Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
She knows everything.
Oh, my God.
I look between them both. If there’s any chance they can read in my eyes that they’re on the right track, please, please let them see it.
Rowan stares at me for a moment, holding my gaze, then bows his head. “If conditions for access to a trust fund have already been met, then it would be unlawful for that access to be revoked or restricted unless it’s stated otherwise.”
“So,” the Queen says, happily pouring herself another cup of tea. “Let’s put this together, still hypothetically, of course: if a young lady has a trust fund that grants her access to it at the age of twenty-one with no other requirements, but her access is either revoked or restricted unless she signs a contract stipulating that she keep her legal identity a secret, that contract could be considered void?”
“It’s rather simplified, but under Askurian law, I believe there would be an excellent argument for it. One that a judge would certainly be interested in hearing.”
“Interesting.” She sips her tea and looks at me. “And, if someone else were to accidentally discover this young lady’s legal name—but the young lady does not verbally confirm the other person’s discovery—could she be held responsible for breach of a potential contract? Assuming the contract can’t be voided, of course.”
“Without reading the terms of the contract signed by the young lady, I cannot say for sure. However…” Rowan turns his attention to me again. “The young lady could simply not answer any questions that could confirm her legal name.”
“But I’m the Queen. I expect my questions to be answered.”
“You’re a gracious leader, Your Majesty. I’m sure you could make an exception every now and then.”
“Very true.” She taps her nail against her chin, then looks at me and smiles. “Then how about this? I ask you some questions. Simple yes or no answers, nothing complicated. If the answer is no, you can shake your head or say so. But if the answer is yes, you say nothing. You don’t nod, smile, put your thumb up… Nothing that, should anyone walk in here, give an indication that you’re answering the questions.”
Oh.
She’s smart.
An answer by omission is still an answer, if you want it to be.
By not saying a word when she’s right, I’m telling her everything while saying absolutely nothing.
And when the time comes—if it comes—I can look my father in the eye and say that I never told anyone my name.
“Would you be open to humouring a desperate old lady who’s been hoping to find her late best friend’s daughter for twenty years? Would you answer my questions, Hannah?” Her eyes twinkle with a playfulness that contradicts her words, and I can’t help but smile a little.
“Of course, Your Majesty. After all, you’re the Queen. I’ll answer whatever you ask of me, as long as I’m able.”
Crown Prince Finley looks at me. His gaze is practically boring a hole into the side of my head, but all I can do is look at the Queen and beat down every ounce of adrenaline pumping through my body right now.
It’s much harder than it seems.
Am I vibrating? I feel like I’m vibrating.
“Let’s start with some easy ones. You’re a photographer, correct?” Her Majesty asks.
I say nothing.
“Good. Um… The drink you were served earlier is apple juice.”
“No, I was served a green tea.”
“Oh, delicious.” She smiles. “It’s a sunny day today.”
Silence.
It’s a gorgeous, sunny day.
“You have brown hair.”
“No. I have blonde hair,” I reply.
“Excellent. I think that’s clear.” She tilts her head to the side. “Did you go overseas by choice when you were a child?”
I swallow. “No.”
“Mhmm.” She nods once. “Finley told me you returned here about two years ago. Is that true?”
Silence.
“You mentioned staying with a family member. Is that member your father?”
Again, I say nothing.
“Your mother still alive, correct?”
I look down once more. “No,” I say quietly.
“Was your mother’s name Francesca Sinclair?”
I close my eyes, dipping my chin as if the slight angle will hide my pain. My nose is burning, and if I open my eyes again, I will cry.
Cry from acknowledgement. That someone remembers her. That someone loves her. That someone cares enough to say her name with kindness instead of cruelty.
“Is your legal name Harriet Sinclair?” she asks, and her voice cracks on my real name.
I do nothing.
I don’t move.
I don’t speak.
I barely even breathe.
“Is the reason you cannot answer those questions because you were forced into signing an agreement like the one we mentioned earlier?”
This time, I open my eyes, steel my spine, and look her directly in the eye.
“That lying bas—”
“Mother,” Crown Prince Finley says, reaching out to touch her arm. His gaze has left me and is now focused on the table, but his head is lowered and his fingers are sunk deep into his dark hair.