“It won’t be the same,” Vic whispered. “All my plans… the timings… the photos… Hyz has already drawn diagrams of the table with turkeys.”
“You can redraw diagrams,” Julia said. “You can write ‘mysterious vegetarian centrepiece’ and confuse everyone.”
“That’s not funny,” Vic said. Then, after a beat, “Okay, it’s a bit funny. But still.”
From somewhere near the tree, Hyzenthlay’s voice floated over. “We don’t have turkeys?” she asked, loud enough to cut through the murmuring.
The triplets gasped as one.
“Does that mean no pigs in blankets?” Frank demanded.
“That’s not how things work,” Matilda said. “Pigs and turkeys are separate.”
Florence’s lower lip wobbled. “Is Christmas cancelled?”
Alexandra, to her credit, reacted immediately.
She swept over, cloak swirling slightly, and crouched so she was level with the kids.
“Of course Christmas isn’t cancelled,” she said. “Christmas is not dependent on poultry. Christmas isabout…” She cast a quick look at Julia and Vic. “…being together with the people we love. And wearing ridiculous jumpers. And occasionally setting pudding on fire.”
“That last bit is optional,” Julia added.
“And if the turkeys are stuck in the snow,” Alex continued calmly, “then they are having their own little adventure and we will wish them well. And we will eat something else delicious instead.”
“What?” Frank asked. “Cake?”
“Not cake for dinner,” Alex said. “Well. Not only cake.”
Hyzenthlay tugged at Vic’s sleeve. “We can have reindeer-shaped potatoes,” she suggested. “And call it a creative pivot.”
Vic made a sound that might have been a laugh strangled by despair. “Reindeer-shaped potatoes,” she repeated faintly. “Sure. Why not. We’re already one rogue hoof away from anarchy.”
Alex straightened and looked at Vic properly.
For a moment, Julia saw the old dynamic: Princess and best friend, long before bodyguards and coronations and triplets. Alex’s eyes softened.
“Vic,” she said quietly. “Look at me.”
Vic did, reluctantly, like a child expecting a scolding.
“We will be fine,” Alex said. “I do not care if we eat turkey, ham, or beans on toast. I care that my children are here. That you and Julia and Hyzenthlay are here. That Erin is here. That we’re not spending this one putting on black clothes and attending funerals on live television.”
Something flickered in Vic’s face at that. A memory. Julia felt it too, sharp and painful: the year the King had died and the children had been born. The quiet in this castle that winter. The way Alex had stood in this very room dressed in black giving her annual Christmas speech to the world withcameras pointed at her, every movement scrutinised, the world demanding comfort while she was still drowning.
Everything Alex did publicly was a performance and she, over many years had become a gifted performer. But, Julia didn’t want to calculate how much each and every performance took from her.
“Yeah,” Vic said hoarsely. “Okay. That was… that was worse.”
“It was,” Alex said. “So we can handle a few missing birds.”
“It’s more than a few,” Vic muttered automatically.
Julia slipped an arm through Vic’s, grounding her. “We will problem-solve,” she said. “You’re very good at that. But you’re not doing it alone. We have staff. We have local suppliers. We have…” She hesitated. “We have a royal helicopter.”
Alex’s eyebrow rose. “You are not sending the Royal Air Force on a turkey run,” she said.
“I didn’t say air force,” Julia said. “I said one tiny royal helicopter. There’s a difference.”
