Chapter 7 - The Calder Bargain
Clara woke inside a moving car.
Her wrists were bound. A black cloth covered her eyes. The air smelled of leather, rain, and Damian’s cologne.
She recognized it before he spoke.
“I asked them not to hurt you.”
Clara turned toward his voice.
“You forged my signature.”
“Your mother authorized the agreement.”
“My mother cannot authorize my marriage.”
“Under the old family charters, she can approve a union until your thirtieth birthday.”
“Then the charter is barbaric.”
“Most useful traditions are.”
The car slowed.
Clara tested the bindings around her wrists.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere Arthur cannot reach.”
“He reached me inside Whitmore House.”
“That was before we understood the scale of his support.”
Damian removed the blindfold.
They were driving through a forest road. Council vehicles surrounded them.
He sat across from her, immaculate in a charcoal suit. A bruise darkened his jaw.
“Did Arthur do that?” she asked.
“Your uncle.”
“Why?”
“I suggested Conrad’s failure at the house might indicate divided loyalty.”
Clara almost laughed.
“You are all beginning to eat one another.”
“Temporary tension.”
“Fear.”
Damian looked out the window.
“Arthur cannot win.”
“He has the army.”
“He has part of the army. The council controls the capital, treasury, courts, and broadcasting network.”
“The country saw him.”
“The country sees what we allow it to see.”
“You sound like Conrad.”
Damian’s mouth tightened.
“I am trying to save Valeria from civil war.”
“By kidnapping me?”
“By securing the Whitmore vote.”
The car entered a private estate surrounded by stone walls and electronic gates.
Calder Hall was more fortress than home.
Clara was taken to a bedroom on the third floor. The windows were reinforced. Two guards stood outside.
Damian untied her wrists.
“Tomorrow, you will appear before the council.”
“And say what?”
“That Arthur manipulated you.”
“No.”
“That he forced you to remain with him.”
“No.”
“That you recognize our engagement.”
She stepped close enough to look directly into his eyes.
“No.”
Damian sighed.
“You always mistake stubbornness for courage.”
“And you mistake possession for love.”
His expression changed.
“I have loved you since we were children.”
“You have wanted to win me since we were children.”
“There is a difference?”
“Yes.”
He reached toward her face.
Clara moved back.
Damian lowered his hand.
“Arthur will be dead within a week.”
“You said he could not reach this estate.”
“He cannot.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
Damian left without answering.
That night, Clara searched the room.
The furniture was fixed to the floor. The telephone line was dead. The bathroom window was too narrow to climb through.
Behind a painting, she found an old service bell.
She pulled it.
Nothing happened.
She pulled again.
Ten minutes later, a panel opened beside the wardrobe.
An elderly maid stepped through.
“Lady Clara?”
Clara recognized her.
“Mrs. Bell?”
The woman had served at Whitmore House when Clara was a child, before Evelyn dismissed her for supposedly stealing silver.
Mrs. Bell closed the panel.
“I hoped you would remember the bells.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Working for people who think servants are invisible.”
“Can you help me leave?”
“Not yet. The grounds have motion sensors, dogs, and fifty guards.”
Clara’s hope faded.
Mrs. Bell continued, “But I can help you see what they are hiding.”
She led Clara through a narrow passage inside the walls.
They descended behind the library, crossed beneath the kitchens, and reached a vent overlooking Damian’s private office.
Conrad stood inside.
Beside him was Severin Voss, the silver-haired man from Helena’s photograph.
Damian poured drinks.
Voss did not take one.
“The king survived the station attack,” Damian said.
“Expected,” Voss replied.
His voice was soft and almost pleasant.
“What about Whitmore?”
“Clara will speak tomorrow.”
“She will not.”
Conrad paced.
“My niece has been spoiled by indecision.”
Voss turned his silver cane between gloved fingers.
“Then use certainty.”
Damian looked uncomfortable.
“You promised she would not be harmed.”
“I promised nothing.”
“She is necessary for the vote.”
“Her signature is necessary. Her pulse is optional.”
Clara felt Mrs. Bell’s hand tighten around her arm.
Conrad lowered his voice.
“What of Evelyn?”
“Alive.”
“She may talk.”
“She already has.”
Voss removed a small black device from his pocket and placed it on the desk.
A recording began to play.
Evelyn’s voice filled the office.
Conrad hired men without telling us.
Clara recognized the conversation from the railway station.
They had been listening.
Voss switched it off.
“Your sister has become inconvenient.”
Conrad’s face showed no grief.
“Handle it.”
Damian walked to the window.
“And Adrian?”
Voss smiled.
“Adrian is following the path prepared for him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means kings are easiest to destroy after they have been crowned.”
Clara leaned closer to the vent.
Voss continued.
“The Restoration Charter requires Adrian to enter the capital unarmed and submit his claim before the council. Once he does, we will reveal the second heir.”
Conrad stared at him.
“What second heir?”
Voss’s smile deepened.
“The child Queen Marianne intended to place upon the throne.”
Damian turned.
“Adrian has a sibling?”
“No.”
Voss tapped his cane against the floor.
“He has a replacement.”
Clara’s heart pounded.
“What is he talking about?” Mrs. Bell whispered.
Clara did not know.
Inside the office, Voss placed a photograph on the desk.
From the vent, Clara could see only part of it.
A woman in a hospital bed.
A newborn child in her arms.
On the back, written in dark ink, were two words.
Project Aurelia.
Footsteps sounded inside the passage.
Mrs. Bell extinguished her lamp.
May you like
A guard’s voice came from the darkness.
“Who is there?”
