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“Partner,” he corrects. “Exactly as she is now. Exactly as she has been since the day we met.”
I consider that. It’s not how I see them—maybe because of the power imbalance, or maybe because of all those years I thought my mom’s relationship with him was a figment of her illness. But I remember how she silently comforted him in the hospital the day before, and how she can calm both his temper and his nerves with a touch, and something about the way I think of them both shifts. He’s not a king when he’s with her, and she’s not a mistress or a home-wrecker or any of the other disgusting things the media calls her. They’re just…together.
“You don’t want her to leave, do you?” I say, and he purses his lips.
“We were going to wait to speak to you about it in the new year, but…no, I don’t. And neither does she.”
I shake my head, more out of instinct than conscious thought. “She can’t stay. I want her here as much as you do, but the press is out for her blood, and the people will never give her a chance. She won’t be able to set foot outside the castle without risking her life—”
“I can keep her safe,” he insists, and I give him a look. “I mean it, Evie. What happened to you won’t ever happen again.”
“It’s not just that,” I say. “It’s her routine. It’s everything that’s familiar. You know how important that all is for her mental health. Disruptions, big changes—they can confuse her, and she’s already pushing herself too hard—”
“You’re important for her mental health, too.”
I shake my head again. “She went seven years without seeing me in person.”
“Only because she thought it was the right thing to do,” he says. “Those were the hardest years of her life, and I have no desire to watch her go through that again. As difficult as it might be for a little while, she’ll be happier here, once she settles in. She’ll be happier here with both of us.”
“But—”
“Evie.” He takes my good hand. His skin is warm and dry, and there’s a comforting weight to his touch that I’m still not used to. “You’ve spent a very long time worrying about your mum, and I understand why. But she isn’t delicate, and she won’t shatter, not because of something like this. She’s strong—stronger than you realize, I think—and she’s had to deal with more than any of us can fully comprehend. This is what she wants—very badly—and even if you can’t trust my judgment, you can trust hers.”
I feel like I’ve swallowed my tongue, and tears prickle in my eyes as I try to sort my panicked thoughts into something tangible. “If anything happens to her…”
“It won’t,” he says, and he squeezes my hand. “Nothing will happen to either of you again, I swear it. I’ve spoken to the home secretary, and starting immediately, you’ll be assigned your own around-the-clock protection officers.”
“Me?” I say, stunned. “Or my mom, too?”
“You,” he admits. “She isn’t eligible, I’m afraid, though should she choose to venture out on her own, I will ensure she has a private security team with her at all times.”
My heart’s beating a little too fast now, and the lights around us start to blur together. “That won’t protect her from Ben.”
“Benedict won’t hurt her, Evie,” says Alexander with a frown. “There’s no denying he put you through hell last summer, and I will never forgive him for it. But he isn’t responsible for the shooting. He may be arrogant and spoiled, but I’ve known him his entire life, and there are some things he simply isn’t capableof.”
Maybe Alexander means for this to be reassuring, but a hollow forms in the pit of my stomach, and I swallow, my throat dry. It won’t matter if I tell him about the date on the photo album, I realize. He’s already made up his mind about Ben, and nothing short of a smoking gun will change it.
“What if you’re wrong?” I say. “What if he does try something? Or—what if he already has, and we just don’t know it yet?”
“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” he says quietly. “And in the meantime, you and your mother will be well-protected against all threats, both inside the castle and out. I promise.”
He means it—it’s obvious he means it with all his damn heart. But I still don’t believe him.
“I want to learn how to defend myself,” I blurt, and my father tilts his head like I’ve just suggested growing wings.
“Pardon?”
“Once I’ve recovered, I want someone to teach me how to fight,” I say. “Not just with my hands, but with weapons, too. Something I can keep on me at all times in case security fails.”
The thought of shoving a knife between Ben’s ribs brings only a fraction of the comfort it should, but Alexander’s nod helps considerably. “Very well. I will make the arrangements.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, picking up an album by a rock band called Royal Blood. Either Kit chose this because of his impeccable analysis of my musical tastes, or it’s Maisie’s idea of a joke. “Why am I eligible for personal protection officers when my mom isn’t?”
Alexander exhales. “Well—I was going to wait until you were older, but given the circumstances…I was hoping you’d agree to become a working royal.”
I blink, positive I haven’t heard him right. “What?”
“It’s a bit unorthodox,” he allows. “Considering you’re not…well, legitimate, technically speaking.”
