A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 80: All in

She met his gaze with calm.

Tom spoke again. "You didn't hesitate."

She said nothing.

"You walked to the centre of that room like you belonged there," he continued, voice low and smooth. "And then you gave them something better than conviction. You gave them clarity."

Anastasia's expression didn't flicker. But her jaw set slightly.

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"It is." He leaned back, folding his hands. "Most people spend their lives mistaking the echo for the original sound. You know better. You know how to make the first noise."

Her throat tightened. She looked away again. "You know me too well."

"I have to," he said. "Don't I?"

Silence again.

Only this time, it was fuller. Tighter.

She could feel the weight of him across from her—the familiarity of it, the inevitability. She could feel her own reflection in the carriage glass, flickering in and out between tree shadows.

And then, quietly—almost like a sigh—

"You don't trust me," Tom said.

Anastasia turned back. Slowly. "No," she replied. "I don't."

He didn't react. Just watched her, eyes gleaming faintly. "You should."

She tilted her head, a smile barely touching her lips. "Why? Because I made your empire sound like a wedding toast?"

"No," Tom said, voice quiet. "Because you still think you're not all in."

She stilled.

He went on. "But you are. You gave them words to live by tonight. And they will. They'll carve it into their house walls and teach it to their sons. They'll quote you in salons and at trials. You wrote doctrine."

She said nothing.

Tom smiled. "And you did it beautifully."

The silence stretched again.

The words sat in the air like perfume—expensive, artificial, and impossible to scrub off.

Outside, the fog pressed closer. The hills had fallen away, replaced by low stone fences and stretches of moor that bled into one another like smudged ink. The kind of land no one owned, but everyone claimed.

Inside, the air was warmer. More dangerous.

Tom shifted, just slightly—repositioning his hands on his knee, eyes never leaving hers.

"What do you think of all this?" he asked.

His voice was mild. But the carriage felt colder the moment he said it.

"All this?" Anastasia echoed.

"The speeches. The guests. The way they looked at you tonight. What they think we're building."

She hesitated.

That was the trick, wasn't it? Tom never asked questions without a purpose. This wasn't curiosity. It was excavation. He didn't want her opinion. He wanted the shape of her mind.

She kept her voice even. "I think they're eager."

"To follow?" he asked. "Or to survive?"

"Does it matter?" Her tone was smooth. Unbothered.

He tilted his head slightly. "It should."

She shrugged. "Loyalty built on fear behaves the same as loyalty built on belief. The spell doesn't know the difference."