Chapter Thirty-One #3
“Anytime,” I say, and after taking one more moment to savor the sheer rage and fear in Ben’s eyes, I finally climb off him.
Part of me expects him to grab my skirt and pull me down with him—maybe crack my head against the floor, or try to break my neck with his bare hands.
But even seething hatred isn’t enough for him to forfeit his own life, and for now, he stays perfectly still, as if the blade were still pressed against his delicate skin.
Immediately two PPOs step on either side of me and escort me several feet away.
I don’t argue, and instead I glance at the slashed fabric of my bodice, scowling.
When Louis altered this violet dress to cover the vest yesterday, we knew there was a chance it wouldn’t make it out in one piece, but I’m still annoyed. It was a masterpiece.
“Where,” says Alexander from the walkway, his booming voice filling every corner of the chamber, “is Dylan Baxter? Answer me, Benedict, or you will not enjoy the consequences.”
“I’m innocent,” gasps Ben as two MI5 agents haul him to his feet, and to my enormous satisfaction, Singh cuffs his hands behind his back. “I haven’t done anything. You have to believe me, Uncle Alexander—”
“You sent me poison and tried to blackmail me into killing my own sister,” says Maisie, and I’m so shocked she’s willing to admit this—especially in front of so many important people—that my mouth falls open. “I’ve already handed the evidence over to MI5.”
“Hearsay,” claims Ben. “You could’ve easily set the whole thing up to frame me—”
“With your fingerprints on the letter?” challenges Maisie. “I suppose we’ll just have to let a judge work that one out, won’t we? I expect it’ll be a very public trial.”
“Don’t forget the SIM card that John Phillip Michaels gave me,” I say, looking Ben dead in the eye.
“It has all the texts you two exchanged. You slip up a few times and call him by his real name, you know, and you definitely say a few things you shouldn’t.
I guess it’s easy to forget how to keep your mouth shut when you think no one will ever read your messages.
Oh,” I add. “You also forgot to turn your location off. Rookie mistake.”
Ben is shaking now—with anger or fear, I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. “Whatever’s on that card can’t be proven,” he says, his voice trembling, and despite the chill in the room, a bead of sweat slides down his temple. “It’s all circumstantial—”
“And we have everything that happened with Jasper recorded, too,” says Maisie. “With your face on the video.”
“That was you!” shouts Ben. “You pushed him off the balcony! Everyone will know now—everyone will know you’re a murderer!”
“I acted in self-defense,” says Maisie, far calmer than I expect, and I wonder how many lawyers it took to convince her to reveal that little detail in front of the head of MI5.
“As you can plainly see on the video, which we’ve already shared with the police.
It’s also obvious how you tried to pin the murder on Evan, and considering we have security footage of you in the Cunninghams’ kitchen drugging Evan’s drink…
” She tilts her head and looks at Nicholas.
“Do you think Robert Cunningham would be interested in telling the world that Jasper was manipulated and set up by a member of the royal family? I think he would.”
“Champing at the bit,” agrees Alexander, while Nicholas continues to stare at his hands in silence. “He’s in the chapel. Shall we fetch him?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Since MI5’s still searching Ben’s hotel room and confiscating his electronics. Or is that MI6?” I add, glancing between Singh and the Director General. “They’re involved now, too, right? Since Ben’s fled the country multiple times.”
“Indeed,” says Singh, and from the walkway, the Director General dips her head in confirmation.
“I thought so,” I say, locking eyes with Ben once more. “But I’m just an American. I can’t be expected to understand the intricacies of how the English government works.”
“You’ll get there, Your Royal Highness,” says Singh. “It’s an impressive start regardless.”
“What—what about the line of succession?” gasps Ben, as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. “Father’s next. If Alexander’s abdicating, and the entire world knows Maisie isn’t legitimate—”
“I have no intention of abdicating,” announces Alexander. “I did once upon a time, and perhaps one day, once Mary is ready, I’ll consider it again. But for now, my place is on the throne, not only to help guide this country and my people, but to protect my family from you.”
“But—” Ben nearly chokes on the word. “She’s not yours—”
“Mary is my daughter, and it is treason to say otherwise,” says Alexander.
Which is laying it on a bit thick, even if it is the truth.
“We’ll be happy to provide proof to any official present who asks, but she is my blood, and she is and will remain the heir to the throne.
And as Evangeline has already pointed out, her heirs, should she choose to have any, will be next. ”
“I haven’t decided yet,” I say, staring at Ben. “But either way, you will never be crowned.”
Ben’s eyes dart around in desperation now, and at last they land on Nicholas. “Dad,” he says, his voice cracking. “Tell them—I’m your son. I know I am. I did the test myself. Whatever this is, I’m sorry—they can’t do this—they can’t do this—”
“Tell them where Dylan Baxter is,” says Nicholas resignedly. “That’s all they’re asking of you.”
Ben swallows hard, once, twice, and then opens his mouth like a gaping fish for several seconds. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know who Dylan Baxter is—”
“You went to Eton with him,” says Maisie plainly. “You, Jasper, and Kit. The four of you were friends. You really think we don’t know that, Ben?”
Ben shakes his head. “I had loads of friends at school. I can’t keep track of them all, or be held responsible when one decides to—”
Click.
The room goes silent, and every eye is suddenly on Singh, who holds his gun inches from Ben’s forehead. No one tells him to lower it.
“Let me make this clear to you,” he says. “In a moment, you and I will remain here while everyone else leaves this chamber, including the royal family. If any one of them is harmed by your not-friend Dylan, then your life is forfeit. Do you understand, Benedict?”
“I—” Ben tries to reply, but he’s trembling so hard that he can barely speak. “Dad—”
“He’s going to leave us, too,” says Singh, and Nicholas looks away, his eyes closing. “This is your last chance, Benedict, and I mean that in every sense of the word. Where is Dylan Baxter?”
Ben’s chin wobbles, and a dark spot forms on the front of his trousers.
Holy shit.
“He’s—he’s on the roof of a tall brick hotel two streets down,” admits Ben at last. “You can see into the courtyard from there, right onto the chapel steps. He has a rifle.”
One of the MI5 agents radios the description into his colleagues, and Singh’s gun doesn’t waver. “Who’s the target?” says Singh.
Ben’s teeth chatter. “Evangeline.”
My face is a mask, and no one else shows any hint of surprise, either. Instead, in a whirlwind of movement, four agents take off through the doors, and two PPOs join them, as well as Victor Stephens.
“Thank you,” says Singh, and the safety clicks on as he returns the gun to his holster. “You made the right decision, Benedict.”
Ben sinks to the ground in a puddle of his own urine, and his entire body heaves with wretched sobs.