“I’m fine,” I say. “He tried to stab me, but the vest did its job. And MI5 was ten feet away the whole time.”
He holds me a little tighter, and I know what he’s thinking. Ten feet may as well have been ten miles if that vest didn’t work, or if Ben decided to go for my throat instead. But I’m okay. We’re both okay. “And Dylan?”
“They got him, too,” I say. “You should’ve seen it. Singh pointed a gun right at Ben’s forehead to get him to talk, and he peed his pants, right in front of everyone.”
Kit runs his fingers through my styled curls and gently lowers me down, and it’s only when my heels hit the ground that I realize I was up in the air at all. “At least he has some sanity left.”
Near the door, Jenkins clears his throat. “We’re running on atight schedule, Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses,” he says, which is likely the only gentle nudge we’re going to get from him. Tibby stands beside him with Poppy in her arms and Fitz at her side, and the look she gives me is anything but gentle.
“Let’s get on with it, then,” says Alexander, and though he still uses a cane, he offers my mother his elbow, and the two of them stroll into the palace, leading the way for the rest of us to follow.
I tuck myself beneath Kit’s arm as we walk through the jaw-dropping entrance hall full of white marble, red velvet, and stunning works of art, and a memory flashes through my mind from the first time I visited Buckingham Palace over a year ago. It’s still sickeningly opulent, with enough wealth displayed to solve world hunger, and while I doubt I’ll ever feel like I entirely belong, I walk the halls more confidently now. I can at least pretend I know what I’m doing, even if part of me will always feel lost and like I’m scrambling to catch up to what the rest of my family knows.
Jenkins and my father lead us up the grand staircase and through a series of long hallways, until at last we reach a part of the palace I had no idea existed. By now I’m completely turned around, but everyone else is chatting comfortably as we filter into a large room with three tall floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side, and a collection of Chinese artwork—paintings, vases, and golden ornaments—decorating the room.
There, Helene and Constance are waiting for us, all perched around a dark wooden table laden with finger food. An attendant offers us drinks from a silver tray, and even though I shouldbe used to this—even though this is the ridiculous kind of life my family leads—my skin still prickles, and awkwardness slithers through me.
“Come on,” says Kit softly, leading me to a corner where a pair of mint-green armchairs stand, blending in with some of the decor. He steps away for a moment once I’m seated, speaking to another footman near the door, and somehow, miraculously, he returns with two cold bottles of water half a minute later.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I say as I unscrew mine and take a sip. Maybe the adrenaline is catching up with me, or maybe my brain is finally realizing just how reckless today’s plan was and how close that knife came to doing real damage, but either way, my limbs feel like concrete now, and my skin is cold and clammy.
“You just watched Ben piss himself because of your hard work and determination, and you’re worried you can’t handle this?” says Kit with a small smile, sitting beside me and setting his hand on my lower back. “I know for a fact you’re made of tougher stuff than that.”
I lean into him for a moment, resting my head on his shoulder. “Thank you for staying with my mom. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t,” he admits. “But it was necessary. If I’d been there, I would’ve blown the whole thing the moment he went afteryou.”
“Louis knows what he’s doing with silk,andhe knows what he’s doing with Kevlar,” I joke. “Jenkins got himself a good one, that’s for damn sure.”
“I certainly did,” says a low voice nearby, and when I lookup, Jenkins is standing only a few feet away, his posture rigid as he gazes out across the room, watching as my parents laugh with their heads bent together. “Evan, if I might have a word?”
Even though Kit sat down seconds ago, he’s on his feet again and gives my hand a squeeze. “I’ll go grab something to nibble on,” he says, and before I can respond, he’s halfway across the room, leaving Jenkins and me alone in the corner.
I kick my feet, my heel catching on the edge of the huge rug. “It’s after the wedding, you know.”
Jenkins raises an eyebrow. “It is.”
“You have to forgive me by now. That was part of my deal with Alexander, remember? For being okay with this in the first place?”
He finally looks my way, though he doesn’t turn his head more than an inch or two. “Oh? Do you plan on changing your mind, then?”
I watch my parents on the other side of the room, where they sit on a bench together, lost in their own little world as the rest of the family mills around them. They look happy—happier than I’ve ever seen either of them, and it makes almost every terrible thing that’s happened over the past year and a half worth it.
“No,” I say. “But none of this feels the same when you’re angry with me. I miss you.”
Something in his expression softens, and at last he turns to face me properly. “I am not angry with you,” he says. “I am—was—still am frightened for your safety and well-being. And I do not take well to being frightened like that, especially when it comes to someone I love.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I have to swallow it beforemy makeup is ruined. “I’m sorry. For scaring you, and for not listening to you. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted any of this to happen.”
He sighs, so softly that I barely register it. “But it did, and while it may have happened to you, it was not your fault, despite what some unscrupulous types may have wanted you to think. And,” he adds, his blue eyes focusing on me, “I am also sorry that I brought you here and put you through this.”
I manage a tiny smile. “Haven’t we had this conversation before? And didn’t I say that I’m not sorry at all? You’re the one who gave me a family, Jenkins. A family you’re part of, by the way, no matter how good you are at holding grudges.”
He steps toward me and, to my surprise, crouches beside my chair, sandwiching my hand between his. “You’re still as good a listener as ever, I see,” he teases. “I am not angry with you, Evan. I was only ever afraid. And I will, it seems, always be afraid for your safety no matter where you are in life or what reckless decisions you’re making. So please excuse me if I seem a bit…brusque at times. It will never mean I love you even the slightest bit less than I did before. Only that I am coming to terms with the consequences of my own actions, bringing a bull into a china shop and expecting anything to remain as it was.”
“Am I the bull in this scenario?” I say. “And the royal family the china shop? Because as far as I see it, there was plenty of shattered glass here long before I arrived.”
He chuckles, a low, familiar sound that fills me with warmth. “I suppose you’re not wrong. Still, the damage remains—to all of you. And that is something I will have to live with.”
