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“Helene has cleared the air around a lot of things that Alexander and I were never going to be able to address on our own. Things I know have been bothering you,” she adds as she looks at my father.

He nods, his throat working for a moment. “Yes,” he finally manages. “Helene did not have to be kind or compassionate, but she was. And in the process, she offered us an opportunity—one I would very much like to take.”

“And what opportunity is that, sir?” says Yara, unable—or maybe unwilling—to hide her skepticism.

“The opportunity for us all to have what we want,” he says. “Myself, Helene, Laura—even my brother. We will continue to serve the country as we always have, without feeding into this situation or making it worse. I will speak with Her Majesty, and we will find a way to put forth a united front.”

My fingers curl around the cuff of my sweater. I know what a united front means, and I don’t like it. “It doesn’t exactly sound like she’s willing to play nice right now,” I mutter.

“Perhaps when she knows there will be no retaliation, she may be more open to having that discussion,” says Alexander, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

Doyle scowls. “Sir, with all due respect, burying our heads in the sand won’t stop the media—and the people, for that matter—from turning this into a circus. We’ll be lucky if it doesn’t start a riot—”

“We will let it play out as it will,” he says. “If it gets out of hand, then we’ll reassess our strategy. But as it stands, there is nothing in the interview to refute, and Laura is right. It offers the people context that she and I would never have been able to publicly divulge. Perhaps this will, in the end, be a blessing to us all.”

That doesn’t seem likely, and as I glance around at the averted gazes and shuffling papers, it’s clear no one else agrees with Alexander, either.

“We should, at the very least, cancel your upcoming appearances,” says Yara, turning to what must be Alexander’s schedule. “The Modern Music Museum opening tomorrow, the veterans’ lunch next week—”

“No,” says Alexander softly, though his voice still carries around the table. “Business as usual, Yara. I insist.”

Her mouth opens and shuts several times. “Sir, we are on the precipice of a crisis—”

“We have been in crisis for months,” he points out. “This is merely another chapter. Should there be security concerns, then I will certainly reconsider the matter. But unless there are any valid objections, I will continue my public duties.”

Jenkins grimaces. “Sir, I understand the desire to maintain status quo in the face of something that we are all still…processing. But without any official rebuttal, I must very strongly advise against it, at least until we have a better idea of what the fallout will be.”

“And you know I value your opinion greatly, Jenkins,” says my father. “But I will not hide from my people. Or my past.”

“Can’t we have it both ways?” I say before I even realize the thought’s formed in my head. All eyes turn toward me, and I try to keep my expression neutral. “I mean—Alexander can stick to his duties, but we can also find a way to send a message to the public, too.”

“What sort of message?” says Alexander, and I shrug.

“That we support you, I guess. That’s what this is about, right? Who has more support? It wouldn’t mean much coming from me, all things considered, but—”

“It would mean something coming from me,” says Maisie. They’re the first words she’s spoken since the interview aired, and even though her hands are clasped together, I notice a slight tremor.

“It might mean something from me, too,” says Kit quietly from behind me.

Faint amusement flickers across the deep shadows on Maisie’s face. “Mummy may be your aunt, Kit, but we all know where your loyalties lie,” she says, glancing suggestively at me.

“It’s not a bad idea, Evangeline,” says Jenkins as I narrow my eyes at my sister. “A display of unity, particularly from Her Royal Highness and Lord Clarence, might quell any rumors of a fracture within the family, and perhaps take the teeth out of the worst of Her Majesty’s revelations.”

“We could go with Alexander to the museum,” I offer. “It sounds interesting anyway.”

“No,” says my father firmly. “You girls need your rest. It was a mistake sending you yesterday, and I won’t compromise your safety.”

“What happened at the hospital was an accident,” I say, exasperated. “And this is important. If you won’t issue a statement, then the best thing we can do for you—for the monarchy—is to show a united front.”

“Evangeline is right, sir,” grunts Doyle from his spot a few seats down, and I’m so surprised that I do a double take. “If she, Her Royal Highness, and Lord Clarence wish to support you publicly, then I can think of no better way for them to do so. It would certainly be the most efficient and effective way to signal the royal family’s stability in the face of such…public uncertainty.”

But even though Maisie nods in mute agreement, she pales and pulls her hands into her lap. I frown.

“Maybe Maisie shouldn’t go,” I say. “Not with her wrist wrapped up like that.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, but nothing about the way she looks or sounds supports this particular claim.

“You were nearly trampled yesterday, and you look like death warmed over,” I say. Not to mention the emotional turmoil from her fight—and potential breakup—with Gia. “You really do need to rest.”