Chapter 8
JULIA
Julia had learned to read the temperature of a room without looking at the thermostat.
In the great hall of Balmoral that afternoon, it hovered somewhere between “festive” and “on the verge of a coup.”
Children shrieked in the general vicinity of the tree.
Staff glided in and out with trays and armfuls of greenery, trying to look serene while quietly panicking about the power flickers.
Candles gleamed in sconces as part of Vic’s “backup ambience plan,” which had required three separate fire-safety briefings.
A faint smell of pine, wax, and wet wool hung in the air.
And at the centre of it all, like the calm eye of a very gay, very chaotic storm, stood Queen Alexandra.
She was perched on the arm of a sofa, cloak discarded, sleeves rolled up. Matilda was on one knee, clutching a bauble. Frank and Florence were engaged in delicate negotiations over tinsel rights. Hyzenthlay sat cross-legged on the rug, supervising with the gravity of a UN observer.
Two footmen hovered nearby with boxes of decorations. A flustered equerry tried to show Alex something on a tablet. A housekeeper stood respectfully to one side, clearly waiting to ask about seating plans. Vic was… somewhere, probably terrorising a spreadsheet.
Julia watched from under the gallery, hands wrapped around a mug of tea, and thought: No wonder she’s exhausted.
Alex’s smile was genuine. It always was with the children. Her laugh, when Frank triumphantly wrapped the corgi ornament around his own neck, was the same one Julia saw in her unguarded moments, unbothered by cameras and the eyes of the world.
But even from here, Julia could see the shadows under her eyes. The way her gaze kept flicking over heads to the doorway, to the corridor, searching.
For Erin.
Right on cue, Erin appeared.
She slipped in through the side entrance, shoulders dusted with snow, expression set in that tight, alert way that meant she’d just come from a briefing. She looked around automatically—doors, windows, exits, potential threats—and then her posture softened a fraction when she saw Alex.
Alex saw her at the same moment. Something in the air between them changed. Julia felt it as clearly as if someone had turned down the background noise.
Oh, she thought. Here we go.
“I need more silver ones!” Matilda announced, breaking the spell. “This side isn’t balanced.”
“Queen of Symmetry,” Julia murmured under her breath, amused.
Alex slid off the sofa and kissed the top of Matilda’s head, then handed the box of ornaments to Hyzenthlay with a murmured, “You have excellent taste, darling. Help your cousins, please?”
Hyzzie nodded solemnly, already reorganising baubles by colour and weight.
Julia watched Alex straighten and subtly angle herself toward the side of the room, toward the corridor that led to the smaller sitting rooms. Erin moved at the same time, as if drawn on a string.
They met near one of the pillars, half-hidden by a garland.
“Report?” Alex asked softly.
“Perimeter’s holding,” Erin said. “Snow’s still coming down. Roads are… difficult. Backup generators behaving now. No new crises that require your personal intervention.”
“I like it when you say ‘no new crises,’” Alex said. “Makes a nice change.”
Her hand brushed Erin’s wrist. It was a tiny gesture, easily missed by anyone not looking for it.
Julia, unfortunately, was looking for it.
Her chest squeezed.
They were both trying so hard.
She’d been there for so much of their relationship so far. She’d seen them build something fragile and fierce and improbable.
Now, five years of marriage and three children later, they still had that tether. But it was frayed around the edges, pulled thin by duty and nappies and protests and late-night emergency calls.
If anyone deserved five minutes alone in a castle full of people, it was these two.
Alex leaned in, voice dropping even lower. Julia couldn’t hear the words, but she could read the intent in her body language: shoulders softening, head tilting toward the corridor.
Erin’s eyes tracked the movement. She glanced at the kids, at the staff, then at Alex again.
Say yes, Julia thought at her. For once in your life, just say yes.
Alex caught Julia’s gaze over Erin’s shoulder.
Julia raised one eyebrow the tiniest fraction. Go, she mouthed.
She saw understanding flicker in Alex’s eyes. Then, with the confidence of someone who’d spent their life slipping in and out of rooms full of people without technically lying to anyone, the Queen straightened and clapped her hands lightly.
“Matilda, darling,” she said, projecting warmth. “You’re in charge of the silver baubles. Florence, you and Frank are on tinsel rotation. Hyzzie…”
Hyzenthlay looked up, alert.
“You’re the structural engineer,” Alex said. “Make sure it doesn’t topple over when Frank starts climbing it.”
“On it,” Hyz said gravely.
“Excellent,” Alex said. “I just need to speak with Auntie Erin about… security protocols for the reindeer. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
She glanced at Julia.
