Chapter 18

C HAPTER 18

My chest burns with righteous vindication as I storm away from Reggie ( I knew I didn't like him! ), right up until I realize that I can't see anything under the canopy of trees. The farther I press into the forest, the less moonlight filters through the leaves, and Theo's long legs are moving quicker than I can keep up with. The only reason I know I'm going in the right direction is because he makes no effort to be quiet.

My side cramps, each breath more painful than the last. The ground slopes up and my legs join the long list of body parts that are in pain. (At this point, it's everything except three fingers on my right hand.) I'm starting to worry how far Theo's anger is taking him away from camp when the sound of his footsteps is drowned out by flowing water.

I duck through a thicket of trees and step into a clearing. Squinting, I see the outline of Theo standing on the bank of a small stream, barely there moonlight reflecting off his rigid shoulders.

I take a tentative step forward.

"It's not a good time to be with me, Wren," Theo says. There's an unfamiliar note of warning in his voice.

I exhale a long, slow breath. "Okay."

He stuffs his fists into his pockets, but not before I realize that he's shaking. It creates a schism in me, dividing my life into two parts: there is before I saw Theo silently falling apart while trying to keep himself together, and there is after.

"Why are you still here?" he asks after a long stretch of silence. The words scrape painfully against his throat and my heart.

"You don't have to be alone right now."

"What if I want to be?" he asks sharply. Impossibly, his gravitational pull only gets stronger. Not even a rescue helicopter could pull me out of here, because I recognize a defense mechanism better than anyone.

"If you want me to go, look me in the eye and tell me to go."

He turns, and my breath catches. Even in the dark, his eyes simmer with rage and heartbreak. He tips his chin up and holds my gaze.

I'm sure he's used to people backing down, but I won't. I pull my shoulders back in the way I've seen him do a hundred times. "Tell me to leave, Theo."

His eyes shutter when I say his name. He turns his head and swallows heavily. "I can't." His hoarse voice cracks on the last word, snapping off a piece of my heart in the process.

I cross the distance between us and wrap my arms around him. I press my cheek against his chest and listen to his heartbeat while his body shakes. I hold him tighter, not to keep him from splintering apart, but to let him know I'll gather the pieces when he does.

"It's okay," I whisper.

"It's not." His voice is thick with restrained emotion.

Hot tears spill over my cheeks and run down his chest. I hate his family for teaching him that a stiff upper lip is more important than anything else. "It's okay to not be okay when you're with me."

I feel his intake of breath, and then the whole weight of his body at once as his shoulders crumple. He presses his face to the hollow in my neck and shakes. I don't realize he's crying until his tears slide over my skin. I cry harder.

The almost-apocalypse robbed me of the fantasy that life will be fair. I'll never expect that again. But I still don't understand how a nineteen-year-old with no political aspirations can end up with the weight of a country on his shoulders. Or why I fell in love with someone who only fits into my life when our world is ending. Or how a boy with no parents is supposed to accept that his sister might die, and the people around him won't let him do anything to help.

I know the world isn't fair, but I wish it weren't this emotionally devastating.

I cry with him until my knees buckle and we both end up on the ground, tangled together on damp soil. I rack my brain for the right thing to say, but he speaks first.

"What am I going to do?" he asks at last, repositioning us so that we're sitting side by side.

I begin turning over possible solutions, sorting through our short list of drastic options. I lean forward and dip my hand in the cold water before unscrewing the lid of one of our bottles and filling it to the brim. I hand it to him.

"Start with a drink" is the only thing I can think to say.

Theo's fingers brush mine as he accepts the bottle, and the last inches of me that didn't hurt, those three fingers on my right hand, ache with painful wanting.

He takes a long sip, then looks at me with a cocked head and a grim smile. "Problem solved," he says solemnly, and I can't believe I ever thought I didn't love him. It was pure denial—like swimming in the ocean and claiming I wasn't wet.

"We'll figure something out," I tell him, because I'd say just about anything to smooth the crease between his eyes. "We'll make a bigger fire and write a message in the sand and search for food for Victoria. It hasn't even been a day since the crash. We still have time."

His gaze sweeps up to the looming mountain. "We need to go over it."

My stomach pitches uncomfortably. "Maybe Reggie will change his mind."

"Did Henry tell you about our dad?" he asks abruptly.

I sit back in surprise. "No. Why?"

"Do you hear that?" He cocks his head to the side. I hold my breath, but all I hear is rushing water. Theo stands and sticks out his hand to help me up.

I'm too tired to move. "Tell me about your dad, Theo," I say softly.

He rolls his shoulders and shakes out his hands, suddenly skittish. "I need to work up to that."

I let him pull me to my feet. "Then start with Henry. Why are you two always competing?"

