[ Raegan ]
For several long seconds, I remain still, seated on my throne, watching the woman kneeling before me.
My elbow rests against the arm of the throne, my chin supported by my knuckles. I study the ins and outs of her breath, every twitch of her fingers, and every nervous shift of her shoulders.
This is the woman who claims to be Aysel’s mother.
What amuses me most is not her presence, but her choice. She came to me directly instead of the girl. Which tells me one thing already.
Aysel does not know she is here.
“Are you truly the girl’s mother?” I ask at last, my voice calm and even. “Aysel.”
She nods at once, eagerly. “Yes, my King. I am.”
“Hm.”
My gaze drags slowly over her face, her posture, and skin. I find nothing familiar with Aysel’s.
“You look nothing like her,” I
