Chapter Thirty-five

Kit:

Rosie, are you awake?

Rosie:

omg hi! yes, just taking snickers for a walk xx

Kit:

Did you hear about the fire?

Rosie:

fire?? what fire??? xx

Kit:

At Windsor this morning. Maisie's safe. She's at KP with Aunt Helene.

Rosie:

omg

was she hurt??

was anyone hurt???

Kit:

Everyone's fine. Evan and Laura are safe, too.

Rosie:

evan and her mum were there?

Kit:

Yes. And I think…

Rosie:

?????

kit???

is everything okay????

Kit:

Are you free?

Rosie:

right now? do you want to ring me? xx

Kit:

In person, if you can. I'd rather not discuss this over the phone.

Rosie:

i can pop by in an hour xx

Kit:

Perfect. Thank you, Rosie. I don't know who else to trust.

Rosie:

you can always trust me xx

i'll be by right away xx

Kit:

Thank you. xxx

—Text message exchange between Lady Primrose Chesterfield-Bishop and the mobile of Christopher Abbott-Montgomery, Earl of Clarence, 18 January 2024

THE DOORBELL OF THE ABBOTT-MONTGOMERYS' townhouse rings at ten o'clock on the dot.

As Maisie and I watch through the nearest strategically placed security camera, Kit, wearing a gray sweater and black trousers that fit him a little too well, pads to the door and opens it, revealing a pink-faced and breathless Rosie.

"Kit!" she squeals, and even though Maisie and I are listening through headphones in the basement, we both wince at her high pitch. Without waiting for an invitation, Rosie leaps over the threshold and throws her arms around Kit, embracing him like they've been reunited after years apart.

"Rosie," he says, hugging her affectionately in return, though I don't miss the look he gives the camera. "It's lovely of you to pop by so quickly. I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

"Of course not," she says as she finally releases him. "It sounded important. Is everything all right?"

"I…" Kit glances out toward the street in an impressive show of paranoia. "Let's go inside, shall we? I have a tea tray ready."

Rosie doesn't need persuading. She hugs his arm, and Kit leads her into a cozy sitting room as I switch the feed to a second camera. "What's this about?" she says as they sit side by side on the love seat, even though there are two armchairs and a separate sofa to choose from. "Are you sure Maisie's all right? Some people on social media are saying—"

"She's fine," he assures her. "The palace isn't releasing any information right now for security reasons, but no one was seriously injured."

Rosie nods, and while it might be the camera, she seems paler than usual. "Security reasons? Is something else going on?"

"I…" Kit hesitates. "I'm not supposed to say anything, but…Stephens and the protection officers think the fire was set on purpose."

Her mouth drops open a split second too late to be truly convincing. "Really? Do they know who…I mean, do they have a suspect, or…?"

Kit stares at his knees, and his hair falls into his eyes, hiding his expression. "You have to swear you won't breathe a word of this to anyone," he says, so quietly now that the microphone barely registers his voice.

"Of course," she says immediately, and she takes his hand in hers. "Kit, you know I won't say anything. You can trust me."

Beside me, Maisie is slowly tearing a tissue to shreds. "Liar," she mutters, and even though I silently agree, I don't say a word as Kit launches into the story the three of us concocted. Which is, admittedly, less a work of fiction and more what everyone else will think by the time the sun sets.

"Palace security found accelerant in Evan's sitting room," he says in a hushed voice. "They think…they think she set the fire. And they think Maisie was the intended victim."

This time, the surprise on Rosie's face is real. Not, I suspect, because I've been framed, but because Rosie knows that Maisie was never supposed to be targeted.

"They…what?" she gasps, and there's an eagerness in the way she leans closer to Kit. "You really think it was Evan?"

Kit nods and rakes his hair out of his eyes, not quite looking at her. "I don't want to, but—what else am I supposed to believe? I just…I never thought she would ever…"

His voice breaks, and for a split second, I forget this isn't real. Rosie throws her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his. "Oh, Kit," she murmurs. "I'm so sorry. Of course you had no idea. None of us did. She seemed all right, didn't she? But she's had a troubled life, and all that nasty business with her mother…well, sometimes the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Kit's entire body tenses, but Rosie doesn't let go. "I just wish I understood why," he mumbles into her shoulder. "I thought she loved Maisie. They've fought a few times, but that's normal for sisters, and Maisie's always been a bit prickly—"

"I'll show you prickly," mutters Maisie, and I elbow her in the side.

