Alexander is alive, but he’sfrail.
It’s the kind of frail that nothing in life can really prepare you for—the kind where, as I wrap my arms around him, sobbing so hard I can barely breathe, the only conscious thought to pass through my mind is that hugging him too tightly might end up killing him after all.
I hear his words in my ear, a murmur of something comforting, but I can’t make them out. He doesn’t sound like himself. His mouth isn’t working right, maybe because of the coma or thehead injury or a combination of both, but I don’t care. Hearing his voice again is more than I thought I’d ever have.
My mother joins us, sitting on the opposite side of my father’s bed and hugging us both with such warm gentleness that it only makes me cry harder. Until this moment, I had no idea how scared I really was. How badly I needed Alexander to wake up. And now that he has, now that he and my mom are here, I let out every terrible emotion I’ve been holding in this past month, allowing the pieces of myself held together by vengeance and spite to crumble.
I don’t know how long the three of us stay like that, but eventually one of my father’s monitors begins to beep, and a nurse I didn’t notice before steps up, waiting for us to detangle ourselves before she takes his vitals. From that short burst of activity—from nothing more than hugging me and my mom—Alexander is clearly out of breath, and anxiety twists inside me once more. Alive. Awake. But still at the edge of danger.
“Where…” he manages to slur, but he trails off, his lips still parted like the rest of his question is right on the tip of his tongue.
“Jenkins told us what you’ve been up to,” says my mother instead, taking my father’s hand. “But he didn’t mention you’d taken up boxing.”
I can see the worry in her eyes, even though she keeps her tone light for Alexander, and I gingerly touch the same spot Jenkins honed in on earlier. “You should see the other guy,” I joke, but neither of them laugh. I feel Kit’s presence behind me, and when I glance at him, he doesn’t meet my gaze.
“You were one of the first things His Majesty asked about upon waking,” says Jenkins stiffly from his spot on the other side of the bed. “I told him everything.”
“Everything?” I say, eyebrow raised. Jenkins raises one rightback.
“Everything. Including MI5’s involvement.”
Alexander clears his throat, though it does little to help his speech. “MI5…”
“They have plenty to answer for,” agrees my mom, her thumb stroking the back of his hand. “In the meantime, I’d like to hear the full story from Evie and Kit.”
I glance at Kit again, and this time he’s watching me expectantly. But when I open my mouth, I have no idea where to start.
“After the bombing,” I say slowly, thinking over each word as I speak, “the Army of the British Republic—the antimonarchist terrorist group that took responsibility—claimed I was involved in the planning.”
Lines appear in Alexander’s forehead, and I know immediately from his confusion that no one has mentioned this part to him. “You…?”
“I wasn’t,” I say hastily. “But—a lot of things happened really quickly that made it look like I had it out for the family. There was even a picture where Kit and I—we were photographed with one of the terrorists who was arrested at the site of the bombing.”
“It was a setup, Your Majesty,” says Jenkins, and I can already hear the regret in his voice at asking me to explain. With a single look, he silences me, and I gladly shut my mouth and lean into Kit as both he and Jenkins take the reins instead.
Together they paint a picture at a much more digestible pace, explaining as they go about Fox Rex and how both Kit and his older brother, Liam, were roped into joining. They break the news gently about the connection between a supposedly harmless but banned Oxford society and the Army of the British Republic, and Kit explains in detail how I ended up as the poster child for the most infamous domestic terrorist group the UK has seen this century, making sure to highlight the fact that I am not in any way, shape, or form an actual terrorist.
They leave out the parts about the Windsor Castle fire, I notice, and Maisie’s brush with death at my supposed hands. Ben isn’t mentioned at all, which rankles me, but I can tell by the way my father’s gaze slips in and out of focus that he’s already struggling to process everything. There’s a good chance this won’t be the only time he’ll have to hear all of this information, and for now, I bite my tongue and let the cracks remain.
At last, after Jenkins has touched on the hospital threat that saw my critically injured father and the entire royal family evacuated to Balmoral, we reach the moment Agent Suraj Singh of MI5 asked Kit and me to help infiltrate Fox Rex and find the list of former members—and potential current ABR terrorists.
“And…you…said…yes,” says my father in a whisper so hoarse that it crackles, but this time, I understand every word.
I nod without shame. “I had to.Wehad to. It’s the only way to find the list—”
“It’s not the only way,” says Jenkins coolly. But when I look at him, his mouth is pinched, and his gaze is cast to the carpet.
“Kit and I have an in,” I insist. “I’ve already spoken to Guy Fawkes—”
“Youmethim?” says my mother, horrified, and her hand flies to her throat. “Evie—”
“It’s a good thing,” I insist. “He trusts me, I think. And if we can just have a little more time—another two or three weeks to get closer to him—then I think I’ll be able to convince him that I’m a bigger asset than Ben.”
“Ben?” My father’s complexion goes ashen, and I realize my mistake the instant my despicable cousin’s name leaves his mouth. “He…still…?”
I gulp. “He’s behind it all. I’m sorry, Dad, I really am. I know you don’t believe me, but we’re so close to getting proof—soclose, and if I can just get Guy to trust me—”
“I—believe…” My father shakes his head minutely, and his face crumples, as if this small action alone has caused him a world of pain. “No,” he manages after a beat. “Evie…no.”
