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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
A fire has broken out in the private royal apartments of Windsor Castle, the main residence of His Majesty, Princess Mary, and Evangeline Bright. The status of the royal family is currently unknown.
—Breaking news alert from the BBC, 5:14 a.m., 18 January 2024
RATHER THAN YET ANOTHER TRIP to the hospital, which our protection officers deem unsafe, Maisie, my mother, and I are escorted by half the city’s police to Apartment 1A in Kensington Palace, a sprawling brick maze of a manor that borders a massive park in the heart of London.
“I’ll come inside with you,” says my mom, a hint of nervousness in her voice as we pass through the gate and into a dark courtyard. “But once you’re both settled in, I think I’ll head back to the hospital.”
While the thought of her leaving sets my already-frayed nerves on edge, I don’t argue. It’s no secret why she doesn’t want to be here—Apartment 1A is where Helene and Nicholas have been secretly living together since the summer, and after the interview Helene gave to the BBC, I can’t blame my mom for not feeling welcome.
Both Helene and Nicholas are waiting for us beneath the inky predawn sky in front of their apartment, which is really a four-story, twenty-room wing of the palace that no one could ever seriously compare to the apartments in Windsor Castle—or any other actual apartment in London. One of the protection officers helps Maisie out of the car, her bandaged arm held tight against her chest, and Helene hurries toward her in a flood of tears.
“Oh, my darling,” she cries. “Look at you. The doctors have already arrived, and we’ve arranged for you to be treated in one of the reception rooms.”
“I’m perfectly all right, Mummy,” says Maisie, but her voice is hoarse, the burn on her forearm is swathed in gauze, and there are still smudges of ash on her cheeks. “This is all completely unnecessary.”
“I’ll believe that once the doctors have said so themselves,” says Helene, and she gently guides Maisie inside, leaving my mom and me behind without a hint of acknowledgment.
Nicholas lingers, however, and he clears his throat in the awkward silence. “Laura,” he says with a nod. “Evangeline. We’re relieved you’re both all right. Have you been seen to?”
“I’m fine,” says my mother before I can jump in. “But the paramedics were concerned about the amount of smoke Evan breathed in. She went after Maisie,” she explains, giving me a hard look. “Straight toward the flames, like the entire building wasn’t already looking for her.”
My face grows warm. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”
“We’ll make sure she’s examined, too,” says Nicholas, ushering us both through the double doors. “That was brave of you, Evan. Reckless, but brave.”
“Maisie would’ve done the same for me,” I say, but that almost definitely isn’t true. And judging by the quirk of Nicholas’s left eyebrow, he’s thinking the same thing.
As we walk across the marble floor of the foyer, warm light spills out from one of the reception rooms, and the crown molding over the arched doorways casts strange shadows on the walls, making this feel like some kind of fever dream. But my mom takes my hand, and I’m painfully aware that it’s all very, very real.
She stays with me in the makeshift clinic until one of the doctors—a blond woman with a sleek bun—does a thorough exam, draws some blood, and declares that the worst I’ll have to deal with is a temporary cough. Relieved, my mom kisses my forehead.
“If anything happens, let Jenkins know, and I’ll come back immediately,” she promises. “You’re sure you’re all right if I go?”
I nod. “I need to get some sleep anyway,” I say, even though I want her to stay. But now that she knows I’m okay, I can tell she’s desperate to check on Alexander. “I’ll visit the hospital later today.”
“Only if you’re feeling up to it.” She gives me one more lingering hug. “I love you, Evie.”
“Love you, too, Mom,” I say. And as I watch her with a heavy lump of unexplained dread in the pit of my stomach, she slips back into the foyer and the darkness beyond.
While my exam was relatively quick, Maisie is subjected to a battery of tests on the other side of the room. My eyelids grow heavy as the adrenaline finally begins to wear off, and I can hear the low murmur of concerned voices while they examine her chest X-ray.
“…need plenty of oxygen and rest,” says Gupta. “We’ll reevaluate her progress this afternoon, and should there be any concerning changes—”
“I’m fine,” wheezes Maisie, who’s once again holding an oxygen mask to her face. “Really. Please don’t put me in hospital. Everyone already thinks I’m weak—”
“Darling, if you need further treatment, then we’ll do whatever we must,” says Helene. “But I’d rather she not be exposed to the public unless absolutely necessary.”
“Agreed, ma’am,” says the protection officer who brought us bandages the night before. “I’ll have a team secure King Edward VII’s Hospital just in case.”
“Evan,” says Nicholas quietly, and I jerk my head up so fast that I think I sprain something. My uncle stands beside the antique chaise I’m curled up on, his mouth pinched and his expression haggard. “Why don’t I show you to one of the guest rooms?”
“Thanks,” I say, “but I’d rather stay here.”
Nicholas smiles faintly, like he was expecting this. “Then I’ll have a pillow and blanket brought in for you. And some water,” he adds, as on the other side of the room, Helene tries to coax a miserable Maisie to drink.
I don’t know why he’s being so nice to me, but I nod, too tired to really question it. Maybe it’s guilt, or maybe with Alexander fighting for his life, Nicholas has decided it’s his job to step up and make sure I don’t suddenly keel over. Either way, I thank him again, and when the pillow and blanket and water arrive, I drain the glass and make myself comfortable, only intending to doze.
