The Rejected True Heiress (Liora and Callum) novel Chapter 322

“Mom—”

She couldn’t hear me over the low, keening wail that began to erupt from her throat. It grew and grew, one single, drawn out note, until it stung my ears. I shot to my feet as the healers rushed into the room and swarmed her.

…

The following morning, I woke to a summons from my father. I put on my nicest house gown, trying to exude the image of a good princess, although I knew it was probably no use at this point.

I was certain, as I made my way to his study in the western wing of the palace, that he was going to give me the punishment of a lifetime. School was probably out of the question now. Racing was ancient history. And I could forget all about my friends.

My father’s study was brightly lit, as always. He liked to keep the windows open, letting in as much sunlight as possible, but also letting in the outside air. It was frigid outside today, so it was bracing in his study. He always said the fresh air helped him work, even when it wasn’t comfortable. Especially when it wasn’t comfortable.

“Father.” I stopped in the doorway and curtsied automatically, keeping my eyes on the floor. Not just out of deference, but also out of fear of seeing what was sure to be a look of pure steel on his face.

“Liora. I want you to meet someone.”

I blinked at that and looked up. I’d expected to find my father scowling and angry, but to my utter surprise, he was smiling, seated by the fireplace with a cup of tea in his hands. In the armchair beside him sat a woman I didn’t recognize. She was wearing the distinctive dark blue robes of a Royal Academy Witch.

“Liora, this is Madame Belinda,” my father said, gesturing to the woman. “She’s a witch from the Academy.”

“How do you do, Princess?” She set aside her teacup and stood, curtsying.

I wasn’t sure what to say. I greeted her politely, then looked at my father, waiting for him to command her to turn me into a frog or something.

“Belinda heard about your mother’s condition and arrived first thing this morning,” my father said, noticing my strange look. “I’ve decided to take her on as a Royal Witch.”

“A Royal Witch.” I glanced at the woman. We hadn’t had a witch appointed by the Academy in a very long time. I vaguely remembered one acting as an advisor on my father’s council for a period of time when I was a child, but she eventually left, and my father hadn’t appointed a new one since then.

“If you can promise not to race anymore,” he said, “then I will let you return to school in the new semester.”

I gasped. “You really mean that?”

He nodded.

School versus racing. I’d pick the former any day.

“I promise,” I said quickly.

My father smiled. “That’s my girl. Since school is starting in just a week, you should begin preparing now. But first—” He began wheeling me toward the door by my shoulder— “you should go visit your mother, and apologize.”