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“We should know more about His Majesty’s condition in the morning,” says the nurse in a gentle Scottish accent. “For now, the doctors have stabilized him, and we’ll do all we can to help him make it through the night.”
“He will,” says my mother with quiet certainty. Her eyes linger on his face, and her thumb strokes the back of his hand. “I’d like to stay with him, if it’s allowed.”
The nurse looks at Constance, who still stands by the door, her cheeks bloodless and her eyes haunted. For all her arrogance and bad temper, right now she’s nothing more than a mother faced with the possibility of losing her son, and her throat tightens before she nods.
“He would want you here,” she says, and my mom offers her the tiniest of smiles before turning her gaze back to my father. And as she lays her head down beside their intertwined hands, I drag another chair over and join her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ARRESTS MADE IN MUSEUM BOMBING; KING’S CONDITION STILL UNKNOWN
The Home Office has announced that several arrests have been made related to the bombing of the Modern Music Museum in London yesterday, which has claimed the lives of eight people.
While the identities of the suspected terrorists have not yetbeen revealed, the Army of the British Republic, a previously unknown and self-declared anti-monarchist group, has reportedly taken credit for the bombing in a video posted anonymously to social media. Though the Home Office has yet to confirm their claim, several international leaders, including President Hope Park of the United States, have already condemned the organization for the attack.
While the King’s condition remains unknown, a palace insider has revealed that Evangeline Bright, illegitimate daughter of the King, and Christopher Abbott-Montgomery, Earl of Clarence and nephew to the Queen, survived the attack. Both have been admitted to an undisclosed hospital for treatment, though the extent of their injuries remains unknown.
—The Daily Sun, 13 January 2024
IN THE EARLY HOURS OF the morning, long before the sun rises, Jenkins appears in the doorway of my hospital room.
Kit is asleep in the bed beside me, his body tense with nightmares that aren’t hard to guess, but I’m awake, staring at the ceiling as I try not to think about what’s happening down the hall. Every time I hear someone hurry past my room, my adrenaline spikes, and I’m sure this is it—that Alexander’s finally let go. But neither my mother nor Constance comes to break the news to me, and each time my anxiety drags me out of bed to check with the protection officers stationed outside my door, all they do is offer a reassuring nod. Somehow, against all odds, he’s hanging on.
“Jenkins?” I whisper as he slips inside the room, closing the door softly behind him. He startles slightly, clearly not expecting me to be awake, and in the dim light, I see his apologetic grimace.
“Good morning, Evan,” he says softly. “How do you feel?”
“Like a building fell on me,” I deadpan, and to his credit, he tries to smile. “Is Alexander still…?”
“His Majesty is a fighter,” says Jenkins, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Do you feel well enough to come home?”
“Already?” Technically Kit and I have both been discharged, but no one’s argued about us staying in the room for a little while longer, considering Alexander’s the only other patient on this floor.
“Her Royal Highness has asked that you be present for an emergency meeting this morning,” he says. “In order to discuss the, er…plans for what will happen while His Majesty is incapacitated.”
“Plans?” I say, confused. “What does that mean?”
“It means…” Jenkins clears his throat. “It means that though we all very much hope His Majesty will make a full recovery, we must decide how to carry on until he is ready to resume his duties. Her Royal Highness is the heir to the throne, of course, but until she is twenty-one, she is bound by the Regency Act of 2005, and that…complicates matters significantly.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “Jenkins, I just learned the difference between MI5 and MI6. I have no idea what the Regency Act of 2005 is.”
This finally gets a real—albeit faint—smile out of him. “It’s an act that was put into place by Parliament shortly after your sister was born. It outlines what would happen—what will now happen—should something befall His Majesty before Her Royal Highness reaches the age of twenty-one.”
“But he’s not—he’s not gone,” I say. “He could wake up, right? Isn’t a regency permanent?”
“The situation we’re now in is…rather delicate, and we do not yet know if a true regency will be required. But it is possible.”
I don’t want to think about that, especially not now, in the early morning, with my ears still ringing from the bomb. “Why twenty-one?” I say. “I thought Queen Victoria was eighteen when she took the throne.”
“She was,” says Jenkins. “But while the Regency Act of 2005 was being drafted, your father asked to include a clause ensuring that so long as Her Royal Highness is under the age of twenty-one, she will be assisted by a council of senior royals, who are able to help make decisions and carry out the monarch’s duties in his absence, whether temporary or permanent.”
“So it won’t all be on Maisie,” I say, though I’m still confused.
“Precisely,” he says. “And she wishes for you to be present during the discussion of the finer details.”
I have no idea why, and spending hours listening to a dozen royal advisers arguing over political minutiae sounds like the worst way to spend any morning, let alone this one. But I nod, because the thought of what Maisie must be going through right now makes me shiver, and the idea of her facing it alone makes me ache with something I can’t name. Protectiveness, maybe. Or maybe some kind of sibling connection I don’t recognize. If Alexander takes a turn, or if he can’t find his way back, my sister will be queen. And I don’t think any of us are prepared, least of all her.
“Okay,” I say. “But when it’s over, I’m coming back to sit with my mom.”