"—but I never thought Evan would try to kill her," continues Kit. "It doesn't make sense."

Rosie is quiet for several long seconds, her fingers now toying with the ends of Kit's hair. "Well…maybe it does," she says, and Maisie and I both go still.

"What do you mean?" says Kit, and he pulls away enough to look at her—but, I notice, he doesn't untangle himself completely.

"I…" Rosie pauses, and I can feel my heart pounding. For a few seconds, I don't breathe, terrified she might not finish. But then Kit takes her hand, and I can practically see Rosie melt.

"Go on," he says gently, lacing his fingers through hers. "I won't tell anyone. Not if you'd rather I didn't."

"It's important people know," she says, her voice wavering. "Motive is important. But…they can't know it came from me, all right?"

"They won't," he says, his eyes locked on hers now, and as she stares back, the tension seems to drain from her until she's curled against his chest.

"Do you know anything about the Legitimacy Act of 1959?" she says, and beside me, Maisie sucks in a breath.

"Er…I'm not acquainted with the particulars," says Kit, sounding as baffled as I am.

"Well," says Rosie, and there's a note of exhilaration in her voice now—either because she has a captive audience in Kit, or because she knows something the rest of us don't. "It's all a bit complicated, but it basically legitimizes children born of an adulterous affair—if their parents later marry."

The way she words this doesn't sound like her—it sounds like someone fed her this exact phrase, and she's relishing the chance to pass it on to Kit. But I'm so distracted by the way she says it that what she's saying doesn't start to sink in until I feel Maisie's nails digging into my forearm.

"Ow,"I hiss. "What are you—"

"I know what's going on," she says, her eyes wide. "I know why Ben's doing this."

But before she can explain, Kit leaps to his feet, dislodging Rosie and forcing her to sit up. "Wait—wait," he says, like he's also having trouble fully grasping the concept. "You think Evan tried to kill Maisie because…?"

"Because if her parents marry, she'll be legitimate, and then she'll get to be queen," says Rosie, though she doesn't sound as sure of herself now. "That's what the law says, doesn't it?"

Kit shakes his head, and he begins to pace. "No—no, that's not true. Even if she's legitimized, she won't be placed in the line of succession. She can't be, not without an act of Parliament."

"But her heirs would be," says Rosie, yet again triumphant at knowing something he doesn't. "So if Maisie's dead, even if Evan can't be queen, her oldest child would still become the monarch."

Finally everything she's saying hits me, and something inside me—something I can't name—caves in on itself, suffocating me in the process. "Maisie, is that—"

She's already standing, though, and she flings her headphones aside as she hurries toward the stairs. Reeling, I race after her, and even though Maisie is wheezing so loudly that it's a miracle she can make it up the steps at all, she's still somehow faster than I am.

"Maisie—" I hiss, but it's too late. She marches straight through the kitchen and into the sitting room, stopping in the dead center of the archway.

"I didn't realize you were such a scholar when it came to succession law," says Maisie, her tone deceptively mild despite her heavy breathing, and Rosie's jaw practically drops to the floor.

"Maisie! Are you—" She scrambles off the love seat, but Kit loops his arm around hers.

"I think it'd be best if you stayed here with me for now," he says, and confusion flickers across Rosie's face—until she glances at the archway again and finally sees me lingering behind my sister.

I've never seen anyone lose their color so quickly, and for a split second, I'm positive she's about to faint. But somehow she manages to stay on her feet, and though she sways, Kit is there to steady her.

"Evan—you're here." She chokes out my name like it hurts, but I'm too stunned to feel any sense of satisfaction. "And—and Maisie—you're okay? Kit said—"

"How kind of you to be so concerned," says Maisie, her voice sweet venom now. "If Evan was the one to set the fire because she wanted the throne to herself, then explain to me why she started it in Daddy's bedroom, not mine."

"I—" Rosie gapes at her, but this time, she doesn't look the least bit surprised. "I don't know."

"And why would she be so careless as to keep evidence of her crime hidden in her own sitting room?" says Maisie. "She may be American, but even she has the brains to think that one through."

"Really, Maisie?" I say, but there's no bite behind it. I don't have it in me. I don't have anything in me right now except bewildered disbelief and a healthy dose of panic.

"I—I don't know," says Rosie again. "Maybe…maybe the other doors were locked."

"Maybe the hundreds of other doors in Windsor Castle were locked," repeats Maisie, as if this is a legitimate possibility. "I see."

