Chapter 20: The Fractured Crown
The Ainsley estate was steeped in a heavy quiet, the kind that came before a storm. Evelyn stood by the window of the east drawing room, pale light casting soft shadows across her face. The garden below looked untouched, serene—so unlike the turbulence rising within the house.
Vivienne entered without a word. She moved with the grace of someone who had fought a thousand quiet battles and won most of them—but this one would be different. She could feel it in her chest.
"He wants to meet," Vivienne said quietly.
"Ten o'clock. Father's old study."
Evelyn didn't look away from the window. "He's going to try to claim her."
Vivienne's voice dropped. "Let him try."
Their hands brushed as they turned down the long corridor, steps slow, unhurried. The kind of calm that came when fear had already been burned away.
Reginald was waiting when they entered the study, standing by the mantle as though he owned the house. He did not. His presence was colder than the fireless hearth behind him. The way he held his glass of wine—untouched—spoke volumes.
"Vivienne. Evelyn," he said with a smooth, detached tone. "Thank you for agreeing to speak civilly."
Vivienne didn't smile. "We're not here for pleasantries."
Evelyn's arms were crossed, steady. "Let's not waste time."
Reginald gestured to the chairs across from him. "Sit."
"We'll stand," Vivienne replied.
He sighed, but the pretense of politeness remained. "Very well. Then I'll speak plainly. Eva's existence, as it's recently been revealed to the Council, raises a number of… complications. She bears our bloodline."
"She is our daughter," Evelyn said, her voice quiet but unshakable. "By blood. Not just by law."
Reginald blinked. It was subtle—but for someone so controlled, the momentary break betrayed more than surprise. "Is that… supposed to be a joke?"
Vivienne's expression hardened. "No. She was born to us. Ours. Entirely. She carries both our names, our blood, our legacy. You don't need to understand how. But you will respect it."
Reginald's voice dropped to something darker. "You expect the Council to accept that without question? You expect the family to believe such an impossible claim without proof?"
"I expect you to remember your place," Vivienne snapped. "You're not the head of this family. You're not her guardian. And you're certainly not her father."
"She's the Lioré heir," Reginald hissed. "And you've hidden her from the Council, from the public, from the rest of the bloodline! That's treasonous secrecy!"
"She was a child," Evelyn said. "Ours to protect. And we've done exactly that."
He stepped around the desk slowly, circling them like a wolf. "Do you think this is about you two playing house? About proving a point? This is about the name. The bloodline. The legacy of a dynasty that predates all of us."
"And it continues," Vivienne said coolly, "through her."
Reginald's fists clenched. "You've made a mockery of this family. You married each other in secret. Hid your daughter under another name. Passed her off like a cousin's orphan fake adoption for cover. And now you expect to announce her as heir like it's some fairytale?"
"No," Evelyn said. "We don't expect anything. We've already secured it."
He faltered, just for a second. "What?"
Vivienne folded her arms. "Every seal. Every document. Every piece of binding recognition from the High Assembly. They all acknowledge her. Evangeline Claire Maxwell—Liore. Our daughter. No loopholes. No weaknesses."
Reginald's voice rose. "You fabricated her records—"
"No," Evelyn said softly, interrupting. "We didn't have to. She is ours. Born of us, claimed by us, protected by us. Whether you understand it or not doesn't matter anymore."
"She's still a child," he said. "You've stunted her growth. Sheltered her from what she's meant to be. You can't possibly think you've prepared her for the burden of this name."
Vivienne's mouth curled into a rare, dangerous smile. "She's already stronger than you ever were."
Reginald went still.
He looked at Vivienne, really looked at her—for the first time not as his wayward sister or political nuisance, but as someone who had outmaneuvered him. As someone who had beaten him.
"I should have been the one," he said bitterly. "I spent my life grooming this family's future. Holding the council together. Navigating scandals, silencing rumors. I made the name matter again."
"And now you're terrified of being irrelevant," Evelyn said gently. "We know."
"You stole her from the bloodline."
"We are the bloodline," Vivienne said coldly.
Reginald's mask cracked for a moment, the anger spilling into his voice. "You've destroyed tradition. Twisted it into something unrecognizable."
"No," Evelyn said. "We've finally evolved."
He backed toward the desk, something unreadable in his eyes. "You think this is over? The Council won't accept this quietly. When word spreads that you claim the child is biologically yours—"
"We have the evidence ready," Vivienne said flatly. "You challenge it, we release it. You deny her, you deny the future."
Reginald stared at her, unmoving.
Then slowly, he sank into the chair behind the desk.
"I see," he said after a long silence. "So you've already replaced me."
"You replaced yourself," Vivienne murmured.
"The day you chose power over people."
*****
Later That Night
The corridors of the estate were dark and empty by the time Reginald returned to his wing. The fireplace crackled, but its warmth felt hollow.
A knock came. Sharp. Measured.
A courier entered with a velvet-sealed envelope, bowing.
Reginald opened the letter. His hands trembled as he read.
To Lord Reginald Lioré,
The Council of Lineage and Assembly Rights acknowledges the rightful blood claim of Lady Evangeline Claire Maxwell—Liore, daughter of Lady Vivienne and Lady Evelyn.
You are summoned within seventy-two hours to formally yield any conflicting claim of succession.
Failure to comply will result in your removal from the Assembly and forfeiture of your estate inheritance.
He stared at the parchment as if it had burned him.
Then, in the hearthlight, the last line caught his eye:
The bloodline endures. With or without you.
Reginald crushed the letter in his fist.
Outside, in the garden, the wind whispered through the hedges.