“That’s actually a good idea.”
“I know.” She looks at me like I’m a moron, then softens. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry that no one takes you seriously. They’re idiots not to.”
Her mouth drops in surprise, but she quickly shakes it offwith an exaggerated hair flip. “I was hoping things would change when Theo took the throne, but he’s too resentful of the whole institution to know how to change it for the better.”
My eyes stray to Buckingham Palace, and it might be my imagination, but I swear I see a curtain move in one of the windows. My self-restraint finally snaps.
“Can I ask you about Theo, or are we still pretending he doesn’t exist?”
“Yes,” Victoria says.
“To which question?”
“Yes you can ask, and yes I reserve the right to ignore you and pretend my brother doesn’t exist.”
I’ll take what I can get.“Why did your mom treat Theo differently than the rest of your siblings?”
She laughs. “Blimey, I thought you were going to ask why he’s been avoiding you—”
“Whyishe avoiding me?”
She raises her eyebrows, and I know immediatelythat’sa question she’ll be ignoring. “It’s simple. He was the heir.”
“Theo seems to be under the impression that your mom thought Henry would have made a better monarch.”
“Who hasn’t thought that? Theo’s made it clear how little he wants the job, even now…” She trails off, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, before cutting me a sidelong glance. “Sorry, what was the question?”
“Do you think your mother wanted Henry to be king?”
She stops in her tracks. “Maybe… but that’s not what happened, is it?” She gives me a strange look.
My chest feels tight. I can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen if I keep pulling at this thread, but I can’t stop myself. I glance up at the palace again, and all the curtainsin the windows are still. I pick up a smooth stone from the garden and toss it back and forth between my hands. My arms aren’t strong enough, and my aim isn’t that good, but I wonder what would happen if I tapped on Theo’s window.Would he even answer?
Victoria grabs the stone out of my hand. “Don’t be desperate. It’s cringey. C’mon, I’m getting sweaty.”
On our way back to the car we pass a pile of fireworks the size of a small home. “Looks like a fun party,” I say pointedly, but either Victoria doesn’t pick up on the hint, or she doesn’t care.
“It won’t be” is all she says before ushering Comet and me back into the car.
Back at Clarence House, there’s a large bookcase next to the grandfather clock in the sitting room, and I approach it with a plan. I move a vase of flowers sent to me by the prime minister’s office (a weird move, unless they think I reallyamgoing to be the queen consort), grab a book about the history of the kings and queens of England, and take it up to my bedroom on the third floor. I toss it onto the four-poster bed and settle in for an afternoon of reading. I don’t actually open the book, though, because who needs six-hundred-page tomes when the internet exists. I do all my research online, alternating between twenty-year-old tabloid stories, royal-gossip message boards, and Wikipedia pages about lines of succession.
The Wikipedia articles confirm what I remember from history class about illegitimate royal babies (they have no claim to the throne), and the gossip threads unearth dozens of insane royal conspiracy theories, from Moonbumps (don’t look it up) to the late Queen Alice’s suspected affairs.
It’s a lot of information to take in all at once, and I still don’t know what I’m going to do with it, or how to confirm my suspicions that Theo is the product of an affair—and therefore not eligible to sit on the throne.
This could change literally everything for Theo, Henry, and me. I could go back home, and Theo could come with me. He wouldn’t be stuck in a life he resents, and Henry could have everything he ever wanted.
On the other hand, that’s a lot to assume, considering Theo hasn’t spoken to me in days.
A firework explodes in the distance, pulling me out of my online rabbit hole.
I slide off the bed and step over a sleeping Comet on my way to the en-suite bathroom. I brush my teeth, strip off my clothes, turn the shower water to scalding, and sit under the spray until my eyelids are heavy.
I dry off, put on a clean pair of sweats, and cross the room to the window, where the fireworks are going crazy. I picture Theo, Victoria, and Henry sitting on the grass under the colorful explosion, and my stomach twists sourly. Our last night on the beach, they told me I wasn’t alone.That I couldn’t get rid of them.I guess people will say anything when they’re starving and dehydrated and struggling to survive on a deserted island, because now I’m alone in a house down the street while they celebrate at a royal party that I couldn’t even score a pity invite to. I’m starting to lose hope that I’m ever going to see Theo before the coronation.
I should stop kidding myself and fly home tomorrow.
