Chapter 6: What the Council Wants to Know

"You don't have to answer anything they ask."

Caius says it low, right against my ear. We're moving down a corridor I've never seen, guards ahead of us, guards behind, and the stone here does something strange to sound, swallows it instead of carrying it, so even his voice feels smaller than it should.

"I thought you didn't want me speaking at all."

"I don't want you speaking carelessly." His hand finds the small of my back. Not quite touching. Hovering, like he hasn't decided yet whether this is something he's allowed to protect. "The council isn't interested in truth. They want leverage. Give them nothing they can use."

"That's helpful."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." I stop walking. The guard ahead glances back, annoyed. "I don't know what happened with Dominic. I don't know what he meant about your first husband. Everyone in this house is keeping some piece of the truth from me. You included. And now I get to walk into a room full of strangers who decide what happens to me and this baby based on secrets nobody bothers explaining."

Something shifts in his face. Gone before I can read it properly.

"Ask me later," he says. "Not here."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

The council chamber isn't what I pictured. No throne, no dais. Just a long oval table under high windows, a low fire in the hearth at the far end, six people already seated. Five of them old enough that gray runs heavy through their hair. One younger, watching me with an expression I can't place at all.

A woman at the head rises as we walk in. Small. Sharp featured. Dark blue dress, a silver pin at her collar shaped like a thorn.

"Lord Thorn." Her eyes move to me next, slow, assessing. "And the consort. Sit."

"Councilwoman Reyne." Something in Caius's voice has gone flatter than before, the careful kind of flat people use around someone they truly dislike. "I wasn't told you'd be presiding."

"Someone had to, given the urgency." Damaris Reyne folds her hands, unhurried, owning the room without raising her voice once. "Eventful morning, wasn't it."

Nobody answers that. I take the seat Caius pulls out, and he sits closer than strictly necessary, close enough that I understand it's a message, not comfort.

"Let's not waste time," Reyne says, looking at me now. "Are you aware of the nature of your relationship with Dominic Ashworth?"

"No."

A ripple moves around the table. Small. Dismissive.

"No," I say again, before anyone decides what that answer means for me. "I woke up this morning with no memory of the last several months of my own life. I don't know Dominic Ashworth. I don't remember a hallway or a photograph or anything you're about to ask me. If you want honesty, that's all I've got."

Reyne's face doesn't move, but her eyes sharpen, and I realize a beat too late I've just handed her something.

"Memory loss," she says slowly. "How convenient."

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Because it is." She leans back. "A pregnancy the dates can't explain. A photograph placing you with another man during the window in question. And now, no memory of any of it, right when having none would be most useful." Her eyes cut to Caius. "You see the shape of this."

"I see a woman building a case out of coincidence."

"I see a consort who married into this House for its name, who humiliated you in front of this council three nights ago, and who is now carrying a child whose father is in question, at exactly the moment that losing you, or losing the child, would suit certain people enormously." She doesn't look away from me once through any of this. "Tell me, Rowan. If you don't remember the last several months, how can you be certain the child is even his?"

The fire shifts in the hearth. That's the only sound.

"I'm not certain of anything," I say, and I feel Caius go rigid beside me, the stillness of him pressing down like a hand on my shoulder. "I've been alive in this body less than a day, councilwoman. I don't get the luxury of certainty about much, including my own name. But I know this much. Whatever happened before I woke up isn't something I can answer for. And if this council wants to decide a child's future off gossip and a photo with no context, I'd think hard about what that says about the people making the decision."

Nobody speaks for a moment.

Then the younger woman at the table, the quiet one, leans forward, and something in her face has changed from curious to nearly alarmed.

"There's something else." Every head turns. "Something that came in an hour ago, right before the arrest. I wasn't going to raise it until we heard from him directly. Given what's just been said, I think it changes things."

"Go on," Reyne says, an edge in her voice now that wasn't there a minute ago.

The folder slides across the table and lands in front of Caius. He opens it slow, like he already knows it's bad before he sees it.

I watch his face while he reads. Watch the color drain out of it faster than it did with the photograph this morning, faster than anything since I woke up in this bed.

"What is it."

He doesn't answer right away. When he finally looks up it isn't at me, it's at Reyne, and his voice comes out low and dangerous enough that everyone at the table straightens.

"Who authorized a paternity test," he says, "before either of us gave consent."