"I don't know. I don't know," cries Rosie. "Maisie, please—"

"You can't explain why you think Evan's the main suspect in a fire that could've—should've—killed her mother, yet you can paraphrase obscure and nearly obsolete legislation from sixty-five years ago," says Maisie calmly. "How curious."

Instantly Rosie shuts her mouth, and she yanks her elbow from Kit's grip. He lets her go, and she stumbles backward toward the mantel, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Maisie, I don't—whatever's going on—"

"That's precisely what I'm trying to discover," says Maisie. "Because you're one of my best friends, and because I know none of this could've possibly been your idea, I'll give you one chance to explain, Rosie. Tell me everything—and I do mean everything—and we won't involve the police."

Rosie stares at her, so pale now that her lips are bloodless. I expect her to object again, to insist this is all some kind of misunderstanding, but instead, her chin quivers, and she bursts into tears.

"It was him," she sobs. "All of it—it was all him. He wanted me to start the fire, and he told me how—he threatened me—but as soon as I saw Evan's mum there, I refused, and he threatened me again, but—"

She's crying so hard now that the rest of her words are lost on me, but neither Kit nor Maisie moves to comfort her. Instead, with her legs shaking like a newborn fawn's, Rosie teeters toward the nearest armchair and collapses.

"Who?" demands Maisie, but Rosie ignores the question as she weeps into her hands.

"I didn't hurt anyone. I didn't start the fire—I didn't, I swear. It was just supposed to be gossip. Tidbits. You know, things that—things that didn't matter. But then he kept asking for more, and more, and more, and—" She hiccups. "Then he wanted pictures and information and secrets, and I tried to refuse, but his threats got worse, and I couldn't tell him no, Maisie. I tried, but—"

"Who?"demands my sister.

"No one was supposed to get hurt," says Rosie. "He swore—he swore—"

"Rosie, if you don't say his name this instant, I will come over there and rip your curls out one by one," snarls Maisie, and Rosie gives her such a desperate look that for a moment, I almost feel sorry for her.

"You already know who," she whimpers.

Maisie advances across the threshold and into the sitting room. "Tell me."

"I can't."

"Say his bloody name, or so help me—"

"I can't!"

Rosie flies to her feet again, and Kit barely manages to dodge out of her way as she takes a few furious steps toward us. Then, almost as if she loses her nerve, she backtracks until her legs hit the edge of the armchair once more.

"I can't, Maisie," she whispers. "You don't understand. The things he has on me…the things he could do to me…"

"What about the things I could do to you?" growls my sister. "Because believe me, I am sorely tempted."

Rosie wipes her eyes. "He could do so, so, so much worse. Hehas pictures…and video…he could ruin my family…he could ruin everything."

With nauseating clarity, I flash back to the night that the Regal Record posted the video of Jasper assaulting me. I remember how it felt, watching it all unfold, knowing that millions—billions of people could watch it, too, if they wanted. With a single click of a button, the worst thing that had ever happened to me was viewable to anyone with an internet connection and a questionable moral compass. And there isn't a doubt in my mind that if Ben had given me a chance, I would've done damn near anything to prevent it from going public.

"Do you swear on your life—on Snickers's life—that you had nothing to do with the fire?" I say, as Maisie struggles to sputter out a coherent response. Clearly Rosie has never told her no before, and the idea isn't landing well.

Rosie nods miserably. "I can show you the texts. He gave me a prepaid mobile—it's how he keeps in touch. He told me to spread the paint thinner and sneak the cans into Evan's room, and he said someone else would light it so it couldn't be traced back to me. I didn't want to, but maybe—maybe I would've—but as soon as I saw you and your mum there, I knew I couldn't. I swear," she says, crying again. "Evan, I swear."

"Okay," I say quietly, my stomach churning with acidic fury that has nowhere to go. "Right now, until you give us a reason to change our minds, we're going to move forward like that's the truth."

"It is," wails Rosie, even as Maisie hisses my name, but I ignore them both.

"Now let's talk about the rest of this," I say, the steadiness of my voice an act of sheer willpower. "Is it true? That if my parents get married, I'll be legitimized?"

"Yes," says Maisie before Rosie can answer. "Though Kit's right—you wouldn't be in the line of succession, not without an act of Parliament that will never, ever happen."

"But my theoretical heirs would be," I say, and now it's Kit who nods.

"The line of succession would treat you as if…well, as if you weren't alive," he says. "But you're still the King's daughter, and if you were legitimized, your children would be placed after Maisie."

