“I…” says Gia, uncertainty written on every feature of her gorgeous face. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Of course you can,” says my mother warmly. “If you want to. If you both want to.”
Maisie and Gia continue to stare at each other, until at last Maisie blinks, as if someone or something has snapped her out of it. “I—well, yes,” she says, straightening her shoulders. “I’d like that. If you’d like that, Gia.”
Gia swallows. “Very much so. But only if you’re certain, Your Royal Highness.Onlyif you’re certain.”
The silence between them feels sacred somehow, as they search each other’s expressions. But finally Maisie nods, and Gia does so in return.
“Then it’s settled,” says Alexander as he uses his cane to slowly stand. Constance, Helene, and Nicholas are stepping through the door now, and my heart starts to pound. “I believe it’s your turn, girls.”
My fingers dig into Kit’s hand. “No excuse now,” I say, but when I look at him, he’s smiling down at me, and I know he has no desire to let go. And so, with Maisie on my other side, the four of us cluster together, and my sister and I step through the glass door and onto the balcony of Buckingham Palace with Kit and Gia at our heels.
The crowd of onlookers is thousands strong, and as soon as we step into view, their cries turn into roars. I cling to Kit’s hand with all my might, and he grips back almost as tightly, as if this,too, is freaking him out. But when I glance at him, he looks as calm as ever, and when our eyes meet, he smiles and raises my hand to his mouth, brushing his lips to my knuckles.
The crowd below us whoops, and my cheeks burn, but I’m grinning so hard that my face hurts. There is nothing in the world like being loved by him, and the feeling of luck and enormous privilege that overwhelms me has nothing to do with the palace, or the balcony, or the new title. It’s him. Every bit of it is him, and this family, and how much has changed in only a year and a half. The night I accidentally set fire to St.Edith’s—the night that everything changed—I would’ve never believed this could’ve been possible. But it was. It is. And even when things aren’t perfect, they’ll still be a hell of a lot better than I ever dreamed they could be.
The crowd’s roars, which already seem impossibly loud, now turn into a sheer wall of sound, and as I glance behind me, I see my mother and father arm in arm as they step out onto the balcony and into the spotlight as husband and wife. It’s the first time the people have seen my father since the bombing—it’s the first time they’ve seen what the ABR did to him, the scars and the lifelong injuries that are evident even in his uniform. But he stands tall, as tall as he ever has, and as he reaches the rail, he leans his cane against the stone and waves.
My mother is radiant, with eyes only for him, and on their other side, I spot Maisie and Gia, their hands clasped together. And as my parents kiss for the crowd, Maisie raises Gia’s hand to her lips as well, exactly as Kit did moments ago to me. I can’t see my sister’s face as she kisses Gia’s fingers, but Gia is beaming.
I don’t know what the headlines will be tomorrow. I don’tknow what the media will say about my parents, or Maisie and Gia, or about Ben’s supposed bastardry or any of his crimes that leak into the public sphere. But I do know that what makes this moment incredible, even with all eyes on us, isn’t the crowd or the adulation. It’s that we get to be ourselves now in a way none of us have ever been before. Maisie and Gia, my parents, Kit and I—even Nicholas has his arm wrapped around Helene’s shoulders on Gia’s other side. They—we—may be royal, but that’s not what defines any of us.
Not to be a total sappy cliché, but it’s the love. And the scandals, fights, and familial terrorism. But mostly the love.
Ravens Return to the Tower
The three missing ravens residing at the Tower of London have finally all been found, according to the Ravenmaster of the Yeomen Warders, Jacob Johnston.
Mated pair Bronwen and Chester returned after nearly six months of absence, while Phillip remained missing until shortly after eleven o’clock this morning, when he was spotted on the roof of the Teapots and Treason Café.
“It’s mad,” said Katie Mayburn, owner of the café. “Almost like he knew His Majesty was getting married. Probably waited so he could attend the wedding, didn’t he?”
With both Princess Mary and the newly styled Princess Evangeline, The Princess Royal, due to start their first term at Oxford University on 13 October, the Yeomen Warders are considering their options for keeping the ravens more secure within the Tower.
“Can’t say Phillip won’t get a bit of wanderlust and try to follow Their Royal Highnesses there,” joked Ravenmaster Johnston. “He’s always had a keen ear for the dramatic. But with any luck, he’ll stay in the Tower for the time being. At least until things get interesting again.”
The Ravenmaster is hoping to introduce another set of ravens in hopes that Phillip will choose to take a mate and remain nearby, even in the midst of future royal scandal.
—The Daily Sun,6 October 2024
Epilogue
(Almost) Three Years Later
I’m attaching the last ofmy papers in an email to my Classics professor when I hear a metallic scratching at the door.
Poppy looks up from the sofa in my off-campus flat, her fur glossy and soft thanks to Tibby’s militant grooming schedule. Snickers, who lies asleep beside her, continues to snore louder than my alarm clock, oblivious to the potential mayhem in the hallway, where my PPOs should be keeping watch. It’s a deal that’s worked well between us for the past three years—they don’t bust into my Oxford flat unannounced, and I don’t scream and pretend I’m being kidnapped in order to sneak away without them noticing.
The scratching sounds again, and I frown, hitting send on my email and slowly closing my laptop. If someone’s out there, either both of tonight’s PPOs have taken a break at the same time or they’re unconscious. My pulse quickens, and I stand, reaching for the crowbar I keep beside my desk for special occasions. Ben’s been on house arrest for nearly three years now, locked up in a prison of his own making in Scotland, far fromany royal residence—or anything fun at all—as he no doubt waits for a chance to exact his revenge, even though he has no power anymore. No power, no friends, no allowance, and nothing to his name but the humiliation of being known as the illegitimate son of the former Duchess of York. Even Nicholas, who married Helene two years ago and is now father to a baby daughter named Birdie, cementing Ben’s expulsion from the line of succession, barely acknowledges him in private.
But because Ben is still alive, I’m always waiting for him to strike again. I’m always on guard, and I always will be to some degree, because if there’s one thing royal life has taught me, it’s to never underestimate anyone. Especially not someone who wants me dead.
And so, as I hear the metallic scraping sound once more, I grip the end of the crowbar in both hands, ready to strike. I take slow, cautious steps toward the door, even though my PPOs have drilled into me over and over that my best chance is to run and hide, but I refuse. If Ben is coming for me again—if he’s finally slipped his gilded handcuffs—then I’ll be ready for him. And this time, I won’t offer him mercy.
As I raise the crowbar, the door finally swings open, revealing a dark figure on the other side. But as I aim directly for his skull, the low light from the kitchen catches his brown eyes, and icy shock cuts through me.
“Whoa!” cries Kit, ducking and throwing his hand out. “Ev! It’s me! It’s just me!”