Julia nodded once. “I’ll supervise the tree team,” she said. “Go.”
Erin’s mouth quirked. “Yes Ma’am,” she murmured.
Alex’s hand brushed her sleeve. Together, they began to drift toward the side door that led to one of the smaller sitting rooms. Not the notorious “heatless hallway,” Julia noted with relief. Somewhere with an actual fire would be an improvement.
Julia took a step toward the tree, inserting herself between the children and the nearest staff member like a very small, cardigan-wearing shield.
“All right, troops,” she said. “Let’s discuss load-bearing branches.”
“Aunt Julia?” Florence asked. “What’s load-bearing?”
“It means ‘don’t hang the heavy things on the skinny bits,’” Julia said. “Auntie Vic once did that with a chandelier. It ended poorly.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” Vic’s voice called from somewhere behind her. “It merely sagged.”
“You nearly decapitated yourself,” Julia said, smiling warmly. She still loved Vic so much. So very much.
“Details,” Vic replied.
The door to the smaller sitting room was only a few metres away. Alex and Erin were nearly there. Julia saw Alex’s shoulders drop slightly, the promise of a brief escape in the set of her spine.
Almost.
Almost.
“Mummy J?”
Hyzenthlay’s voice was calm and clear. Too clear.
Julia turned her head. “Yes, love?”
Hyzzie was standing with one hand on a lower branch, the other pointing unequivocally toward the side door.
“Is it part of the schedule for Auntie Alex and Auntie Erin to go upstairs together right now?” she asked at full volume.
The hall went quiet in that peculiar, ripple-like way that meant everyone had heard and was now pretending they hadn’t.
Alex froze mid-step.
Erin did too.
Julia closed her eyes for a beat.
“I thought Mummy said no unscheduled affection during operational hours,” Hyz continued, genuinely puzzled.
Somewhere near the doorway, a footman choked on his own breath.
Erin’s ears went scarlet.
Alex turned, very slowly, regal composure sliding back into place like a mask.
“Thank you, Hyzenthlay,” she said. “For your… vigilance.”
“I’m helping with adherence,” Hyz said proudly. “Mummy says adherence is important or everything descends into chaos.”
Vic chose that moment to reappear properly, emerging from behind a stack of presents like a festive meerkat. Her face was flushed, clipboard clutched to her chest. She had the wild-eyed look of someone who’d just discovered a new category of disaster.
“What descends into chaos?” she asked, far too quickly. “Please say it’s not the seating chart.”
Her gaze had already locked onto Alex and Erin, who were now standing guiltily beside the side door, a good metre of respectable distance between them.
“Are you trying to defect?” Vic demanded. “We have a timetable, you know.”
Alex’s expression flattened. “I am not defecting,” she said. “I am attempting to spend five minutes alone with my wife without someone bursting in yelling about poultry.”
Erin stared determinedly at a point somewhere above everyone’s heads, as if she could wish herself into another dimension.
“It’s not about poultry,” Vic said, sounding personally affronted. “It’s about structure.”
“Structure,” Alex repeated. “Like… bones. Or the constitution. Or perhaps the scaffolding of your psyche.”
“Yes,” Vic said. “All of those. And right now the scaffolding is under serious strain, so we need everyone—everyone”—she stabbed the air with her pen for emphasis—“to stick to the plan.”
Julia saw the muscle jump in Alex’s jaw.
She knew that look. It was the one that meant I am being polite only because there are witnesses.
The one where she swallowed herself down to be the Queen everyone expected her to be.
She wasn’t always like this with Vic. Sometimes she snapped at Vic.
Their bond went way back and they often behaved like sisters.
“The plan,” Alex said carefully, “is… flexible.”
Unfortunately Vic wasn’t registering Alex’s needs. Vic as Vic often did was fixating on something else.
“Not this part,” Vic said. “We are at T-minus twenty-four hours to Christmas and the margin for error is zero. If you two start sneaking off-script, someone is going to set something on fire.”
“That’s… not how causality works,” Julia said.
“Tell that to the snow,” Vic shot back.
“Mummy J?” Hyz tugged on her sleeve again. “Did I do something wrong?”
Julia crouched automatically, bringing herself level with her daughter. Hyzenthlay’s hazel eyes were wide, earnest, with that faint crease between her brows that always made Julia want to smooth it away.
“No, sweetheart,” she said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re trying to help.”
“I’m making sure Mummy’s rules are followed,” Hyz said. “She said it was ‘mission critical.’”
“Of course she did,” Julia murmured.