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My mother glances at Alexander, but she doesn’t wait for him to explain. “After everything that happened at Sandringham, and then yesterday, with the crowd surge…it isn’t safe for you here,” she says. “Not until we know who was behind the shooting.”

“I already know who was behind the shooting,” I protest. “Ben. Why isn’t anyone looking into him?”

“Evie…” My mom presses her hands together, and I think I see her fingers twitch. “Tibby told us about your suspicions, and how they’ve been affecting you.”

I grit my teeth. Of course she did. “That’s no reason—”

“And if Ben is harassing you, then that’s certainly something I can address with security,” says my father, as if I haven’t spoken. “But your mother’s right. It would be safer for you in the States for a little while.”

“Safer how?” I argue. “Tibby made it clear that you’re taking every precaution during our appearances, and the castle has armed guards surrounding it at all times. Unless you’ve significantly upped the security at my mom’s house, I’ll always be safer here.”

My mom hesitates. “It isn’t just about your physical safety, sweetheart. The incident outside the hospital—”

“That was an accident,” I say. “The barrier broke, Mom. No one did it on purpose.”

Alexander clears his throat. “Your protection officer mentioned that you thought you saw a man with a gun.”

Beside me, Kit stiffens, and any warmth I feel toward Ingrid instantly evaporates. “I was wrong,” I say. “Ingrid’s positive he was only holding his phone.”

“Yes, but…” My mom stares at a spot somewhere behind me, her gaze unfocused. “We’re worried about you, Evie. What happened to you at Sandringham…it would rattle anyone. You need time to recover properly, and you won’t have that here.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. They’re not talking about physical recovery, I realize. They’re talking about my mental health.

“I’m not going,” I say flatly. “Maisie’s falling apart, and she needs me.”

“You need rest and recuperation—” begins Alexander, but I cut him off.

“Then I’ll do that here,” I say. “I’ll even go to therapy if you insist. But I’m not leaving.”

Kit takes my hand below the table, and I look at him, the edge of my anger melting away. He looks…hollow, I think. Deeply, utterly, bone-wearily wrung out, exhausted, and just—sad. It’s so startling that I don’t know what to say, or even what to think.

“They’re right,” he says, so quietly I can barely hear him. “The past seven months have been extraordinarily difficult, and you weren’t given the proper time or space to come to terms with it. After what Jasper and Ben did to you, and after what happened at Sandringham…”

“I’ve spent almost three weeks up to my eyeballs in TV shows and movies and books and music with you,” I say, my voice breaking slightly. “That’s plenty of time. I’m fine, really—”

“I don’t think you are,” he says, sandwiching my hand between both of his now. “I’ll go with you, if you’d like. You can show me where you grew up, and we’ll go for walks in the park and order from your favorite restaurants, and we’ll just…relax.”

“But you have to go back to university,” I say, and he shrugs.

“I can put it off. It won’t be the end of the world. What will be the end of the world, though, is if something happens to you because of—all this.” He gestures around the room, but he’s not just talking about Windsor Castle. He’s talking about everything. “Please, Evan. Consider it.”

I swallow convulsively, my eyes growing hot with tears of frustration. “How long do you want to banish me?” I say acidly to my parents.

Alexander clasps his hands together so tightly that his knuckles are white. “We wouldn’t be banishing you, sweetheart. You’d be welcome back anytime you’d like, and—”

“At least a few months,” says my mother softly. “Maybe more.”

I exhale sharply. Not days or weeks, but months. “Why can’t I start therapy here? And if things get worse, maybe then—”

There’s a knock on the door, and Alexander scowls. But before he can send whoever it is away, the door to the private dining room opens, and Jenkins steps inside. He’s pale and his expression is drawn, and for one horrible moment, I’m sure something devastating has happened.

I’m not alone, and Alexander’s anger seems to die in his throat. “Jenkins? What’s going on?” he says, his hand finding my mother’s.

“I beg your pardon for interrupting, Your Majesty,” says Jenkins with a bow of his head. “But I fear this couldn’t wait. I’ve just received word from Doyle—it seems Her Majesty recorded an interview with Katharine O’Donnell late last week, and as a courtesy, the BBC has let us know it will be airing tonight.”

“An interview?” says Alexander, confusion muddling the worry on his face. “What sort?”

Jenkins hesitates. “While my source was not especially forthcoming, it seems Her Majesty has taken it upon herself to…disclose private information regarding her affair,” he says. “And yours.”