I press my lips together, still facing the tea instead of him. I didn’t tell him what Maisie tried to do, even though the smartthing would be to warn him. Just because she failed once, after all, doesn’t mean she won’t try again.
But Kit loves her like a sister. He grew up with her, and he’s already lost his brother and Ben. I can’t—Iwon’tdo anything to put a wedge between him and Maisie, even when it means dealing with the aftermath of this on my own.
“I’m feeling a little more…anxious than usual lately, with the wedding so close,” I say. “And it’s kind of nice, isn’t it? Making our own tea instead of relying on someone to bring it to us. Like how it was in the flat.”
I hear the rustle of blankets, and then Kit’s warm arms envelop me from behind, his cheek resting against my head. “It is nice,” he agrees, his voice low in my ear. “As long as that’s all itis.”
I nod, my mouth dry. I hate myself for lying to him. “We know Ben likes to drug drinks.”
“And chocolates,” he says grimly. “I suppose we could live off Pizza Express until we go back to Oxford, if you’d prefer.”
“Tempting,” I say with a small smile. “But after what happened to Rosie, Alexander’s being a lot more careful with the food and kitchen staff. And I can’t go completely off the deepend.”
“No, no, can’t have that,” he agrees, his arms tightening around me. “C’mon. Let’s get a bit of food in you before Alexander calls that meeting. I’ve a feeling it’ll be a long one. Do you think Maisie and Gia would like to join us for lunch?”
“No,” I blurt a little too quickly, and he pauses, peering down at me. “I mean—Maisie’s obviously going through a lot right now, and I doubt seeing me will help.” In our own twistedversion of “The Prince and the Pauper,” I’m weeks away from being legitimized, while Maisie is facing down the barrel of public bastardom. “Besides, the meeting is going to be a mess. I wouldn’t mind a few minutes of peace and quiet first.”
Even though I can still feel Kit’s burning questions, he doesn’t press, and we head back to the bed with our mugs of tea. The story of Ben’s interview has reached American news sites now, and my compassion for my sister and all she’s going through fights a violent war with the very real fact that I should be dead by now, if she’d had her way.
Tibby knocks on our door soon after, and the three of us head up to the conference room, which I expect to be packed with advisers and assistants. Instead, as Kit opens the door for Tibby and me, I’m struck by how empty the room is. Maybe the others have already left, but the only people who remain are Alexander, Doyle, Astrid, and Jenkins, each of whom look like they’ve spent all morning banging their heads against a wall.
“Ah, Evie, Kit, you made it,” says Alexander, and when he tries to smile, it looks like a grimace of pain. I haven’t seen him since the confrontation with Venetia in the white drawing room, and I can’t bring myself to offer him a greeting other than the smallest of nods. He returns it, his face falling, and I can’t help but wonder what he would think about Maisie’s stunt with the tea. Would he try to make excuses for her? Or would he take my side, for once?
I sit at the far end of the table that’s meant for two dozen, and Kit joins me as I pull the damn wooden puzzle from my pocket, more as something to fidget with rather than in anyhopes of finally solving it. I’ve spent hours messing with it since Rosie’s death, but there’s something about the wooden shape that doesn’t make sense to me. Something that was maybe obvious to John Phillip Michaels, but that kind of spatial intelligence isn’t my forte.
“What’s that?” says Kit quietly as the rest of the family trickles into the room. Helene, Nicholas, my mother, and finally Maisie, whose hair is unwashed and whose face is tinged with gray. I can’t look at her, and so I show Kit the puzzle box instead, holding it in my palm.
“Just one of those brainteaser things,” I mumble, already feeling guilty for not telling him it’s the same puzzle John Phillip Michaels gave me back in February. But now is definitely not the time. “I can’t figure it out.”
“That’s because this bit is twisted the wrong way,” he says, his brow knit. He takes it from me, and his nimble fingers work some strange magic, flipping one of the wooden pieces, only to drop the puzzle in my hand once more. “Try that. It should worknow.”
I blink at him. “How did you see that?”
He shrugs. “The wood grain didn’t match the rest. It must’ve been moved out of position.”
Stunned, I focus on the puzzle again, and sure enough, the pieces turn easily now, just like they did under John Phillip Michaels’s deft touch. Had he flipped it like that on purpose? Or had I accidentally jammed it in one of my early attempts to solveit?
“Thank you all for being here,” says Alexander, even thoughthere are fewer than ten of us. Kit and I remain separated from the others, though I notice Jenkins has moved closer to us, bridging the gap. “I suppose everyone is aware of what this is about.”
“Thatwretch,” spits Helene, her posture rigid and her eyes red. “This is treason, Alex—”
“I’m aware,” he says miserably, and my mother sets a hand on his arm. “But I can’t very well haul him in front of an executioner, can I?”
“There are other ways of achieving the same goal,” mutters Helene, and the look Nicholas gives her sends a chill through me. Ben may be Royal Enemy Number One, but he’s still Nicholas’s kid. “He’s put the entire monarchy at risk—”
“He also made it clear that he expects the crown to retaliate, ma’am,” says Astrid from her spot across from Doyle. “And anyone who believes him will also deify him should the royal family try to seek vengeance for this.”
“It isn’tvengeance,” protests Helene. “It’s all li—”
But she falters then, and heavy silence fills the room. It isn’t all lies. Ben has the truth on his side, for once, and there’s nothing anyone here can do about it.
“How did he even get his hands on that bloody test in the first place?” says Alexander, and this time his quiet rage is directed at his brother. Nicholas exhales sharply.
“I’ve no idea,” he says raggedly. “I’ve kept it, of course, but it’s locked in my personal safe—”
“And you’recertainyou never gave him the passcode?” says Helene, making it obvious they’ve had this conversation before. Nicholas nods.
“The only one who’s ever laid eyes on it other than the three of us is Venetia,” he admits. “But even then, she didn’t have a copy. It was never in her possession.”
