When my grandfather came into my hospital room after the birth, the first thing he said was, “My dear, wasn’t the 250,000 I sent you every month enough?”

My brother Edward went in first.

He was eight years old, but he was wearing the elite of the man who had spent his whole life living in wealthy empires.

He was wearing flowers.

And his face was warm laughter.

“My lady Claire,” he said as he approached.

He parted υп lock of my freaÿte’s hair exactly as he did when I was a child.

For the time everything was normal.

Segυro.

Familiar.

But he asked a question that changed my life forever.