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“I agree,” says Alexander before my sister can continue to argue. “It wouldn’t do any good to bring you along, darling, not while you’re injured. And without Mary, there’s little point to Evangeline and Kit joining me—”
“Of course there’s still a point,” I protest. “I know I’m not Maisie, but I’m still your daughter, and I can support you. And Kit—”
“—is still an Abbott-Montgomery,” says Doyle brusquely. “Despite his relationship with Evangeline, the press will expect him to side with Her Majesty. To show the three of you together, perhaps a few friendly moments between you and Lord Clarence…”
Alexander clenches his jaw, clearly unhappy about how this conversation is turning out. But he’s the one who wants to carry on like nothing is happening.
“And we can all take a picture together tomorrow at breakfast, before the three of you head out,” says Maisie, who sounds considerably more optimistic now that crowds aren’t involved on her end. “I’ll post it on Instagram with a suitably supportive caption—without mentioning Mummy’s interview, of course—and everyone will see that you’re wearing the same outfits from your appearance, so they’ll all know it was taken that morning.”
Our father shakes his head. “I’m afraid I must insist on going alone. The crowds tomorrow—”
“We’ll skip the walkabout,” I say. “But I am coming. If you don’t want me there, then cancel the appearance, but those are your only options.”
He scowls. “I am still your king—”
“You’re also my dad,” I snap. “And I’m not letting you go out there on your own tomorrow. If you do, you’ll just be giving Helene and the media exactly what they want, and you know it.”
Alexander and I stare at each other for a long moment—too long, probably, considering more than two dozen people are now gawking at us—and it’s only when he straightens in his seat, clearly about to issue some kind of command, that I cut him off.
“I’ll do it,” I say quickly. “That—trip we talked about at breakfast. I’ll do it, no argument, for a minimum of three months and a maximum of six. But only if you let me do this for you.”
This seems to instantly take the wind out of his sails, and he glances at my mother, as if asking for her opinion. Or maybe her help.
“It’s one appearance,” she says quietly. “An hour or two at the most, and then Doyle will have his rebuttal, and you’ll have your dignity and the public support of your family. And Evangeline…”
She trails off, but I know what she isn’t saying. I’ll have the break they think I so desperately need. I’ll be out of this mess long enough to recover, and maybe, by the time my parents let me come home, this will all be sorted out. Or at least the rancor will have died down.
And maybe, just maybe, someone will finally believe me about Ben.
Alexander exhales. “Very well,” he says at last. “One appearance as a family, and then we will carry on as we were before this abominable interview ever happened. Do we have a deal?”
“We have a deal,” I say, and even though I’m the one now facing up to six months in purgatory, I still feel like I’ve won.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nat4leele: Alexander’s been seeing that American slag for TWENTY FIVE YEARS??? How did we never find out?? DIVORCE HIS ARSE.
gemino604: wait—so QH just put up with it all that time? girl. take that royal money and RUN.
MarciOSurley: The Queen is right, this is a tragedy. I hope they all find peace, happiness, and love.
guardenia93: I can’t be the only person who thinks she and Nick make a super hot couple. Like, yeah, it’s sad that she and the king didn’t work out, but what an upgrade. Rooting for them. #royalwedding2025
AshPecla: What kind of person shags their husband’s brother? Disgusting.
GRANdeVENtie3: yawn. rich people cheating on each other and being miserable. who cares.
yeetherish: Why are we deifying these inbred adulterers? Cancel the whole lot. They’re nothing more than worthless grifters who’ve been living off the people for far too bloody long. Britain deserves better.
DutchessDame: time to bring back the guillotine. #offwithherhead
—The comments section of “Heartbroken Queen Regrets All,” The Daily Sun, 12 January 2024
I BARELY SLEEP THAT NIGHT, and when I do, it’s only to wake with a start, drenched in sweat, the last fragments of my nightmares already gone.
At first I can’t figure out why. I was fine on Maisie’s couch, after all, hours after the barrier broke in front of the hospital. But I didn’t know then that I’d be facing another crowd so soon—anangry crowd this time, with every right to hate me and Alexander for what we did to their beloved queen.
Our protection officers will be more cautious now, I tell myself, after what happened to Maisie and me. But this does nothing to soothe my anxiety—if anything, it only makes me fixate on what else they’ve overlooked, and what other small things with big consequences can go wrong. And how Alexander, Kit, and I will be the ones paying the price.
