I'm still crammed under the desk, Catriona's words echoing in my mind. The girl has a stronger claim to the throne than my son himself.
My mother was Lady Orlaith of House Carraig. Not a servant, not nobody—a noblewoman with royal blood. Someone powerful enough that Catriona orchestrated her murder to clear the path for Domnall's succession.
And I'm her daughter. Her legitimate daughter.
The weight of it is crushing. I press both hands over my mouth, trying to keep my breathing quiet, trying to process revelations that feel impossible. Everything I thought I knew about myself, about who I am, about my place in the world—all of it was a lie.
Catriona moves around the office above me, gathering papers, arranging documents. I'm trapped here until she leaves, my legs cramping, my mind reeling.
Then the main office door opens.
"Mother?" Domnall's voice breaks through the silence. "Are you in here? I need the land survey documents for the northern properties."
My blood goes cold. No. Not now. Not when I'm trapped under his mother's desk trying to process that his mother murdered mine.
"Domnall." Catriona's voice shifts from muttering to formal address. "Give me a moment, I'm just finishing something."
She moves directly to the desk. I can see her skirts through the narrow gap—pale blue silk, so close I could touch the hem.
"The surveys should be in the second drawer," she says, pulling it open. Her hands shuffle through papers above me.
Something falls—a document slipping from the pile, drifting down to land on the floor near the desk's far side.
"How careless." Catriona's skirts swish as she moves away from the desk toward the window. "Domnall, pick that up, would you? My back has been troubling me today."
"Of course." His footsteps approach. He rounds the desk, crouches down to retrieve the fallen paper.
His gaze drops—and he sees me.
His eyes meet mine. I watch the shock register in his expression. His eyes widen, his lips part slightly. For one horrible moment, I think he's going to say something, going to give me away.
I shake my head slightly. Please, my eyes beg him. Please don't.
He blinks, grabs the document, straightens quickly. "Here."
"Thank you." Catriona takes it from him, still near the window, examining something on the paper. "Though why you need surveys at this hour."
"Just reviewing property boundaries." Domnall's voice is remarkably steady. "Nothing urgent."
He moves quickly, settling into the desk chair before his mother can come any closer. As he sits, his knee strikes my nose—hard.
The pain is sharp and immediate. "Ow!" The sound escapes before I can stop it.
Catriona's head snaps up. "What was that sound?"
My heart stops. I press both hands over my mouth and nose, eyes squeezed shut, praying.
"Just me." Domnall doesn't miss a beat. "Banged my knee on the desk drawer. This furniture really is poorly designed. The clearance is terrible."
"You should be more careful." Catriona's tone is dismissive. "I'll be in my chambers if you need anything else."
"Thank you, Mother."
Her footsteps cross the office. The door opens and closes. Silence.
I don't move, don't breathe, waiting to be certain she's truly gone.
"She's gone." Domnall's voice is quiet. "You can come out."
I scramble from under the desk, my legs cramping, my whole body shaking. The moment I'm upright, I head for the door. I need to leave, need space to think, need to process everything I just learned without him watching.
He reaches the door first, shuts it firmly. Locks it and stands with his back against it, blocking my exit.
"Move." My voice is sharp.
"Please, listen to me." His voice is desperate, exhausted. "I haven't slept since our last conversation. I've been trying to find you, but you're avoiding me."
"It's not just your imagination—I really am avoiding you." The words come out harsher than intended. "Now move."
"Mairead, please."
"We have nothing to talk about." I try to step around him. He shifts to block me.
"We have everything to talk about." He's pleading now. "I know you're angry, I know I hurt you with what I suggested at the cottage. But my situation is far more complicated than it seems."
"Complicated." I laugh with no humour. "You want me to be your mistress. That's not complicated, that's simple. You want everything—the respectable wife, the political advantages, and me hidden away like something shameful. There's nothing complicated about that choice."
"That's not what I want."
"Then what do you want?" I'm shouting now. Don't care if servants hear. "Tell me, Domnall. What exactly do you want?"
"You!" The word bursts out. "I want you. I haven't lied for a single second about my feelings for you or what I want. But given my status, given my mother's control, given the political weight of this engagement—I don't have the luxury of making my own choices."
Something in his voice makes me pause. The raw honesty. The exhaustion. The desperation bleeding through every word.
"Your mother has controlled every major decision of your life," I say quietly. "Why would this be different?"
"It wouldn't be. That's exactly the problem." He runs a hand through his hair. "She orchestrated my marriage to Sorcha. She arranged my engagement to Elspeth. She's building alliances and securing positions and I'm just… I'm a piece she moves around the board."
"Then move yourself." I meet his eyes. "Make a different choice."
"It's not that simple."
"It is that simple." My voice hardens. "You're either brave enough to choose what you want, or you're not. There's no complicated middle ground where you get everything without consequences."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "You're right."
The admission catches me off guard.
"You're absolutely right." He moves away from the door, gestures to the chairs by the fireplace. "Can we sit? Can we talk about this properly? I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm asking you to let me explain."
Against my better judgment, I stay. Against every warning Bridei gave me, every piece of evidence that says he'll never actually choose me, I sit down in the chair across from him.
He locks the office door properly this time. Returns. Sits. Leans forward with his elbows on his knees, looking more exhausted than I've ever seen him.
"The engagement can't be broken without political catastrophe," he starts. "Elspeth's family has allies, connections. My mother has made promises on both sides. Breaking it now would create enemies, undermine alliances, potentially damage—"
"I know." I cut him off. "I understand the complications. But Domnall, I need you to understand something too. No matter what complications you face, I will not be with you under the terms you offered. I won't be your mistress. That's non-negotiable."
He falls silent. The quiet stretches so long I think he has nothing more to say, that this conversation is pointless after all. That I should leave before I let hope creep back in and destroy me all over again.
Then he speaks, his voice quiet but steady: "What if I officially claim your children as my own?"