Chapter Nineteen

Kit

Maisie, I've just seen the news—are you all right? Evan isn't answering my texts.

Maisie?

Maisie, please tell me you're both safe.

Gia

What news? What's happened?

Kit

A barrier broke during their walkabout, and the crowd rushed them.

Gia

What?? Are they safe? Do we know anything?

Kit

Their PPOs got them into the car, but that's all the footage shows. There had to be hundreds of people there.

Rosie

were they attacked??? xx

Kit

I don't know. I'm waiting on them at Windsor now.

Gia

Kit, tell the front gate to expect me. I'm on my way.

Rosie

me too!! xx

—Text message exchange between Her Royal Highness The Princess Mary, Lady Georgiana Greyville, Lady Primrose Chesterfield-Bishop, and Christopher Abbott-Montgomery, Earl of Clarence, 10 January 2024

WHILE MAISIE SPENDS OUR ENTIRE drive back to Windsor Castle in tears, babbling nonstop on a phone call to her mother, I don't say a word.

I replay the scene outside the hospital again and again in my mind, trying to figure out what happened, but once my heartbeat slows and the panic seeps from my body, it's obvious.

The surge was my fault. I'm the one who thought I saw a gun, after all—I'm the one who caused the crowd to panic, and I'm the reason the barrier broke. It doesn't matter that my fear was born out of trauma and the very real fact that I almost died seventeen days ago. No excuse will erase that terrifying moment for anyone, least of all myself, and I spend the rest of the ride staring unseeingly out the window, trying not to think about how many people must've been injured in the crush.

When we finally return to Windsor, Alexander is waiting for us with Jenkins at his side, and both look about as bleak as I feel. Maisie goes to our father as soon as her feet are planted on the gravel drive, and he embraces her while she sobs into his shoulder. I turn toward Jenkins, determined to give them some privacy, and he regards me gravely.

"That will never happen again," he says, and I shake my head.

"It was my fault," I say, my voice breaking. "I thought—Ithought I saw someone in the crowd with a gun, and…"

As I take a shuddering breath, he opens his arms, and I go to him, pressing my cheek against his suit jacket. It wouldn't be the first of his that I've ruined, but even though I'm trembling now, my eyes are dry.

"The barrier broke, and the police were unprepared for the turnout," says Jenkins. "Neither of those things are your fault, darling, and I'm afraid you can't take the blame for this one."

Except I definitely can. "Where's my mom?" I say, hating how small I sound. But as Jenkins starts to reply, I hear hasty footsteps on the gravel.

"I'm right here, sweetheart," she says, and in an instant, shesweeps me into a comforting embrace, and Jenkins steps aside.

The smell of her shampoo floods my already-overwhelmed senses, and as my mom holds me close, I melt into her, inhaling that familiar scent. The maelstrom in my mind finally begins to calm, and I suddenly feel every bit as exhausted as I am.

"You're all right?" she says softly into my hair, and I nod.

"Just tired," I mumble.

"Nothing else for the rest of the day," she says firmly as she rubs my back. At first I relax at her touch, but when she gets a little too close to my shoulder, I wince.

"Are you injured?" says Jenkins, and the alarm in his voice must alert my mother, because she immediately lets me go. I shake my head.

"I fell, but I'm fine. I don't know why Tibby makes me wear heels," I say, trying to play it off as a joke, but I can't dredge up any humor right now. "The crowd swarmed Maisie. I don't know if they hurt her."

"Dr. Gupta is already waiting," says Alexander, still holding my quaking sister. "Come—let's get you both inside."

My exam is mercifully quick, with the doctor prescribing me nothing more than rest and another round of anti-inflammatories. But Maisie's arms are red and already starting to bruise, and she seems startled when the nurse notices her left wrist is swollen.

"It doesn't hurt," she says, dazed, but when she tries to bend it, she whimpers.

"An X-ray, I think," says Dr. Gupta. And as Maisie dissolves into tears once again, guilt gnaws at me until I can't stand to be here anymore.

While everyone's busy tending to my sister, I slip out of the room and into the corridor, grateful for the cooler air. For a moment, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to push the sounds of Maisie's sobs out of my head, but a familiar voice echoes down the hall.

"Ev?"

When I look up, Kit is hurrying toward me, and his arms are around me before I know what's happening. He's gentle with me—he's always gentle with me—but I still wince into his shirt as he accidentally jostles my shoulder.

"Are you all right?" he says thickly, and with a start, I realize he's been crying.

"I'm okay," I say. I can feel his pulse hammering through his sweater. "It was just—scary, that's all. One of the barriers broke, and I thought…"

I trail off. After everything Kit and I've been through together, I can't bring myself to tell him about the gun I thought I saw, or to admit that this was entirely my fault, no matter what Jenkins says. Kit's already terrified, and I can only imagine the scenarios that have been running through his mind since he heard. There's nothing he can do to fix this for me, and in turn, I don't want to make it any worse for him.

