Chapter 31 #2
I tried calling Aunt Margaret next, then my mother's private secretary, then even the main palace switchboard. Each call either went unanswered, or someone politely and firmly told me that Her Majesty was unavailable.
"They've shut me out," I realised with growing horror. "The palace has completely shut me out."
My phone buzzed with a text message from a number I didn't recognise: "Princess—we're offering ￡100,000 for an exclusive interview about your relationship with James Banks. Call us."
Then another: "Evangeline—tell your side of the story before someone else does. We can protect you."
And another: "URGENT: Palace preparing a statement about your removal from succession. Comment?"
"They're circling like vultures," I said, showing James the messages. "And if that last one is true—"
James was silent for a moment, his jaw working as he processed what we were facing. When he finally spoke, his voice was deadly calm.
"We're leaving," he said, standing abruptly. "Tonight. There's a safe house in the mountains I can access."
"James—"
"No." He was already moving, pulling our security protocols from his bag. "Someone talked, or there was a security breach, because they found us here. Either way, this location has been compromised; it's no longer safe."
I watched him shift into full protection mode, his movements sharp and efficient. This was the soldier, the man who'd kept diplomats alive in war zones.
"Pack light," he ordered. "Only essentials. We leave in thirty minutes."
"Where will we go?"
"Somewhere they can't find us. Somewhere we can control the situation instead of reacting to it." He paused in his preparations, his eyes finding mine. "Unless you want to surrender now. Give them what they want."
The challenge in his voice steadied me. "Never."
"Good." His hand found mine briefly, a moment of warmth in the cold efficiency. "Then we do this properly. On our terms."
But even as we began gathering our things, I felt the weight of inevitability pressing down on us. We could run, but we couldn't hide forever. And my mother...
"She'll find us," I said quietly. "You know she will."
James's expression was grim but determined. "Let her try."
We spent the evening monitoring the news coverage whilst hastily packing, watching as strangers dissected and analysed our private relationship.
Someone had dug up James's military records, his family background, even tracked down his ex-girlfriend for comment.
The invasion of privacy was breathtaking in its scope and viciousness.
By ten o'clock, the story had gone international.
American news shows featured segments about "The Princess and the Bodyguard," European outlets were speculating about constitutional crises, and social media users were exploding with opinions about whether royals should be allowed to marry their staff.
The weight of it pressed down on me—every headline a reminder that I wasn't just Evangeline anymore.
I was the Crown Princess, the future Queen, and my personal choices had international implications.
Alexandra would have handled this with grace, with a clear plan.
I was fumbling through a crisis that could destabilise the monarchy itself.
James had laid out escape routes and contingency plans with military precision. "There's a monastery in the mountains," he explained, showing me the route on a map. "The monks don't speak to outsiders, don't have internet or phones. We can regroup there and decide our next move."
"And then what?" I asked, folding clothes into a small travel bag. "We can't hide forever, I won't hide forever."
"No," he agreed. "But we can choose when and how we engage. Right now, we're reacting to their timeline. I want us to be the ones in control."
It was a good plan. A solid plan. But as I looked around the villa that had become our sanctuary, our private world away from duty and protocol, I felt the loss keenly. In a few hours, we'd be running again, and there was no guarantee we'd ever have this kind of peace again.
My secure phone buzzed with an encrypted message from Harrison.
'Situation deteriorating faster than expected.
Palace sources confirm major decision being made tonight.
You need to know—this isn't just about the photos.
There's something else they're not telling you about the Kozlov connection.
' I stared at the message, unease crawling up my spine.
Harrison's timing was always impeccable, but something about this felt off.
How did he know so much about palace decisions?
"James," I whispered, and he looked up from checking his weapons. "Whatever happens—"
"Nothing's going to happen," he said firmly. "I won't let them destroy this."
But before either of us could say anything else, my phone rang. The caller ID showed my mother's private number, and my heart leaped into my throat.
"Mum?" I answered, putting the call on speaker so James could hear.
"Evangeline." My mother's voice was ice-cold, more formal than I'd heard it since childhood. "We need to talk."
"I've been trying to call you all evening—"
"I'm aware. I've been in emergency meetings with the Privy Council, the Archbishop, and the Prime Minister, discussing the constitutional implications of your behaviour."
The formal language, the complete absence of warmth, chilled me to the bone. This wasn't my mother speaking—this was the Queen, and she was furious.
"Mum, if you'd just let me explain—"
"Explain what, exactly? That you have been conducting a clandestine affair with your protection officer? That you have compromised the security of the crown by engaging in a relationship that creates obvious conflicts of interest? That you have brought scandal and ridicule upon the monarchy?"
Each word was designed to cut deep, and she delivered it with surgical precision. I felt James step closer, his presence a steadying force, but my mother's next words made us both freeze.
"Mr. Banks has been relieved of his duties, effective immediately. A replacement team is already en route to Sicily."
"You can't—" I started, but she cut me off.
"I can, and I have. Furthermore, you will return to Bellavista tomorrow morning. A private jet has been arranged. You will not speak to the press, you will not make any statements, and you will not contact Mr. Banks again. Is that understood?"
James's face had gone stone cold, but I could see the fury burning in his eyes. His hand moved to his phone, no doubt calculating how quickly we could disappear before the replacement team arrived.
"Evangeline?" My mother's voice had softened slightly, just enough to remind me that somewhere under the royal fury was the woman who'd raised me. "Is that understood?"
I looked at James, watched him shake his head almost imperceptibly. He was ready to run, to fight, to keep me safe from even this. But I also knew my mother. When she used that tone, that authority, there was no arguing. Not if I wanted to have any chance of salvaging this situation.
"Yes," I whispered, because what else could I say? She was the Queen, and I was her subject as much as her daughter. "Yes, Your Majesty. I understand."
"Good. I'll see you tomorrow evening. We have a great deal to discuss."
The line went dead, leaving James and me staring at each other in the sudden silence. Everything had changed in the space of a single phone call. Our escape plans were meaningless now—she'd called our bluff, reminded us she held all the cards.
"So," James said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "I suppose that changes things."
I could see him retreating already, pulling back into that professional shell he'd worn when we first met. The idea of losing him, of having to face whatever came next alone, made my chest tighten with panic.
"This isn't over," I said fiercely. "Whatever she threatens, whatever consequences there are—this isn't over."
His expression softened slightly. "Evangeline—"
"No, don't you dare start thinking like a bodyguard again. Not now." I moved closer, taking his hands in mine. "You told me you would risk everything. This is what risking it looks like."
For a moment, I saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes. Then his jaw set with familiar determination.
"Then we fight," he said simply. "But we do it smart. No more running, no more hiding. If she wants a confrontation, we give her one."
As I looked at him—this man who'd turned my world upside down, who'd made me brave enough to want more than duty and protocol—I knew it wasn't over. Couldn't be over. Not if we were both strong enough to face what came next.
The question was: were we?