“Mother, calm down,” Samir said. “There is nothing we can do. If Warrehn is truly alive, there’s nothing we can do but graciously step down. The throne is his by right.”
“You don’t understand,” she snapped, agitation rolling off her in waves. “After everything I’ve done—he can’t just come back and take it all away.”
Samir frowned. “What… What do you mean?”
She said nothing, her expression becoming impossible to read.
Samir had always envied her this ability. While he looked a lot like his mother, having inherited her violet hair, pale skin, and dark blue eyes, he hadn’t inherited her ability to flawlessly hide her thoughts when she wanted to.
“I mean that I’ve put so much effort into making you the best possible king for this country,” she said at last. “Twenty years, wasted. No, I refuse to take it lying down.”
Samir felt a pang of pity for her. The news had probably been a bigger blow for his mother than it had been for him. She’d always wanted to see him on the throne; she had been so invested in it—had always been so invested in him. Samir knew everything his mother did was for him. Despite her rare beauty, she hadn’t remarried after being widowed, even though she’d never lacked admirers. She had ignored the numerous off-worlders and widowed Calluvians who had courted her for years, spending all her time on her only son, teaching him politics and languages and getting him the best tutors in areas she wasn’t qualified to teach. Samir knew how lucky he was to have such a supportive mother. In most royal families, parents were nowhere near as involved in their children’s education and upbringing. He had the best mother in the world. He was more upset on her behalf than his own.
“Mother,” Samir said in a placating tone, getting to his feet and taking her delicate hands into his. “I know you’re upset, but please be careful of what you’re saying. People might overhear and misunderstand you.”
Dalatteya gave him a long look, something cold and calculating about her expression. “Misunderstand me? There’s no misunderstanding, Samir. I will not see anyone but my son on the throne of this country. That’s the end of the matter.”
Samir stared at her, and she stared right back.
A sinking feeling appeared in the pit of his stomach. Looking at her now, Samir could no longer push back the thought that had kept resurfacing from time to time—the thought that she might have had something to do with the princes’ disappearance.
“Don’t look at me that way,” she said after a long, thick silence. “I did what I had to.”
Samir covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. He wasn’t naive. Nor was he foolishly idealistic. He knew that sometimes it was necessary to be ruthless in politics. But doing something to children… he drew the line there.
“I can’t believe you,” he whispered harshly. “They were kids—the youngest prince was three!”
Dalatteya sighed. “I know,” she said, her voice wavering before becoming firm again. “I’m not proud of it. But what’s done is done. Now we have to deal with the consequences. Warrehn likely suspects that I’m behind the assassination attempt on him and his brother.”
Samir shook his head, unable to believe how flippant she was being. “Three, Mother! You’re to blame for the death of a toddler!”
“Yes, I had to make some hard decisions, but everything I did was for you!”
Samir gaped. “You can’t just use that as an excuse—”
“You ungrateful, foolish boy,” she hissed out, her eyes glistening with tears. “Do you already not remember the way we were treated before? Like poor relations, barely tolerated for the sake of appearances? They looked down on us, sneered at us, and the queen-consort hated me—and you by association.”
Samir frowned. He did recall that, actually. Even as a child, it was hard to miss the strong dislike the queen-consort emanated around his mother. He’d never found out why—it hadn’t interested him much as a child—and the queen-consort was already dead by the time he was curious enough about such adult matters. He only knew that his mother and the late king had grown up together after Dalatteya had been adopted into the House of Zaver after losing her parents.
“Why?” he said. “Why did she hate you?”
Dalatteya pursed her lips and took a moment to reply. “Emyr—the king was fixated on me. The queen-consort was mad with jealousy, even though her husband’s obsession was hardly my fault. I certainly didn’t encourage him.”
Samir’s brows drew together. Now that he thought of it, he vaguely recalled coming across his mother and King Emyr arguing heatedly; he’d once seen him grabbing Dalatteya’s arm and refusing to let go when Samir walked into the room. As a young boy, he hadn’t thought much of it, but as an adult… he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t put two and two together until now.