Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(112)
I heard the slam of a desk drawer followed by several beats of silence before the door swung open, revealing an irritated-looking Erhall.
The knots in my muscles doubled. My father. I didn’t know what I’d expected. Maybe a tug in my stomach at the sight of the man who was technically one half of me, or the loathing that had simmered beneath the surface for over three decades, waiting for the day when I could unleash it in a hail of fists and blood and curses.
Instead, I felt nothing. Nothing except a vague distaste for Erhall’s overly coiffed, gel-slick hair and anger at the tight, bordering-on-disrespectful smile he gave Bridget.
“Your Highness. Please, come in.” His tone indicated he was less than pleased by the surprise, and he didn’t acknowledge me as we stepped into his large, oak-paneled office.
Bridget and I took the seats across from him. The office reflected the man, cold and empty of any personal effects except for the framed university degrees hanging on the walls.
I studied Erhall, trying to see the resemblance between us. I spotted a hint of it in the angle of his cheekbones and the slope of his forehead. It wasn’t obvious enough strangers would look at us and guess we were related, but it was there if one looked closely enough.
I blinked, and the resemblance disappeared, replaced by a pinched visage and cold, calculating eyes.
“So.” Erhall steepled his fingers beneath his chin, his lips as pinched as the rest of his face. “The crown princess herself visiting me in my office. To what do I owe the honor?”
“I have an agenda item for Parliament’s next session.” Bridget radiated authority, and pride flashed through me. She’d come a long way since the day we sat in her hotel suite in New York, watching Nikolai’s abdication on TV. She’d looked like she wanted to throw up during his speech, but there was no trace of that scared, uncertain girl today. “Open the motion to repeal the Royal Marriages Law.”
Erhall stared at her for a second before laughing. Loudly.
A snarl rumbled in my throat, but I forced myself to remain silent. This was Bridget’s show.
“I thought this was another citizen write-in issue,” Erhall said. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. The law is one of the oldest in Eldorra, and as…moving as your press conference was, it’s tradition. Not to mention, we have far more important issues at hand, including the water pollution problem you brought to our attention last month. You want clean drinking water for the people of Hedelberg, don’t you?”
Bridget smiled, not blinking an eye at his heavy-handed threat. “I’m afraid you misunderstand me. That wasn’t a request, and I trust Parliament is competent enough to handle more than one issue at a time. If it’s not, I suggest a change in how you run the chamber, Mr. Speaker…or a change in the Speakership altogether.”
Erhall’s chuckles vanished, and his face hardened. “With all due respect, Your Highness, Parliament consults the Crown as a courtesy, but no one, not even His Majesty, dictates the law.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not dictating the law.” Bridget crossed her legs, her posture flawless as she stared him down. “I’m telling you to repeal one. It is outdated and holds no practical value for the country or the people. Without value, tradition is nothing but an imitation of the past, and the people agree. A recent poll put public approval for a repeal at ninety-three percent.”
Erhall’s chest puffed with indignation. “I beg to differ. Tradition is the foundation of this country, this office, and your office. We cannot go about tearing it down willy-nilly. So no, I’m afraid I cannot bring the motion to the floor. No matter how many souvenir T-shirts they’re selling with Mr. Larsen’s face on them,” he added with a small sneer.
Bridget and I exchanged glances.
Are you sure?
Yes. Do it.
Short, succinct, and silent. The most efficient conversation we’d ever had.
“You should care more about Mr. Larsen’s public profile,” Bridget said, her mild tone giving no warning before she dropped the bombshell. “Considering he’s your son.”
Most explosions were deafening, rattling teeth and eardrums with the sheer force of the energy expelled. This one was silent but a hundred times deadlier, its shock waves slamming into Erhall before he ever saw it coming.
I could pinpoint the moment the impact hit. His face drained of color, and the smug self-satisfaction disappeared from his eyes as they bounced between me and Bridget. Back and forth, back and forth, like two ping pong balls stuck in a pendulum.
“That’s—he’s—that’s a lie,” Erhall sputtered. “I don’t have a son.”
“Michigan, summer of eighty-six,” I said. “Deidre Larsen.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Erhall’s face paled further until it matched the color of his starched button-down.
“Judging by your reaction, you remember her.” I leaned forward, my face creasing with a grim smile when he scooted back an inch in response. A faint sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead. “She’s dead, by the way. Turned to alcohol and drugs after a piece of shit lowlife abandoned her when she told him she was pregnant. Overdosed when I was eleven.”
I thought I caught a flash of regret in Erhall’s eyes before he covered it up.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” A muscle worked in his jaw, and he reached for his tie only to lower his hand before making contact. “But I’m afraid I don’t know a Deidre Larsen. You have me mistaken for someone else.”