Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Oliver
Callum kneels before his grandmother, his golden head bowed.
The Home Secretary reads the text of the letter patent in English as Queen Katharine gives Callum a sword, the strap coming over his shoulder.
Then she places a small crown on his golden head.
Now the Secretary of State reads the text in Welsh, his booming voice commanding attention as Queen Katharine slides a ring onto Callum’s finger.
Next up is a gold rod. And last is the mantle, the cloak that enshrouds him.
It feels like someone has socked me in the guts as Queen Katharine fastens the top of the white cloak around Callum.
Even though I knew this would happen, that Callum came here today to pledge his allegiance to the Queen, to officially accept his title of Prince of Wales, I can’t help my body reacting.
This is Callum accepting his birthright.
There’s no going back from this.
Queen Katharine clasps her hands around Callum’s as he says the words of his vow in a clear voice. “I, Callum, Prince of Wales, do become your liege man of life and limb and of earthly worship and faith and truth. I will bear unto thee to live and die against all manner of folks.”
Live and die.
Those words echo in my head.
Queen Katharine leans forward to give Callum a peck on his cheek.
And then he stands, Callum in his full regalia, the Prince of Wales.
A lump in my throat chokes me. I have to turn away.
My gaze falls on the woman next to Amelia. She’s leaning down to retrieve her handbag, and her sleeve bunches up as it brushes against her trousers, exposing a tattoo on her inner wrist.
1282.
My forehead scrunches.
Why is that date so familiar? I stare at the numbers engraved in her flesh, trying to solve the mystery.
Suddenly, Callum’s history lesson flies into my head. The last Welsh Prince of Wales, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, died in 1282.
I watch the woman lean forward to pick up her handbag.
But she doesn’t pick up hers. Instead, she picks up Amelia’s.
My heart thuds.
Growing up in the council estate, I had to learn to live on my wits. To read subtle changes in body language to detect when a threat was coming. To trust my gut instinct.
And my gut is churning right now. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
The woman puts Amelia’s handbag onto her lap as another random fact enters my head.
The only people exempt from security screening are the royal family.
I flick a glance at Callum. The sun has chosen this moment to peek through the clouds, and a sliver of sunlight engulfs him, glinting off his crown.
Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.
What the hell can I do? I can’t accost a potentially innocent woman for simply holding a handbag on her lap.
My pulse speeds up.
On the dais, the formalities seem to be over, and there’s a flurry of movement I see out of the corner of my eye. Callum and Queen Katharine are moving towards the side of the dais.
But my gaze stays glued on the woman.
She unzips Amelia’s handbag, and her controlled, furtive movements cause my stomach to coil.
She reaches into her handbag.
My breath hitches, my heart hammering.
She pulls out a gun.
Oh, holy fuck.
Adrenaline shoots through me. I’m on my feet in an instant.
“Gun!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “She’s got a gun!”
And then I’m running, running. Running as fast as I can move.
Running towards the dais, towards Callum.
My heart is in my throat, my breath coming in frantic gasps.
All that matters is getting to Callum.
But I’m going to be too late because I can see the woman with the tattoo raising the gun and Callum standing on the dais defenseless, holding nothing but a sword and gold rod. Ceremonial things, useless things.
Nothing that can defend him against a bullet.
“NO!” I scream the words as if by the very force of my will I can stop what’s happening in front of me.
I throw myself at Callum as the sound of a gunshot reverberates around the castle walls.