And so, even though I hate keeping secrets from him, I swallow my own jagged unease and hug him tighter. I'll tell him once we've both healed, I decide. Once this overwhelming fear doesn't matter anymore, and this is all just a footnote in our history that reminds us how far we've come.

To my relief, Kit doesn't push me for more, and instead he exhales into my hair, his breath warm against my skin. "You weren't answering my texts."

"Tibby has my phone, and she and Fitz were in the other car," I say apologetically. "I should've asked Maisie to let you know everything was okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," says Kit. "She wouldn't answer me, either. I was afraid…" His Adam's apple bobs.

"She's bruised, and her wrist might be sprained, but I think she's more shaken than anything." I brush my lips against his cheek. "We're both okay, Kit. I swear. Everything's okay."

It takes him a minute to release me, and once he does, I slipmy hand into his and lead him back to my apartment. Ingrid trails us as we go, and for once, I'm grateful for her presence.

"Gia and Rosie are on their way here," says Kit as he rubs his swollen eyes. "I should let them know everything's okay."

"I need to change anyway," I say. "Do you want to track them down, and I'll meet you in Maisie's room?"

His frown makes it clear he doesn't want to go anywhere without me right now, but when we reach my door, I stand on my tiptoes and give him a lingering kiss.

"I'm fine, Kit. I promise," I say. "I'll join you in a few minutes, all right? Maybe you could order Maisie something from the kitchen. She was pretty shaken."

"Tea ought to steady her," he agrees, and he kisses me again. "Do you want anything?"

"A peanut butter and jelly—jam—sandwich," I request, even though my appetite is long gone. It gives him something productive to do, though, and I'll eat every sandwich in Windsor if it helps him feel a little less lost.

He sees me into my sitting room before heading off, and as soon as I'm alone, I head into my bedroom and sink down onto the edge of my mattress. For a moment, I stare at the cream carpet, my vision unfocused and my head swimming. But at last, without any conscious thought, I bury my face in my hands and finally let myself cry.

I don't know why the crowd scared me so damn much. I don't know why I'm suddenly afraid of everything outside the castle walls. But even though the broken barrier was an accident, even though the man in the scarf didn't have a gun and I was never in any real danger, every inch of me feels like I've escaped some horrible fate.

Was he the one who shot me and Kit? The thought is so preposterous that I almost dismiss it immediately, but it's no less possible than the idea that Ben was somehow behind it. The man was at the protest in front of Sandringham, after all, and the fact that he was here today, too…

My head is spinning as the adrenaline finally leeches from me, leaving me with limbs that are too heavy and a body that doesn't feel quite right. I take one more deep breath before forcing myself to stand, and then, like I'm going through the motions, I wash the makeup off my face, change into a cozy sweater and leggings, and head back into the corridor.

Ingrid is waiting outside my apartment, and when I open the door, she greets me with a nod. "All right, Miss Bright?"

"Just tired," I mumble, echoing the same reply I gave Jenkins, and I hesitate. "I'm sorry about today. I really thought that man had a gun."

Ingrid regards me for a long moment, her light blue eyes studying me like she's not sure what she'll find. "Years ago, a sniper almost killed me in Afghanistan," she says, and I blink. "It took me a long time before I felt comfortable out in the open again, even after I came home. Our brain exists to try tokeep us alive, and it'll take yours a while to realize there isn't a bullet with your name on it lurking around every corner. In the meantime, be kind to yourself. No one blames you for a thing."

I should say something—tell her I'm sorry she went through this, too, or thank her for putting herself in harm's way again just to protect me. But when I open my mouth, no words come out, and a lump forms in my throat.

She doesn't seem to expect a response, but as we make our way down the long gallery toward Maisie's apartment, Ingrid walks a little closer to me than usual, a comforting presence now rather than an unwanted shadow. And when we reach the turn near the dining room, I pause, still a couple doors down from Maisie's.

"Could you do me a favor?" I say, my throat still tight. "Will you ask the other protection officers to keep an eye out for that man in the scarf? He was at the protest outside Sandringham, too, and…I don't know. I just have a bad feeling."

"Of course, Miss Bright," she says, and even though I know this is part of her job, I'm absurdly grateful that someone else will be on the lookout for him, too.

As we approach Maisie's suite, I hear the sound of rising voices echoing from inside, and I pause, not entirely sure what to do. But as I'm reaching out to knock, the door opens, and to my surprise, Kit appears.

"There you are," he says softly, and he slides his arm around me. "Gia and Rosie are here, and—"

"—sent you roses?"

Gia's incredulous voice rises from somewhere inside the sitting room, and Kit grimaces. "We should—" he begins, but Maisie cuts him off.

"I didn't bloody ask for them. I didn't even know they were coming until they were already here, and what was I supposed to do? Reject them?"

"Are you texting him?" demands Gia.

"I—yes, a little, but only as friends—"

"Does he know about me? Did you tell him you have a girlfriend?"

Silence.

"We should go," Kit says to me, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Your sandwich should be arriving from the kitchen soon, and I can ask them to deliver it to your room instead—"

"Is that Evan?"

