The Royal Tutor's Thousand-Layered Plans

I was halfway through explaining the difference between a promise and a law when King Adrian's hand closed around the letter on my desk. "Stop there," he said. I stopped. In the schoolroom, Princess Eliza had stopped too, her pencil hovering over a map of the coast. She watched her father crumple the letter, then watched me watch him. "Your Majesty," I said, "if the document is about the lesson, you'll have to let me finish it." "It isn't." He flattened the page again. The paper bore a seal I recognized from the Foreign Office. His jaw tightened as he read the first line. Eliza laid down her pencil. "Is it bad news?" "It's news," Adrian said. That was not an answer. The king knew it, and so did his daughter. I stepped closer to the desk. "May I?" He looked at me before passing it over. His fingers lingered against mine, just long enough for Eliza to notice and just briefly enough for him to pretend it had meant nothing. The letter announced that Lady Celia Voss would return to Aster Hall after seven years abroad. She had been Adrian's intended bride before his father died and made him king. Their engagement had ended quietly, or so the public believed. The court had never entirely stopped telling the story. I read the letter twice. "She's coming for the winter session?" "For the Founders' Council," Adrian said. "Her family has been invited to discuss the northern rail agreement." Eliza's pencil rolled across the desk. "Is Lady Voss the person you loved before Mother?" The room changed temperature. Adrian's face went still. Eliza was fourteen. She had learned to ask questions like that from me, though I had never taught her to ask them in front of her father. "She was someone I knew," he said. "That isn't what I asked." "No," I said gently. "It isn't." He gave me a warning look. I returned it. The King could command a room, but he had asked me to teach his daughter how to see when an answer was being hidden inside a better-sounding one. Eliza looked from him to me. "You can tell me later." "I can," I said. Adrian folded the letter. "Mara, I need a word." "Eliza has a lesson." "She can continue with the map." "I can hear you from here," Eliza said. "Then it will be an efficient lesson," I replied. "Mark the ports that depend on winter shipping. We'll discuss which promise the government can actually keep." Eliza picked up her pencil again, her gaze still on her father. Adrian waited until I stood in the corridor before speaking. The schoolroom door remained open behind us. "I didn't invite her," he said. "I didn't accuse you of that." "I don't want this to become a spectacle." "Then don't make it one." His mouth tightened. "She has a public reputation. The council will expect courtesy. That's all." "Is it all?" He looked at me. For three years, I had been the person who could ask him questions the rest of the palace avoided. In private, sometimes, he even answered them. "Nothing has changed between us," he said. I wanted to believe him. I had spent a year learning to trust the warmth in his voice and another six months pretending that warmth had no consequences. Then I saw the words. They appeared above his shoulder, thin and bright as writing on glass. Here it comes. The old love returns, and the tutor gets escorted out before she can make a claim. I blinked. The words remained. My fingers went cold. "Adrian, what does that mean?" "What?" I looked toward the corridor ceiling, then back at the empty air. More writing gathered beneath the first line. She thinks she's the heroine. The whole point is that Celia belongs beside him. I reached for the wall. Adrian caught my elbow. "Mara." "Something's wrong." "Are you ill?" "I don't know." The letters flickered. A new line formed. Pregnancy reveal in three, two— The words vanished. My stomach lurched. I turned away from Adrian and hurried to the nearest washroom, reaching it just before I was sick. He knocked once, then came in when I didn't answer. I was gripping the sink with both hands. "Fetch the physician," he said to someone in the corridor. "No," I managed. "Not the palace physician." "Why not?" "Because I don't want the whole household to know before I do." He lowered his voice. "Mara, what happened?" "Nothing. I've been tired. I thought it was the council schedule." He studied my face. His worry was visible in the crease between his brows. He was still the man who had brought me tea during late lessons and stayed beside me after Eliza's mother's anniversary service. He was also the king, which meant every private thing between us could become public property. I pressed my palm against my stomach. The words had named the truth before I had dared to. "I need a doctor I trust," I said. "And I need you not to send anyone." His eyes dropped to my hand. "What are you saying?" "I'm saying I may be pregnant." For one long second, neither of us moved. Then he reached for my hand. "We'll handle it together." Above the mirror, faint words surfaced again. And now the secret that ruins her. I pulled my hand out of his.