Chapter Thirteen
EVANGELINE brIGHT AND LORD CHRISTOPHER ABBOTT-MONTGOMERY ‘INSTRUMENTAL’ IN HELPING brING DOWN Abr
LORD CLARENCE BACK IN OXFORD, ATTENDING LECTURES DESPITE HERO STATUS—WHERE IS EVANGELINE?
AMERICAN PRINCESS—NOW ROYAL SPY?
EVANGELINE AND LORD CLARENCE RISKED ALL TO PROTECT FAMILY AND COUNTRY, CLAIMS PALACE INSIDER
—BBC News, 7 February 2024
SOURCE: EVANGELINE KIDNAPPED DURING MISSION, THREATENED BY HEAD OF Abr—STILL WANTED TO CONTINUE DESPITE ROYAL WISHES
—The Daily Sun, 8 February 2024
TIMELINE OF THE OXFORD OPERATION: WHAT WE KNOW SO FAR
—London Independent Standard, 9 February 2024
PRESIDENT PARK COMMENDS EVANGELINE brIGHT FOR brAVERY, ISSUES OPEN INVITATION TO WHITE HOUSE
—CNN, 10 February 2024
LIVE INTERVIEW WITH EVANGELINE AND LORD CLARENCE SET FOR TOMORROW NIGHT—‘ALL WILL BE REVEALED’
—BBC News, 11 February 2024
The week that follows is torture.
Tibby tries to cheer me up by showing me headlines from around the world—headlines that endlessly praise me and Kit for bravery they don’t even have context for—but all that does is remind me of everything I didn’t do to protect Kit, and every mistake I made in my relentless pursuit of trying to take Ben down.
I don’t so much as try to come to terms with that guilt and grief as I do wallow in it, and between VidChat prep meetings with Doyle and Astrid, I haunt my guest room like an agoraphobic ghost, accompanied by the loyal spaniel puppy and occasionally an annoyed Tibby.
The only time I leave is when I visit my parents, spending as much time with them each day as I can before it’s obvious that Alexander is pushing himself to stay awake for me.
The one silver lining in all of this is that he’s recovering faster than any of his doctors expected.
His memory is improving and his words are mostly intelligible now, barely a week after regaining consciousness, and he only slurs when he’s tired—usually the first sign that I need to find a reason to leave.
His left leg, which was shattered in the bombing and isn’t healing properly, is now the biggest problem his medical team is facing, and I try to pretend I haven’t heard the whispers of what they might need to do if things don’t change.
But it’s written in the way my mother’s smile grows tighter each time I visit, and despite the surgeries he’s already endured, despite the odds he’s already defied, I know Alexander is nowhere near out of the woods yet.
On the third day of this, Tibby hands me a new phone without comment, and it takes me all of two minutes to realize that the ringtone is, in fact, her reluctantly repeating fart a dozen times in her uppity accent.
It’s the only thing that makes me grin in this strange, endless week, and I do my best not to think of how miserable I must look if she’s willing to do that for me.
I don’t text Kit. I want to, desperately, but I’m determined to give him the space he needs. And selfishly, I know that if I try to reach out and he doesn’t reply, my heart will permanently shatter, and I’m already in too much pain to put myself through that.
But when my text notification goes off hours later, I nearly drop my phone as I scramble to unlock it. Did Tibby tell him she replaced it? Or maybe he’s been texting, and I forgot to check—
It’s not him, though. Instead, it’s from a number I’ve never messaged before, even though it’s saved in my contacts.
Lady Primrose Chesterfield-Bishop.
Rosie
i’ve been following the news…did you take him down, too??? xx
I stare at my screen as the puppy snores softly beside me on my bed.
Rosie, my half sister’s former best friend, is the reason we know Ben is guilty.
She’s the one who revealed back in January that Ben runs the Regal Record, the royal gossip site focused on destroying me and Kit.
She even confessed that he’d been blackmailing her into slipping him pieces of gossip and writing articles for him—a practice she swears she’s since stopped—and she’s the reason we know exactly why he’s doing it in the first place.
But Rosie and I aren’t exactly friendly, and I can’t remember a time we’ve ever talked, just the two of us.
Which makes her text all the more baffling.
But the more I study it, the more I realize that even though she’s undoubtedly seen the endless headlines, the him she’s referring to isn’t Guy Fawkes.
Evan
Just the ones you’ve heard about. I’m sorry.
Rosie
damn. is there any chance…? xx
Evan
I don’t know. It’s a long story.
Rosie
i can ring if you’d like xx
I have a pretty solid idea of what Maisie would say if she ever discovered I’d spoken to Rosie behind her back, especially about Ben, and it isn’t good.
