Chapter Fourteen
When Tibby knocks on my door early the next morning, I’m wide awake, still reeling from my fight with Maisie.
Though I managed to sleep a little the night before, it was restless at best, with dreams that haunted me even after I woke up in a cold sweat. Now I stare at a crack in the curtains, watching the pitch-black sky slowly lighten to gray as Maisie’s words repeat in my mind again and again.
You asked him to possibly die for you, Evan. How is anyone supposed to forgive that?
Tibby steps inside, and instantly I know something’s wrong. She typically wakes me like a tornado, taking pleasure in ruining my morning before it’s even begun, and her making an effort to be discreet is never a good sign.
“What is it?” I say, sitting up. She must hear the urgency in my voice, or maybe the exhausted defeat, because she doesn’t try to take the sting out of what comes next.
“The Regal Record posted an article overnight, announcing Liam’s death as a suicide,” she says, and all the warmth leeches from my body in a single exhale. “They’re trying to discredit Kit and cast uncertainty around everything he says during the interview tonight—”
“Has anyone talked to him?” I say, throwing the covers off despite the chill. “I need to call—”
“Maisie has already spoken to him,” she says, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Tibby has no idea Ben runs the Regal Record, but Maisie does. Is this enough for her to realize that Ben will never spare either of them as long as she—we—stand in his way?
Somehow I doubt it. “What did Kit say?” I say, pulling open the doors to my armoire.
“I’ve no clue. Maisie’s at breakfast now. I’m sure she’s eager to discuss the matter before you leave for London.”
Maisie likely wants nothing to do with me, but I’m not about to miss my chance to demand answers from her.
I rush through the morning essentials, and once I’m dressed and reasonably presentable, I head toward the dining room at a pace that has Tibby struggling to keep up.
As we go, she fills me in on our packed schedule before the interview tonight, but I’m barely listening as I cut every corner close, nearly mowing down at least three footmen and a maid.
“How is he?” I say as I burst through the double doors of the dining room. Helene, Nicholas, and Constance all look up in alarm, but Maisie, who sits several seats away from them, barely gives me a passing glance as she types into her phone.
“Evangeline,” says Nicholas, the only friendly face among the four of them. “What an unexpected surprise. Please, help yourself to the buffet—”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” I say, my stare locked on Maisie. “You spoke to Kit, didn’t you?”
Maisie’s thumbs move at the speed of light. “Of course I did. I rang him first thing.”
“What did he say? Is he all right? Has he talked to his parents or—”
“Is this about that dreadful article on that blog?” says Helene. “I thought Doyle was taking care of that.”
“We’ve always been unable to get posts taken down off that site,” says Nicholas with a grimace. “Really, poor Edgar and Amira. And Kit, too, of course. Some things are meant to remain private, and how those vultures got that information to begin with…”
He trails off and takes a bite of his eggs, and I glare at Maisie, who knows damn well how the Regal Record came across that little tidbit.
“Is this that…royal what’s-it rag?” says Constance, giving the puppy at my heels a disapproving look, and I grit my teeth. Why does Nicholas seem to be the only one who cares?
“Yes, Grandmama,” says Maisie sweetly. “It’s that terrible online journal that writes all sorts of nasty things about—”
“What is the meaning of this?”
A red-faced Prince Benedict of York storms into the dining room, followed closely by a scowling protection officer.
Poppy cowers behind me, and I ball my hands into fists as all of my impotence shifts to anger.
There is nothing I want more than to break his nose right now, and it’s only because of his unexpected fury that I hesitate.
“The meaning of what, darling?” says Helene as she butters a scone.
“I’m to have a minder wherever I go now,” announces Ben indignantly. “Even during private interactions with family members. And I’ve been banned from all official meetings of the Counsellors of State.”
Helene raises an eyebrow, but while Nicholas also looks mildly surprised, it’s Constance who sits up straighter, clearly affronted. “Who is responsible for this?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” says Ben, shooting me a death glare. “There’s only one person here who hates me. Did you take advantage of Uncle Alexander’s addled state and convince him I’m the bogeyman?”
My jaw tightens painfully, and all my rage finally breaks free. “If I wanted you banned from Balmoral, I wouldn’t have to lie.”