Gia's voice is much closer now, and Kit steps aside to reveal her standing only a few feet inside the door. She's in a purple leotard and sweatpants, with her hair pulled into a tight bun, and it's obvious she came straight from ballet practice.

"Kit and I were just leaving," I say, but Gia steps toward me, her eyes blazing.

"Did you know about this?" she says, and over her shoulder, I see an anguished Maisie standing beside Rosie, who's picking nervously at the end of a single blond curl.

"About the flowers?" I say slowly. "Or the texts?"

"About how she's trying to replace me with a cocky American boy," she spits out, and Maisie immediately protests.

"I'm not replacing you! Gia, please, be reasonable—"

"I'm being perfectly reasonable," she snaps, though her furious gaze is still fixed on me. "You're accepting flowers—roses—from someone who's very clearly interested in you, and you haven't bothered to tell him you've been in a relationship for the past three years."

Rosie gasps. "You've been together that long?" she says in an injured tone, but both Maisie and Gia glare at her, and she falls silent.

"I really don't want to get in the middle of whatever's going on between you," I say, taking half a step back, but Gia closes the distance between us, grabbing my wrist and lowering her face so it's only inches from mine.

"Did you," she says, "or did you not know that she's planning on dating that American narcissist in front of the entire world because she's ashamed of me?"

"I'm not ashamed of you!" cries Maisie, her voice thick with tears. "I'm trying to protect you. Gia, please, that's all it is, I swear—"

"You're trying to protect me by pretending I don't exist?" says Gia, finally whirling around to face her again, though her grip on me doesn't loosen. "Even in your world, Maisie, that makes no sense."

"Yes, it does," she says, wiping her eyes as Rosie loops her arm around her. But Maisie slips away, walking toward Gia instead, and Rosie sinks dejectedly onto the sofa. "If they find out about you, they'll hunt you like you're prey. They'll stalk you. They'll dredge up every slightly scandalous thing about you and your family, and they'll turn it all into headlines—"

"Do you think I don't know that?" says Gia incredulously. "Do you think I've spent the past three years keeping my head down and my nose clean because I like being invisible? I've turned down modeling jobs, parties, friendships, business partnerships—Maisie, I don't even have a bloody Instagram account because I know what it could mean for you. Everything I do is to make sure that when we go public, when you finally pull your head out of your arse and stop feeling so bloody ashamed of something that isn't the least bit shameful at all, the press will have nothing on me. Nothing."

Gia's in tears now, too, and the two of them stand only a few feet apart, but it might as well be a mile. Maisie's hugging herself even though her left wrist is wrapped in a bandage, and her pale face is splotchy, her lips parted in disbelief.

"It doesn't matter," she says brittlely. "They'll find something anyway, or they'll make it all up. Or—or they'll go after you because you're Black, or because your mother's Kenyan, or because you're stunningly beautiful and people will always be jealous of you—"

"I don't care," says Gia. "Don't you see? I don't care about any of that as long as I have you. I know the risks. I've seen what you and your family have to go through, I've seen how the press tortures you all, and I know what I'm getting into, Maisie. And it's worth it—every last bit of it—as long as it means getting to be by your side."

I try to ease my arm out of her grip, painfully aware that this should be a private conversation, but Gia's fingers tighten around me, and I still.

"I want you by my side more than anything," says my sister tearfully. "But I have a duty to my country and the crown—"

"Sod the bloody crown," spits Gia. "I didn't fall in love with a tiara. I fell in love with you. What's it all worth if you're not allowed to be happy?"

Maisie's lips are white, and she's shaking again. "You know I don't have a choice. I'm the only person who can stop Ben from inheriting the throne, and if the public turns on me—"

"There's no bloody reason you can't have both me and everything you've spent your life working toward," says Gia, and there's a hint of desperation in her voice now. "All you have to do is take a chance, Maisie. All you have to do is trust that it'll all work out, and it will. I'm not saying it'll be perfect, and I'm not saying that it'll be a fairy tale every step of the way, but whatever the world throws at us, we can face it together. Doesn't that sound better than a lifetime of lies and misery with Mr. America and those hideous roses?"

Maisie wipes her eyes with her uninjured hand. "I want that more than anything in the world," she manages. "But the press will destroy you—"

At last Gia drops my wrist, and she moves toward Maisie, towering over her even without her heels. "Let them try," she says in a dangerous voice. "It's worth it to me—every last risk, every last consequence. I know what I want, and it's you. But you're the one who needs to decide what you want."

"I want a life with you," she says in a tiny voice. "You know I do. But it's not that simple—it'll never be that simple."

"Of course it won't be," says Gia. "But that doesn't mean it isn't worth fighting for."

"I—of course, but—" begins Maisie, but Gia shakes her head and takes a step back, seeming to lose her last thread of patience.

"I don't care what you are or who you're going to be," she says, her tone ripe with heartbreak and disgust. "If you keep playing these games, one day, you'll finally look up, and you'll realize you've lost me for good."

Without another word, Gia slips past me and Kit and out the door, disappearing down the corridor as Maisie breaks down into gut-wrenching sobs.