Evan
Can’t. Puppy is sleeping.
Rosie
you have a puppy??? xx
It’s almost funny how easily this distracts her, and I take a picture of the puppy and send it to her. Seconds later, Rosie replies with a string of heart and rainbow emojis.
Rosie
what’s the name??? xx
Evan
She doesn’t have one yet.
Rosie
you have to give her one!! xx
Evan
Can’t. She’s Constance’s.
Rosie
i won’t tell if you won’t xx what are her parents called??
Evan
Not sure. All of Constance’s dogs are named after shades of blue. Zaffre, Indigo, Cobalt, Sapphire.
Rosie
jade??? lapis??? azure??? omg TIFFANY!! xxx
I wrinkle my nose. The thought of using Constance’s naming convention makes my skin crawl, even more than naming the puppy does.
I don’t want to create a bond that will inevitably break when it’s time to leave Balmoral, just like every other relationship in my life, and I know for damn sure I can’t take another loss right now.
But I’m also positive Rosie won’t let up until I give her a name, and Tiffany is not it.
Fine. Constance likes the color blue, and I like nothing more than to annoy her.
Evan
Poppy.
Rosie
a flower name! love it!!! xxx welcome to the family, poppy bright!!
I don’t know why this makes me tear up, but it does, and all I want is to tell Kit about it. About Rosie texting, about the puppy’s name, about how much I miss him—every bit of it. Instead, I set my phone down, ready to call it a night, but only a minute later, it buzzes again.
Rosie
thank you, by the way…i know i’m probably the last person you want to hear this from, but thank you for trying. even if ben gets away again, what you and kit did was really, really brave, and i’m so proud of you. i hope one day we can be friends (and snickers and poppy, too!!) xxxxx
I sniff and wipe my eyes with my shirt. There are a dozen things I could say in return—that I didn’t do it for her.
That I would love for her dog, Snickers, and Poppy to be friends, even though I’m not sure she and I ever could be.
That Maisie won’t forgive her no matter how close she is with me.
That I’m sorry we didn’t take Ben down, too.
Instead, I press the text long enough to heart it, and leave it at that. It’s the only thing that doesn’t feel like a betrayal of Maisie, Kit, or myself.
—
Somehow, I survive until we’re only twenty-four hours away from the live interview.
Doyle and his team spend the entire day going over the preselected questions with me, making sure I have my answers down and know exactly what information is still classified.
No mention of Ben, but I’m encouraged to talk about my experience with Guy Fawkes, whose real full name I still don’t know.
Dylan is, to my deep dismay, still on the loose, and any details about his identity are strictly off-limits, although I’m welcome to refer to him as a violent fanatic of the Abr when it comes to my supposed kidnapping—which I’m also encouraged to play up, especially with my bruised jaw and healing lip still obvious.
Thanks to the endless reminders and dire warnings from a visibly sweating Doyle, I’m late seeing my parents that evening, and instead of taking the long way through the castle to their wing, I cut through the more populated corridors.
My footsteps are silent as I move through the hallway, but when I turn a corner, I hear a sharp gasp.
“Stop!” shrieks Maisie from the other side of a heavy wooden door. It’s cracked open, and I rush over, ready to put an end to whatever’s going on when—
Maisie starts to laugh. Confused and alarmed, I peer through the doorway. She’s sprawled out on the scarlet sofa, trying to squirm away as someone with slicked-back blond hair mercilessly tickles her sides.
Ben.
“Admit it,” he says. “I won that race.”
“Never!” she declares, laughing so hard now that it sounds like she might be crying. “You were—a nose behind—and—you—know it!”
“Do I?” says Ben, and I can see his wide grin from my vantage point. “Because I also recall you and Isla taking off half a beat early, which would mean Rory and I more than made up the distance—”
“Are you—calling me—a cheater?” says Maisie, trying to sound serious as she smacks his hands away. “Because I—would—never—”
At that exact moment, she glances straight at the door—and at me. Her laughter dies in her throat, and even Ben’s tickles don’t draw them out of her. Instead, her eyes go from the color of the summer sky to icy pale, and I step out of view, exhaling softly.
“What?” says Ben, and I can sense his gaze through the thick wood.
“Nothing,” says Maisie. “Just one of the maids. Is it dinnertime yet? I’m starving.”
“Ought to be,” says Ben. “Do you want to—”
“Will you check? I’ll only be a moment.”
He huffs. “While I’m at it, would you like me to fetch you some tea and biscuits? Coffee, perhaps, or should I draw you a hot bath?”
I hear a soft thump that sounds a lot like a pillow. “Don’t be an arse. I’ll be in the dining room in a minute.”