“Enough,” says Constance, and her cup of tea hits the saucer with a clatter. “I’ll speak to Stephens and get this sorted. Clearly there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“At the very least,” says Ben bitterly. “I’ve never done anything to warrant such treatment.”
I snort so loudly that I startle myself, and all eyes turn to me. “Did you have something you wanted to say, Evangeline?” says Helene coolly.
I glare at Ben. “Anything I have to say, I’ll say it during the interview tonight. I think that’s fair, don’t you, Ben? No fun handing out spoilers.”
His soulless eyes narrow. “If I were you, I’d make sure to brush up on defamation laws in this country before saying anything too outrageous. Especially since you seem to be lacking any real evidence to back up your lies.”
“Am I?” I say. “I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
I step forward, intending on leaving it at that and hurrying back to my phone to text Kit, but Ben’s arm snaps out in front of me, his palm hitting the threshold as he blocks my way.
“Your interview with Kit is at the Maychester Hotel, isn’t it?
” says Ben, his voice carrying beyond me.
“I certainly hope for your sake that MI5 managed to round up every member of the Abr. Otherwise I shudder to think of what might happen tonight. It’s likely to make what happened to Uncle Alexander look like child’s play—”
Before I know what’s happening, I shove Ben up against the threshold, my elbow digging into his throat. His pulse flutters against my skin, but he doesn’t even try to fight me off, and the entire room—even his minder—is completely still.
“Don’t you dare say my father’s name,” I growl, bared teeth and all. “After what you did, you have no right—”
“If you’re implying that I had anything to do with what happened to Uncle Alexander, then you’re utterly mad,” says Ben with a sneer. “I’ve done nothing but support his recovery—”
“You haven’t been allowed anywhere near him.” I press my trembling elbow harder into his throat, and he makes a choking sound. “Just in case you try to finish the job.”
“I didn’t—do—anything,” insists Ben. In a burst of ferocity, or maybe panic, he finally shoves me away, and I stumble back toward the table. “I would never—”
“Of course not,” I snarl as something wild overtakes me. “You never do your dirty work yourself, do you? That’s what the Abr was for.”
He slams his fist into the wall, leaving blood smears behind.
“I refuse to stand here and listen to this character assassination,” he howls, straightening to his full height.
“Father. Grandmama. Aunt Helene. Maisie. If you’re all willing to entertain this madness, then by all means.
But I will not waste my time defending myself against these ridiculous claims.”
Ben stalks away, and satisfaction rushes through me as he vanishes from sight. Good. Let him disappear. With any luck, after the interview tonight, the only time I’ll ever have to see him again will be in a courtroom when I give testimony against him.
But once he’s gone, the silence in the dining room is resounding. “Well,” says Maisie at last, and she rises, taking her phone and another piece of toast with her. “Now you’ve done it, Evangeline.”
She, too, strides out of the room, and something cracks inside me—my heart, maybe, or any sense of hope I still had that my sister hasn’t been fooled by a murderer. Fighting back tears, I lean against the dented wall and rub my eyes, wishing more than ever that Kit was still here.
“That,” says Constance in a deadly voice, “was the most inappropriate display of—of sheer lunacy I have ever witnessed. I am appalled by both your actions and your words, Evangeline, and I will not suffer having the likes of you in my presence—”
“She’s telling the truth, Mother,” says Nicholas with a long-suffering sigh. “Ben is a devious little shit, and frankly he’s lucky she didn’t try to break his nose. He certainly deserves that and more.”
“Nicholas!” exclaims Constance. “Benedict is your son—”
“He knew about the bombing,” I say as Nicholas takes another bite of egg. “I don’t know if he’s been funding the Abr or feeding them information or both, but he knew exactly what was going to happen that day.”
“Don’t you dare speak of my grandson in such a way,” says Constance. “He is a prince—”
“He’s a terrorist.”
“He has no reason to harm a fly,” she retorts. “He lives a life of luxury—”
“As third in line to the throne,” I say.
“And until I arrived, he was practically guaranteed to get the crown someday. But Ben knew Alexander was still in love with my mom, and he also realized that if my parents ever get married and I decide to have kids, they’ll be next in line, not him.
Seemed highly unlikely a year ago, but when I suddenly showed up, he panicked. ”