He glowers into the distance, his hands on his hips. "It's a boring story," he warns.

"Try me."

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "It's just jealousy. It drives me mad that he wasn't the heir when he should have been. You don't see him out here throwing a wobbly in the forest."

I recognize his self-deprecating tone and give him a light shove. "Cut yourself some slack. He's never been under the pressure you have."

"He would have handled it better." His voice is strangled with emotion. "If he got the chance to be the monarch, he'd make Mum proud in the way I never could."

"And what about your dad?" I prompt.

He cuts me a sideways glance. "While we're walking," he says, and that's when I realize this is a conversation that he needs to distract himself from. He won't be able to talk about it unless we're also doing something else. If this is what it takes, we'll walk all night.

We follow the stream to higher ground. The air is wet with mist, drops of it gathering on thick moss and glossy leaves. The trees here are denser than ever, and as we scramble over a fallen trunk, I can't help but think this forest feels prehistoric; it's astounding that the natural environment is still so lush and untouched, even on an inhabited island.

We walk for long enough that I wonder if Theo is ever going to tell me his story. "Rock here, be careful," he says, pointing to a loose rock a step ahead of us. His voice is scratchy with emotion or thirst or disuse, but he continues. "Royal marriages are historically fucked up."

A sharp laugh escapes me, and I clap my hand over my mouth. "Whatever happened to ‘Once upon a time'?"

"Not that kind of story," he says. "Rock." He grabs my hand and helps me over the obstacle.

"Sorry. It's just—you weren't this cynical about love when we—" I bite my lip as my cheeks heat. I almost said "when we got married." In our wedding vows, he said we were fate. He made me want to believe in it too. "When we first met," I finish.

"Who's talking about love?" he says wryly. "And anyway, I didn't know then what I know now."

"Which is what?"

"I'm getting there. Duck." He holds a tree branch up so I can duck underneath it. "First, you must understand that royal marriages are usually balls-up, and Mum and Dad's was no exception. When you add political pressures and media scrutiny on top of regular old relationship rubbish, it's a disaster waiting to happen."

"Is that what happened to your parents?"

"My dad came from a wealthy family that everyone approved of, and he and my mum loved each other in the beginning. That's what they told us, anyway. But my mum was the heir, and there was so much attention and pressure on them to have a bunch of babies and make it work. Add that on top of my dad's depression and the constant cheating rumors, and it was never going to have a happy ending."

I slip on a muddy rock. Theo reaches for my waist, his hands spanning my hips. I swallow as his gaze sweeps across my face. "I thought he got sick."

"He did. But not in the way people assume." There's something achingly stoic in his tone that tells me this story is going to break my heart.

"They decided to separate. The news was leaked to the press, and the media scrutiny was relentless: paparazzi stalking Dad, articles about what he did wrong, what she did wrong, which kids would stay with which parent, body-language experts dissecting every public appearance they'd ever made. The press hounded him relentlessly and dragged fifteen years' worth of speculation onto the front page of the tabloids. It was utterly unsurvivable." He clears the emotion from his throat. "He died by suicide a few weeks later, though the Firm covered it up and blamed his death on other health problems."

My stomach plummets. I reach for Theo's hand. "I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"Just wait!" Theo says, like he's building to the best part in a campfire story. "There's more trauma coming." He places his lower hand on my back to steady me. "When my mum died, I got access to a bunch of her stuff: documents and emails and everything. I was combing through it all, looking for information from that time, and would you believe that everything came from her? The divorce story, the hit pieces on my dad, all of it."

My mouth falls open as a chill seeps into my bones. Yesterday I was lying on a speeding car floor, being chased by cameras. I can still feel the way my heart stopped. I'd never felt less human. "Why would she do that?"

" Redacted, " he says sourly.

"What does that mean?"

"My best guess is that the press had a different story that she didn't want to go public. Her marriage with my dad was falling apart anyway, so she offered him on a silver platter instead."

We follow a bend in the stream that takes us to the mouth of a large waterfall. The trees have opened up, letting moonlight glimmer off the pounding water. It's jaw-dropping, but after Theo's revelation, I don't feel a thing except heartache.

He turns to me. "You said that maybe Reggie will change his mind about letting Victoria get sick. This is how I know he won't. These people will do anything in the name of protecting the Crown." His voice is hollow, and the truth is awful, and there's nothing else for either of us to say.

He threads his fingers through mine and I lean my head on his shoulder until we're soaked with the spray of the waterfall. I feel almost sick with nostalgia, wishing we could go back to the Eiffel Tower or the beach in Amorgos. I mentally add "enchanted misty forest" to the list of locations where I've loved Theo, and I can't help but wonder how few places I have left.

"You ready to go back?" he asks.

I'm not, but I nod wordlessly anyway.