Breakfast the next morning was a battlefield disguised as a meal.
Fiona sat across from Jimmie. He was swinging his legs, kicking the table leg rhythmically. Thump. Thump. Thump.
He reached for the pitcher of milk. As he poured it into his cereal, his hand "slipped."
The pitcher tipped. White liquid flooded across the table, cascading onto Fiona's lap, soaking her silk skirt.
"Oops," Jimmie said. He didn't look sorry. He looked bored. "Slippery."
Bradley didn't even look up from his tablet. " accidents happen. Go change, Fiona."
In the past, Fiona would have apologized. She would have run upstairs, crying, blaming her own clumsiness for upsetting the child.
Not today.
She didn't move. The cold milk seeped into her skin.
"Apologize," Fiona said.
The room went silent. The servants froze.
Jimmie blinked. He looked at Fiona, confused by the tone. "What?"
"You heard me," Fiona said, her voice steady and sharp as a scalpel. "Apologize. Now."
Jimmie looked at Bradley. "Dad?"
Bradley sighed, putting down his tablet. "Fiona, don't be dramatic. He's just a boy."
"He is a Prince of the Blood," Fiona said, standing up. "If he cannot handle a milk pitcher, how will he handle the Crown? The media is already calling him spoiled. Do you want them to call him feral?"
Bradley flinched. The media. His achilles heel.
He looked at Jimmie. "Say sorry to your mother, Jimmie."
Jimmie's face turned red. He glared at Fiona with pure venom.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Look at me when you say it," Fiona commanded.
Jimmie's hands curled into fists. He looked up, his eyes burning. "Sorry."
"Better." Fiona dabbed at her skirt with a napkin. "Lee, bring me the household accounts for the last quarter. Immediately."
The butler, Lee, a man who had been in Bradley's pocket for years, hesitated. "The... accounts, Your Highness? They are with the auditor."
"I am the Crown Princess," Fiona said, walking past him. "If those books aren't on my desk in ten minutes, I'm calling the police to report embezzlement."
Lee paled. "Yes, Your Highness."
An hour later, Fiona had the ledger. It didn't take long to find it.
Ice Lily Foundation.
Monthly transfers of fifty thousand dollars. Labeled as "Consulting Fees."
Fiona snapped a photo of the page and sent it to the encrypted email Vane had provided.
Proof, she typed. He's using state funds to keep his mistress.
Later that afternoon, Fiona heard shouting from the garden.
She walked out to the terrace.
Jimmie was standing by the rose bushes. He had a slingshot. He was aiming at a stray cat that had wandered onto the grounds.
Thwack.
The stone hit the cat's flank. The animal yowled in pain, trying to limp away.
Jimmie laughed. He loaded another stone.
Fiona's vision went red. In her last life, he had blinded that cat.
Her hand was already moving, pulling her phone from her pocket. She pressed the record button, the screen's reflection shielded by the shadows of the veranda. She captured it all: the cruel laugh, the cat's cry, the second stone being loaded. Only then did she move.
She crossed the lawn in seconds. She grabbed the slingshot from his hand and threw it into the fountain.
"Hey!" Jimmie screamed. "That was mine! Dad gave me that!"
"Your father gave you a weapon to torture helpless animals?" Fiona grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. "That is psychopathic behavior, Jimmie."
"Let me go!" He tried to bite her again.
Fiona was ready this time. She slapped his hand away.
"Stand there," she ordered, pointing to a spot on the pavement under the direct sun. "Two hours. No moving. No water."
"You can't do that! I'm telling Dad!"
"Tell him," Fiona said. "Tell him I have a video of you torturing a cat. Tell him I'm ready to send it to PETA."
Jimmie froze. He was only seven, but he already understood what bad press meant. Bradley had drilled it into him.
"What is going on here?"
Bradley came striding out of the French doors, his face thunderous. "Fiona! Unhand him!"
Jimmie ran to him, sobbing fake tears. "She threw my toy away! She's being mean!"
Bradley scooped him up, glaring at Fiona. "Have you lost your mind?"
Fiona held up her phone. She pressed play.
The video showed Jimmie laughing as the cat screamed.
"Animal cruelty," Fiona said calmly. "It's a felony in some states. Imagine the headlines, Bradley. 'Future King Raises Sadist.'"
Bradley watched the video. His face went gray.
He looked down at Jimmie. The adoration in his eyes flickered, replaced by calculation.
He set the boy down.
"Do as your mother says, Jimmie," Bradley said coldly.
"Dad?" Jimmie gasped, betrayed.
"Stand there," Bradley ordered. Then he looked at Fiona. There was a new emotion in his eyes. Fear. "Delete the video."
"When he learns empathy," Fiona said. "I'll consider it."
She walked back into the house, leaving them both in the sun.