"And ahead of Ben," I say, and this time it isn't a question.

Silence settles between us as everything—everything finally falls into place. Why Ben's been after me since the moment I stepped foot in the UK. Why he's dragged my name through the mud again and again. Why he tried to make me question my own mental health. Why he convinced an actual terrorist group to claim me as one of their own and brand me a traitor who tried to kill my own father.

It's because he's afraid of me. And he's afraid of losing the crown that, since the moment he found out about Maisie and Gia, he thought was his for the taking.

I swear softly and lean against the archway, not sure I can hold my own weight anymore. Kit steps toward me, but I shake my head. He has to stay where he is, as close as Rosie will let him, in case she bolts.

"He's been doing this from the start," I say, a little light-headed as it all clicks. "He and Jasper—they drugged me and assaulted me and filmed it to try to chase me out of the country. To make sure I was too humiliated and broken to stay. And when that didn't work, when we figured out Ben was behind it and Alexander banished him, he stopped playing nice and tried to have me killed at Sandringham. And the bombing…he knew about it beforehand. What he said to me and Kit—he's connected to the Abr somehow. I know it. I know it. And the fire…" I grit my teeth. "Maisie's right. It should've killed my mom. He must have someone else in the castle, too—someone who really did light it, without realizing my mom was in my room instead."

Kit is already on his phone, texting someone—palace security, I assume, or maybe Helene—but Rosie looks back and forth between Maisie and me, terror written on her face.

"So—the whole point was to…to hurt your mum?" she manages.

"The whole point was to murder her mother," says Maisie flatly, but her eyes are wide now as she puts the pieces together, too. "Daddy, Laura, and Evan are the only ones standing in Ben's way now. If one of them dies, it's over—the line of succession stays as it is, and he's safe. That rotten bastard," she mutters. "That knob-headed, spiteful maggot—"

She goes on for several rounds, and I let her, mostly because I'm still stunned by how simple it is. How utterly transparent, now that I have all the facts. I'm not paranoid. I'm not imagining things. I'm not connecting dots that aren't there.

Ben really is behind every horrible thing that's happened, and we can almost—almost prove it.

"Rosie," I say, interrupting Maisie as she delves into what I'm fairly certain are curses in several different languages. "Has he ever mentioned the Abr to you?"

"The what?" she says faintly as she wipes her eyes again, creating a black smudge of mascara on her cheeks.

"The Army of the British Republic," I say. "The group behind the bombing."

"No. No, of course not," she says, a note of panic in her voice now. "I was just—I was only supposed to give him gossip, that's all. For the Regal Record. He and Jasper started it, and he runs it now, and sometimes he has me write bits, but I swear, it's all him—"

"It's him?" says Maisie, still sputtering. "All that rubbish—it's him?"

Rosie nods wretchedly. "I'm sorry, Maisie. I wanted to tell you, but—"

"It's not important," I say, and the three of them look at me like I've proclaimed marmite and ham to be the best sandwich combination on the planet. "Not right now, anyway. We need to prove that he's connected to the Abr. Rosie, you're positive he's never mentioned it? Even in passing?"

"Yes," she whispers, so faintly I can barely hear her. "I swear, I had no idea. I would've never…I would've never."

"Yet you did," says Maisie bitterly. "And now you have to find a way to live with that."

Rosie stares at her for a long moment before dissolving into tears yet again. I sigh inwardly, but her emotional well-being is the least of our problems right now.

"Ben is being extraordinarily careful to ensure that none of this can be traced back to him," says Kit as he tucks away his mobile. "The burner phones, being out of the country during the attacks…and if he's using blackmail to get what he wants…"

"Then anyone could be caught in his web," says Maisie, still glaring at Rosie. "Even the people we trust most. And unless we catch them in the act, then it's highly unlikely anyone working for him will come forward of their own accord. Especially with treason on the line."

"Treason?"says Rosie, anguished, and she's crying so hard now that I think she might drown in her own tears.

"But the Abr is different—they have their own agenda," says Kit, ignoring her. "It's possible he's using them, and they're happy to be used, so long as they get what they want in the end."

"Which, if you'll recall, is the fall of the entire monarchy," says Maisie. "How Ben thinks that will help his cause—"

"Wait," I say suddenly. "I have an idea. Maisie—how far does your power extend?"

She squares her shoulders and raises her chin, as if just the thought of not getting her way is a challenge. "Significantly."

"Good," I say. "Because we're going to need it."