“Evan,” she says with a sigh, as if I’m a misbehaving child who needs to hear the rules one more time before they stick. “That’s not on you.”
“No one else is looking,” I protest. “No one else believes Ben is part of this—”
“Plenty of people believe you,” she says. “He can’t go anywhere in Balmoral without being tailed by half a dozen protection officers, andhe’snot the one they’re protecting.”
I clench my jaw. “If I’m going to accuse the third in line to the throne of treason and terrorism, then I need enough evidence to nail him to the damn wall. It can’t be hunches, or coincidences, or the looks he gives me when no one else is watching. It has to be concrete. It has to beenough.And this is the only way, okay? Ben’s too smart to leave a trail, but maybe the ABR slipped up.”
“And if they haven’t?” says Tibby, softer this time. I swallowhard.
“Then he’s going to kill everyone who stands between him and the throne until it’s finally his.”
This isn’t an exaggeration—I have the bullet wound to prove it, still healing and too close to my heart for anyone’s comfort. My father will always bear the scars that prove it, too, if he ever wakes up. And it’s only by sheer luck that my mother wasn’t caught in a fire that could have—wouldhave—killed her.
Because we’re the ones in Ben’s way now. And there is nothing Prince Benedict of York is more afraid of than the simple fact that if my parents ever decide to marry, I’ll be legitimized, and the crown that was once all but guaranteed to be his will fall to my potential heirs instead.
“How’s my dad?” I say as I trace the logo on the thermos with my bare fingers.
Tibby purses her lips. “His Majesty is showing signs of regaining consciousness, but it’s slower than his doctors would prefer.”
I bite my lip. It’s been almost three weeks since the bombing that nearly stole Alexander’s life, and with every day that passes, I know the hope of a full recovery—or any kind of significant recovery at all—dwindles. “Is my mom still with him?”
“According to Jenkins, she doesn’t leave his side,” she says. “He also told me to tell you that should His Majesty grow aware of his surroundings and ask after you—”
“He’ll tell Alexander where I am,” I mumble. “I know.”
“And frankly,” says Tibby, “if this little sojourn of yours goes on much longer without any progress, I wouldn’t put it past Jenkins to go to Her Royal Highness and have her pull the plug.”
I shudder at the thought of what Maisie, my half sister,would say if she knew what I’ve been up to while she’s been stuck in Balmoral, but there’s also a distinct possibility she wouldn’t care. As the heir to the throne, she and the other Counsellors of State have their hands full trying to keep the monarchy from collapsing, and considering how furious she was with me for my evasiveness during our last phone call, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s all but banished me from her mind out of sheer spite.
“We just—need more time,” I say, my voice cracking. “Please, Tibby. Whatever you can do to convince Jenkins—”
“And if I don’t want to?” she says, but when I give her a pleading look, she sniffs. “This is reckless, Evan.”
“I know. But so is doing nothing and letting Ben get away with it.”
A muscle in her jaw twitches. “No matter how deep you dig, you might never find what you’re looking for.”
“At least I’ll know I tried,” I manage, and she holds my gaze for another long moment before finally rising to her feet.
“Don’t die,” she says simply. And with that, Lady Tabitha Finch-Parker-Covington-Boyle strides away, leaving me with my thermos in hand and the weight of the monarchy’s survival on myshoulders.
Chapter Two
Christopher Abbott-Montgomery, Earl of Clarence and one half of the most hated couple in the world, was spotted leaving the college of Christ Church this afternoon, where he was accompanied by a leggy blond who is most certainlynotthe Bonnie to his Clyde.
The pair was seen making their way down High Street together before parting ways inside their student accommodations with alingeringgoodbye. The nephew of the Queen was, according to an eyewitness, eager to escort his companion to her dormitory for some time away from the limelight, but she coyly fended him off, no doubt unwilling to get entangled with a suspected terrorist.
While the whereabouts of Evangeline Bright remain unknown, the trusty hounds of Fleet Street have been dogging Lord Clarence’s every step as he joins the new term at Oxford University after hisallegedparticipation in the bombing of the Modern Music Museum in London. Suffice to say, when his lesser half gets ahold of him, no doubt she’ll have as many questions as we do about his chosen company as of late. Will he follow his ball and chain all the way behind bars? Or has Lord Clarence finally seen the light and distanced himself from His Majesty’s illegitimate—and degenerate—offspring?
Click below for a gallery of Lord Clarence’s former flames, and check back in tomorrow, when we’ll have an exclusive interview with Jasmine Jay, with whom he had a whirlwind romance in the days before Evangeline’s arrival in England last year.
—The Regal Record, 31 January 2024
I’ve been back in theflat for five minutes when a key jangles in the lock, and I watch from the dining table as the doorswings open and a red-faced and breathless Kit trudges into the tiny foyer.
“Bloody parasites,” he mutters, dropping his satchel on the ground and raking his fingers through his dark waves. “They tried to follow me inside the dormitory this time. Security got involved, and I had to slip out the back.”
I frown. One of the many levels of subterfuge we’ve had to implement is the fiction that Kit is living in the dorms, when we’re really staying half a mile away, in a building that’s crawlingwith undercover agents and personal protection officers. “We should get you a coat that turns inside out,” I say through a mouthful of cereal, because making light of the situation is our only real option anymore. “That way, if you ever need to make a quick escape, all you have to do is flip it around, pull a hat on, and no one will know it’s you.”
