Children always knew before adults did.
Victoria had learned that the hard way—through the way her son watched people when he thought no one noticed, through the careful questions he asked that sounded innocent but weren’t. He didn’t trust easily. Not men. Not promises. Not smiles that came too fast.
Which was why the way he looked at Charles terrified her.
Not with fear.
With curiosity.
With something like recognition.
Charles never tried to impress him. That was the first thing that disarmed her. No grand gestures. No forced warmth. He knelt when he spoke to him. Kept his voice low. Answered questions directly. When her son went quiet, Charles didn’t fill the silence.
He waited.
They sat on opposite ends of the long bench in the park, autumn pressing gold into the trees. Victoria
