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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.