Chapter 7: What Pippa Wanted

"Say it again," Bryson said.

His voice was low and strange, and the ministers leaned toward it.

"Pip. You gave him blood for six years. You never said a word about that to me."

"It doesn't matter," Pippa said fast. "It was a long time ago."

"You told me you'd never met him."

"I said I didn't know him well."

"You said," Bryson repeated, and swallowed, "that I was the first man who ever looked after you."

She reached for his arm, and he pulled it out of her reach.

I had been on the other side of that arm yesterday, being shoved to the floor.

Now I watched him realize that being useful to someone and being loved by them were not the same thing.

I should have felt something like pity.

I felt nothing at all.

"Pippa," I said.

She turned her swimming blue eyes on me.

"I want you out of my house by midnight," I said. "Both of you."

A minister at the end of the table gasped, and another put down a glass.

Pippa's mouth dropped open.

"You can't."

"It's my keep."

"Imogen, I'm your oldest friend."

"You were," I said. "You were watching me sleep for four years, and sending a report."

I had thought I would cry saying it.

I didn't.

My voice stayed flat and clear, and it went to the very back of the hall.

"Pack your things. Take your boyfriend. Don't come back."

Bryson opened his mouth, and shut it again.

He looked at Pippa, and then at the door.

Then Duke Rooke rose from the head of the table, and the room turned toward him as one.

"I'm afraid that is not possible, Your Majesty," he said regretfully.

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