severin finally managed to say. He didn’t know how to feel. Their mother had cast him off, but sons weren’t supposed to rejoice over their mothers’ deaths. Besides, gloating wouldn’t change anything. He’d never wanted her dead. He’d only wanted to know why she’d thrown him away.

“I have no idea what you were told, mon frère, but you were lucky to escape when you did.”

Hell. Barely past seven in the morning, and he was already eying the drink cart. What had the others endured? Surely not the same, or they would have been sent away too.

“I’ve always wondered if some of what I remembered was a dream, or if I’ve misconstrued or misremembered things.” There were too many clues though. Too many flashbacks.

“Not only is everything you remember likely true, but I’m sure there was more you’ve forgotten.”

Minnow’s grip on his hand was tight, but he felt, in a way, as though it was the only thing holding him together.

“Were you used like I was?” Severin asked. There was no sense in tiptoeing around the subject, and he still had no fucking patience for pleasantries. Besides, it seemed like Loïc wanted to get this over with. His brother had the answers he’d wanted for most of his life.

“No. That specific hell was all your own.” A fleeting hint of compassion flickered in his gaze, but it disappeared before Severin could find it annoying.

“I brought coffee, tea, orange juice. I wasn’t sure

what people wanted.” Rodrigo came into the room with a tray, setting it on the padded coffee table on which they often fucked Minnow. Where they’d branded her.

Rodrigo and Minnow served, then Rodrigo made to withdraw, but Severin touched his wrist.

“Stay.”

Dark eyes wide, Ro looked from him to Minnow then took his usual seat. Not everyone needed to know his secrets, but Rodrigo deserved to know just as much as Minnow and Church did. Like Minnow and Church, Rodrigo gave a shit.

Loïc glanced at Rodrigo then shrugged, accepting Severin’s decision to include him. “After the mistakes she’d made with you, she was more cautious with the rest of us.”

“It wasn’t a mistake. She gave them permission. The last time she was even in the room.”

Loïc waived a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. She meant to whore you out. She just hadn’t trained you up to it, and she started you too young.”

“God, not you too,” Minnow murmured.

Rodrigo had gone very still, but remained grimly silent, which Severin appreciated. He’d never told Ro any of it, but he seemed to be catching up quickly. Maybe he’d guessed.

Loïc ignored Minnow’s comment, and kept going as if he was ripping off a Band-Aid. “I was trained – groomed for it like she hadn’t taken enough time to do with you. I was raised to understand it would be my responsibility to provide entertainment as part of the business. I was trained to be clever and charmant.” He waved a hand, as though he couldn’t think of the English equivalent. “To smile and make her contacts feel important. My fifteenth birthday was spent exchanging my ass for a lucrative trade deal with a formal rival. At least he was gentle.” He saluted Severin with his mug of coffee.

Severin’s stomach churned. He wanted to bolt from the room and spend some time breaking things, but he forced himself to stay. Part of him was relieved he hadn’t been the only child his mother had allowed to be abused, but he was ashamed for feeling that way. He’d hoped the others had been spared – or even that he’d misremembered – but no such luck.

“So that’s been the last nine years of my life, for the most part.”

“And the same thing was done with our sisters?”

He shook his head. “No. They were spared that humiliation, at least. Lovely girls. Smart. Married off young to wealthy old men who wanted virgin brides. Our second sister is already widowed at twenty-seven, and is wealthy in her own right.”

“You’re close to them?”

“No.” He laughed. “Our shared childhood is something we’d all rather forget. You’re the only missing piece. You were like a boogeyman to us growing up, a threat about what would happen if we disobeyed. Later, when we were older, you became the hero, instead.”

“Hero? Did you hope I’d come to rescue you?” Severin asked, his voice hoarse.