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I shrug. “Helene’s always going to make it my fight, too. I might as well get a few hits in while I can. Are you okay?”

I’m speaking to my mom, but I also watch Alexander. He’s already sunk back onto the sofa, his hands clasped and his lips pressed together so hard that the skin around them is colorless. My mother nods, but he doesn’t respond right away, instead taking a deep, shuddering breath that seems to burrow into his soul and expel something with it.

“More than all right,” he says with a hint of forced cheer. “Now none of us has anything to hide, and that’s all we’ve wanted, isn’t it?”

I manage a nod, but I’m not convinced. And as I glance at the empty doorway once more, dread nags at me, bringing with it a sense that somehow, this is about to get a whole lot worse before anyone finds their peace.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

@duchessvofyork My heart goes out to Her Majesty and HisRoyal Highness the Duke of York for this abhorrent invasion of their privacy. Happiness shouldn’t have to be sacrificed in the name of crowns and thrones, and they have my deepest sympathy.

12:52 a.m. · 5 January 2024

@yorkiesfurever @duchessvofyork Does that mean it’s really true? I’m so sad. I always thought you two made such a lovely couple and hoped you’d get back together.

12:55 a.m. · 5 January 2024

@dutchessdame172 @duchessvofyork did you know?? how long have they been together? and with her husband’s BROTHER??? #ew #twotimingqueen #offwithherhead

12:59 a.m. · 5 January 2024

@mrshrhnickofyork @dutchessdame172 Can’t you read? Those photos are revolting, and the Duchess is right. Even if they aren’t photoshopped and the Queen and Duke are sneaking around behind His Majesty’s back, maybe we should all be asking ourselves why.

1:05 a.m. · 5 January 2024

—Twitter exchange between Venetia, Duchess of York, and users @yorkiesfurever, @dutchessdame172, and @mrshrhnickofyork, 5 January 2024

#OFFWITHHERHEAD TRENDS FOR A FULL week after the pictures are released.

I think it starts as a joke, but soon enough, a terrifying number of people are taking it much too seriously, and death threats—real, actual death threats against Helene and Nicholas—flood in. Each morning at breakfast, Jenkins briefs Alexander on the worst of them, and they grimly discuss the measures both the police and palace security are taking to ensure none of those threats turns into bloodshed.

In light of the scandal, Alexander cancels all royal appearances in hopes that the furor will die down, but it quickly becomes apparent that this isn’t going away anytime soon. Helene and Nicholas retreat to Kensington Palace, where they remain for the week as a specialized crisis management team works overtime to quell the uproar, and Maisie joins her mother during the day to offer her support. I’m not surprised—if our positions were reversed, I wouldn’t leave my mom’s side. But I still check on my sister every night when she returns to Windsor Castle, if only to make sure she hasn’t gone to pieces again.

By that Monday, four days after the photos are released, seemingly every royal correspondent in the UK has dived headfirst into the mess. Some insist it can’t be true, while others write exposés about the whispers they’ve heard and the moments they’ve witnessed between the royal pair that gave them pause. Helene’s die-hard fans spend countless hours online defending her, refusing to believe the pictures aren’t photoshopped, but others gleefully jump to the conclusions those images offer, delighted to watch her downfall in real time. Every known photo of Helene and Nicholas is unearthed and dissected, and every glance they’ve ever exchanged in public suddenly becomes a conniving—or occasionally lovelorn—look between two people pulling a fast one on the entire world.

The promised press release from Buckingham Palace is simple and to the point, with no wordsmithery to manipulate the facts: Alexander and Helene have been separated since early July, and though my father deeply regrets the pain he’s caused his wife of twenty years, he wishes her and Nicholas well in their new relationship. Most of the commenters and posters seem to take his statement at face value, but there’s more than one corner of the internet that doesn’t believe a word of it, and the rage against Helene only grows.

Amidst the chaos of the monarchy all but burning down around us, I start both physical therapy and, even though I’m nowhere near fully healed, self-defense lessons with Ingrid, my protection officer. She’s careful with me, despite her gruff demeanor, and Kit is a ready and willing participant when she needs to demonstrate something she can’t yet do on me.

“Oof,” he grunts as he hits the mat that’s been laid out in the green drawing room, his hair fanned out in a wild tangle. “That one hurt.”

“That’s the idea, Lord Clarence,” says Ingrid without the faintest hint of apology, and she offers him a hand up.

“Just Kit, if you would,” he says as he takes it, and she hauls him to his feet.

“I’m afraid that’s against protocol, sir,” she says, and he winces again.

“Considering you’ve been throwing me to the ground for the past twenty minutes, perhaps we can consider ourselves above protocol. Just for the time being.”

Ingrid makes a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat, and when she turns away, I see Kit’s expression grow pained. His courtesy title, Earl of Clarence, is only his because his older brother died, and even though I never met Liam Abbott-Montgomery, I know without a doubt that Kit would give up every penny of his inheritance—titles and estates and future dukedom included—if it meant having him back.

“Call him Kit,” I say suddenly. It’s as close to an order as I’ve ever given, and he looks at me, surprised. “Or else I’ll tell His Majesty that you call me Evangeline.”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow, and I think I see a hint of amusement on her somber face. It’s hard to tell, though, considering I’m pretty sure she hasn’t smiled since she was in diapers. “If you insist, Miss Bright.”

“I do,” I say, amazed that this actually worked—and admittedly a little worried that Maisie is rubbing off on me. “Thank you.”

The rest of our lesson goes off without a hitch, and though Ingrid slips up once or twice, she corrects herself immediately. She does seem to throw Kit a little harder than before, though, and by the time our session is over, I notice he’s favoring his right side.