34. “Haunted” - Taylor Swift
“Haunted” - Taylor Swift
Henry moves quickly, pulling me behind him and shielding me with his body. I want to pummel William with my fists, but Henry keeps both hands on my waist, probably to prevent me from doing something just like that.
I want to ask a million things—starting with “what kind of monster hurts a dog?” and ending with “why do you want me dead so badly?”—but my mouth has completely dried up. I couldn’t get a word out even if he were holding a gun to my head.
Henry does not seem to be struggling with the same affliction, although he doesn’t say any of the things I’m dying to ask. Instead, he says, “Father, give us a moment? Celia was just leaving.”
I was?
Henry appears calm and collected, but when I slide my hand up his back, his muscles feel rigid.
“Nonsense,” William says. “It’s time to celebrate. I only wish I’d known you two were back together. I would’ve brought champagne.”
As far as I can see, William isn’t carrying a gun. He’s standing in the most nonthreatening way, hands at his sides as if he’s simply popping in for a family gathering. But if the atmosphere in here is any indication, this is no ordinary reunion. Air shouldn’t crackle if you so much as flinch.
Henry keeps his hands on my hips while facing his father. “It would be best if you left now,” he whispers to me.
I’m about to object when I remember my decision to trust him. “Okay.” I reach up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Come find me when you’re done here.”
I move toward the door, but William takes a few steps closer. “Not so fast, Your Majesty.” He says the words like they taste bad. “I think it would be best if you stayed.”
“Leave her out of this.” Henry’s voice is cold steel. “Celia, go.”
I stay frozen in place, wanting to obey Henry but not trusting the look in his father’s eyes. William makes the decision for all of us. He pulls a pistol from his waistband and waves it toward me. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Bloody fucking hell. My heart leaps from my rib cage and is doing its best to break free of my chest. I’ve never stared down the barrel of a gun before, and I now understand the deer-in-the-headlights thing. I couldn’t move even if I thought it was a good idea.
“What are you doing?” Henry spits out. He looks mad enough to tear the head off anything in his path.
The duke waves the gun, motioning me toward Henry. “Stand a little closer, sweetheart. That way I can cover you both.”
I do as he directs. Henry grabs my arm and tugs me against his side.
“Now,” William continues, as if we’re having a casual conversation over tea, “I couldn’t help but overhear that you two have finally reconciled your differences.”
“That’s none of your business,” Henry hisses through his teeth.
“On the contrary, you know I just want what’s best for you.”
“Save your breath. No one here believes that bullshit.”
William ignores him and goes on. “And I, of course, am looking out for Her Majesty’s best interests, too.” He paces a few steps to the left, then turns and walks to the right, keeping his gun pointed at us the whole time. “I can’t help but wonder how she would feel if she knew everything.”
A sickening sludge is oozing from my stomach through my limbs. No. Please don’t let this be real.
“I will do whatever you want. Just let Celia go,” Henry says. He is clasping my arm hard enough that it will probably leave a bruise.
“She can leave soon enough. But first, I think you owe it to her to tell her the truth.” William turns his cold green eyes on me. “Don’t you?”
I don’t dare look away from the gun, but I say quietly, so only Henry can hear me, “What is he talking about?”
“I don’t know. He’s a lunatic,” he says under his breath.
“Her Majesty has yet to learn what it means to mind your own business,” William says. His voice has turned malicious, and all I can think about is how often he’s hidden his true feelings from me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
“I think you do.” The duke takes a step closer. “Earlier this year, you started a petition to increase port security. That ridiculous notion wasn’t going anywhere until you also stole my throne. And then you had to poke a dozen holes in the financial records.”
Dread coils in the pit of my stomach like a cobra. I desperately hope I’ll be able to find a bin to be sick into if it comes to that.
“You now know firsthand the impossibility of running the palace and all its staff on that meager thing they call a Civil List. Try raising a family on that.” His lips curl in disdain.
“But the entire country would have had my head if I had laid people off or asked for taxes to be raised.” His chuckle sounds like ice rattling in a bucket. “You found that one out for yourself.”
Neither Henry nor I dare interrupt his diatribe, but I can feel Henry’s muscles roiling with restraint.
“So, as you were about to find out before I kidnapped your lovely little assistant”—William barks something over his shoulder, and two large men step out of the shadows, clutching a figure between them—“I did what I had to do.”
“Maisie!” I shriek. I try to fling myself at her, but Henry’s hand clamped tightly around my arm prevents me from going anywhere.
“Stay here,” he says. For the first time, I recognize fear in his voice, not just anger.
I curl back against his side, wishing I’d never left London. I make eye contact with Maisie across the room. A piece of silver duct tape is stretched over her mouth. She looks more irritated than scared. I guess she’s not eloping with Beck after all.
“As I was saying,” William continues, “one does what one must when people are depending on you. Again, you yourself have discovered this. It’s unfair to judge the means when you don’t understand the motive.
For instance, Jean Valjean stealing a loaf of bread to feed his sister’s starving children—should he have been thrown in prison for trying to save lives? ”
Henry can no longer hold his tongue. “Father, she doesn’t want to discuss Les Mis. None of us do.”
William cackles. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m the one holding the gun, isn’t it?”
I can only stare at the duke in astonishment. How is this the same man who sat beside me and said how badly he wished he could earn his son’s forgiveness? The same man who gave me a dog just to thank me for sitting with him through the hardest time of his life?
William starts his pacing again. “As you were about to find out after this little wench accessed our private servers”—he pinches Maisie’s cheek, and she jerks away from him—“I have a lucrative side business.” He turns back and glares at me.
“Very lucrative. Until you stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong. ”
My heart and stomach have taken up a new address down in my feet. I swallow against the cotton in my mouth, but it doesn’t do any good. I can already sense where he’s going with this, even if I can’t predict the exact words coming out of his mouth.
“Our incompetent government tried to score favors by pushing your stupid motion through, meaning drugs could no longer be imported into Wesbourne. You thought you’d won.” A gleam comes into his eyes. “But the war is far from over.”
Henry has stiffened into a marble statue beside me. “That’s enough. Let her go.”
I put my hand on his arm. “Actually, I think I want to hear this.” The pieces are already falling into place in my mind. I’d rather wait and see the whole picture, even if the image makes me vomit.
“You should have known we’d find another way,” William says. “Insidion is simply too profitable to take off the table. It took us some time, but we eventually learned how to manufacture it ourselves.”
I scrunch my eyes shut, trying to block out the horror I’m feeling, but it’s crawling all over me, black as night. William has been the one importing insidion all along. How many other people leading this country—people I thought I could trust—are in on it?
I turn to Henry, who is still frozen by my side. “Did you know about this?” Please say no, please say no.
William’s cackle echoes through the room. “Know about it?” He throws his head back as he laughs, sending a chill up my spine.
I consider the distance to the door. Will I have time to make it through before he shoots?
His next words evaporate any thoughts of escape. “Sweetheart, he’s been chief of operations for the past six years.”