Page 86 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“Yes, Miss Harriet.” The leading attendant bobs into a small curtsey and ushers the others all out.

Rowan turns to go, but I squeak, and he stops, looking back at me with a questioning eyebrow raise.

“Sorry,” I say. “Could you stay?”

“Of course.” He inclines his head, then ensures the door is closed firmly behind the girls.

Beatrix helps me down off the small pedestal and fusses over my skirt. “Oh, Louis, can’t we just… This one time… Break tradition and get her a tiara?”

Louis smiles warmly at us both. “And be robbed of the sight of her in a tiara for the first time on her wedding day? Surely not, dear.”

She sighs. “You’re right. I just wish—”

“You cannot rush everyone to the vault for a last-minute tiara just to stick the knife into William Sinclair’s wife,” Louis says dryly, prompting me to bite back a laugh.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Beatrix coughs into her hand and turns to me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do you, darling?”

“None at all.” I press my lips together to hide my smile and go to my bag. Although my time with her has been limited, if I’ve learnt one thing about the Queen, it’s that she’s more of a mischief maker than I am.

No wonder she was so close to my mother, the biggest prankster I’ve ever met.

I pull a sealed envelope from my suitcase and carry it over. “If it’s possible, can you please keep this safe?”

Beatrix reaches for it. “What is it?”

“DNA results.”

All three of them stare at me.

I swallow. “When I returned, Rosalyn insisted on a DNA test between me and my father. It came back as a complete match, of course, but…”

“Do you mind?” Rowan asks, reaching to take them from the Queen.

I shake my head.

He relieves her of my documents and pulls them out of the envelope. He scans a few pages, then looks over at me. “These are the originals.”

“Yes. How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen these results many times.” He smiles wryly. “People love to claim they’re a part of the royal family. Most balk when you bring up the DNA test, but for the foolish few who go through with it…” He shrugs. “You learn to recognise these things. And there’s an actual signature on the report, not a printed one. I know this doctor personally.”

Ah.

That’ll do it.

“Why have you brought them here?” Louis asks, stepping up beside Beatrix and touching her back.

“I don’t trust the Sinclairs,” I say quietly. “I knew where my father kept the results, so I swapped the envelopes, and replaced the real ones with something else. I don’t want to leave any room for anyone to dispute our relationship.”

Beatrix’s face tightens. “You think they’ll dispute your parentage?”

“Not right away.” I clasp my hands at my stomach to quell the swirling nausea inside it. “But I believe it’s a possibility at some point, yes.”

“It’s very smart of you to get ahead,” Louis says. “Perhaps you might consider officially granting Rowan permission to speak on your behalf, then we can contact the doctor responsible for signing this off and get his testimony. Just in case.”

“Whatever’s necessary,” I reply. “As long as it’s not too much work. I know you’re busy,” I add to Rowan.

“Not at all, Miss Harriet. Protecting the Royal Family is a part of my job.” He smiles. “And that is a family of which you are now a part. I would be more than happy to do this for you.”