Lorraine hadn't thought of it until this very moment, but now the pieces fit together with cruel precision. Aralyn had earlier spoken of her son, so small, so fragile. "I lost him," she had said, the words heavy with sorrow and guilt, as though she believed she had buried him far too soon.
But something in Lorraine's chest twisted now. Had Aralyn not told the whole truth? Or was she simply as much a pawn in the dowager's game as Lorraine herself had been?
If Aralyn had indeed been the mistress of the past king, her son's claim to the throne would be illegitimate in the eyes of ministers and court. The rules of bloodline and legitimacy were merciless; years had passed, and no claim could now be accepted.
So why… why had the dowager singled out Aralyn alone?
Was it rage that Aralyn had somehow shielded her son from oblivion? Or a calculated fear that the boy, hidden in shadow, might one day return to claim what should have been his with a proper claim?
