My father, for one, who looks ready to jump from the balcony and throttle Benedict into unconsciousness.
Maisie, who’s practically preening with satisfaction.
Nicholas, who can’t even look at his son.
The prime minister, who stares at Ben with his mouth slightly agape, as if he’s witnessing the climax of a horror movie.
The petite blond Director General and head of MI5, who is stone-faced and deeply unamused.
Leaders of Parliament I don’t recognize. A man who earlier introduced himself to me as the Commissioner of the Met, which is apparently British for the head of the London police force. Several high-ranking aristocrats. People I didn’t get the chance to meet before we set everything into place, ready to bait our trap.
And at the opposite end of the room, on the biggest screen I’ve ever seen outside of a movie theater, is a clear image of me pinning Ben to the floor, my box cutter pressed to his throat, recording in real time.
“What—” Ben gasps, but even that’s enough to make his Adam’s apple press against the knife, and he tries to shrink away from me and into the hard floor.
“Choose your words carefully, Benedict,” says my father. “The rest of your life depends on what you say next.”
“But—I haven’t done—anything—” Another drop of blood wells in Ben’s throat, and Singh touches my shoulder.
“We have him from here, Your Royal Highness,” he says as he picks Ben’s knife up off the floor. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Anytime,” I say, and after taking one more moment to savor the sheer rage and fear in Ben’s eyes, I finally climb off him. Part of me expects him to grab my skirt and pull me down with him—maybe crack my head against the floor, or try to break my neck with his bare hands. But even seething hatred isn’t enough for him to forfeit his own life, and for now, hestays perfectly still, as if the blade were still pressed against his delicate skin.
Immediately two PPOs step on either side of me and escort me several feet away. I don’t argue, and instead I glance at the slashed fabric of my bodice, scowling. When Louis altered this violet dress to cover the vest yesterday, we knew there was a chance it wouldn’t make it out in one piece, but I’m still annoyed. It was a masterpiece.
“Where,” says Alexander from the walkway, his booming voice filling every corner of the chamber, “is Dylan Baxter? Answer me, Benedict, or you will not enjoy the consequences.”
“I’m innocent,” gasps Ben as two MI5 agents haul him to his feet, and to my enormous satisfaction, Singh cuffs his hands behind his back. “I haven’t done anything. You have to believe me, Uncle Alexander—”
“You sent me poison and tried to blackmail me into killing my own sister,” says Maisie, and I’m so shocked she’s willing to admit this—especially in front of so many important people—that my mouth falls open. “I’ve already handed the evidence over to MI5.”
“Hearsay,” claims Ben. “You could’ve easily set the whole thing up to frame me—”
“With your fingerprints on the letter?” challenges Maisie. “I suppose we’ll just have to let a judge work that one out, won’t we? I expect it’ll be averypublic trial.”
“Don’t forget the SIM card that John Phillip Michaels gave me,” I say, looking Ben dead in the eye. “It has all the texts you two exchanged. You slip up a few times and call him by his real name, you know, and youdefinitelysay a few things youshouldn’t. I guess it’s easy to forget how to keep your mouth shut when you think no one will ever read your messages. Oh,” I add. “You also forgot to turn your location off. Rookie mistake.”
Ben is shaking now—with anger or fear, I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. “Whatever’s on that card can’t be proven,” he says, his voice trembling, and despite the chill in the room, a bead of sweat slides down his temple. “It’s all circumstantial—”
“And we have everything that happened with Jasper recorded, too,” says Maisie. “With your face on the video.”
“That wasyou!” shouts Ben. “Youpushed him off the balcony! Everyone will know now—everyone will know you’re a murderer!”
“I acted in self-defense,” says Maisie, far calmer than I expect, and I wonder how many lawyers it took to convince her to reveal that little detail in front of the head of MI5. “As you can plainly see on the video, which we’ve already shared with the police. It’s also obvious howyoutried to pin the murder on Evan, and considering we have security footage of you in the Cunninghams’ kitchen drugging Evan’s drink…” She tilts her head and looks at Nicholas. “Do you think Robert Cunningham would be interested in telling the world that Jasper was manipulated and set up by a member of the royal family? I think he would.”
“Champing at the bit,” agrees Alexander, while Nicholas continues to stare at his hands in silence. “He’s in the chapel. Shall we fetch him?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Since MI5’s still searching Ben’s hotel room and confiscating his electronics. Or is that MI6?” I add, glancing between Singh and the Director General. “They’re involved now, too, right? Since Ben’s fled the country multiple times.”
“Indeed,” says Singh, and from the walkway, the Director General dips her head in confirmation.
“I thought so,” I say, locking eyes with Ben once more. “But I’m just an American. I can’t be expected to understand the intricacies of how the English government works.”
“You’ll get there, Your Royal Highness,” says Singh. “It’s an impressive start regardless.”
“What—what about the line of succession?” gasps Ben, as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. “Father’s next. If Alexander’s abdicating, and the entire world knows Maisie isn’t legitimate—”
“I have no intention of abdicating,” announces Alexander. “I did once upon a time, and perhaps one day, once Mary is ready, I’ll consider it again. But for now, my place is on the throne, not only to help guide this country and my people, but to protect my family from you.”
