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Secret societies aren’t news to me—there were plenty of those at the boarding schools I attended, but as far as I know, none of them turned into terrorist organizations. “What does that have to do with the bombing?” I say.

“I’m getting there,” he assures me, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I turned them down at first, and they started to push, particularly Dylan and Aoife. Dylan has always been…outspoken about his politics. He’s a republican,” he adds, and he must see the question on my face, because he clarifies, “In the UK, it means he’s an anti-monarchist. He doesn’t support the royal family.”

“Oh,” I say. “Is that why you were nervous when we ran into them?”

“One of the reasons,” he admits. “And…because it’s relevant, if my aunt weren’t who she is, I’d likely lean that way as well. Which I made the mistake of mentioning to Dylan while we were at Eton, before I ended up with a bloody courtesy title.”

This is news, and I stare at him. “You’re a…republican, too?”

He shakes his head, and I can see the pleading in his eyes. “Not in the way they are. Never in the way they are. The things Dylan would let slip when he was drinking…” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “He told me on Bonfire Night that among the more senior members of the club, it isn’t Fox Rex. It’s Fawkes Rex. As in Guy Fawkes.”

“The fifth of November guy?” I say, and this earns a loud snort of derision from Maisie.

“Honestly, what have your tutors been teaching you?” she mutters. “Yes, the traitor who tried to blow up Westminster Palace in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. He and his co-conspirators wanted to assassinate King James I. Though they intended to place a Catholic monarch on the throne in his stead,” she adds. “Not abolish it entirely. That was far more of a Cromwellian thing.”

“I don’t know what that means—”

“And not one of us is surprised,” she says, cutting me off. “Kit, will you please get to the bloody point?”

He flinches, and when he continues, he’s looking at me again, as if I’m the only thing that matters about any of this. “The more Dylan let slip, the more I wondered if…perhaps it didn’t have something to do with the reason why Liam…” He pauses, pain flickering in his deep brown eyes. “I was chasing ghosts, and Dylan could tell. He mentioned my brother a few times, hinted that I might find some answers, and finally I agreed to join. I didn’t question why they wanted me so badly, but as soon as I became a member, it was clear my presence offered their more…extreme political leanings legitimacy.”

“In what way?” says Jenkins. Kit exhales.

“I discovered that everyone invited was an anti-monarchist to some degree. And while I’m not—I’m not,” he insists at Maisie’s quirked eyebrow. “Even then, my courtesy title, my future dukedom, Aunt Helene…it was as if they could put me on a pedestal and claim they were surely on the right side of history, if even the nephew of the King and Queen wanted to be part of it. As soon as I realized what sort of mess I’d gotten myself into, I tried to disengage. We were nearing the end of term by then anyway, and it was easy to prioritize exams.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say, my voice small and pathetic, but the words are out before I know they’re coming.

“I’m sorry, Ev,” says Kit, and his hand flexes like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn’t close the distance between us. “I’m so bloody sorry. I wanted to tell you, but…I could never find the right words. And you’ve had enough on your plate lately, with everything that happened over the summer, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

Part of me isn’t surprised, though that doesn’t stop it all from hurting anyway. “You should have said something,” I say. “I could have helped. Or—I would’ve at least listened.”

“I know,” he says, his voice barely audible now. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t you—it was never you. I was…ashamed that I got taken in like that. That I didn’t see them coming, and the last thing I wanted was for you to get tangled up in it as well.”

“Too late now,” I mutter, glaring at the tablet. “That picture…Kit, it makes it look like—like—”

“I know.” His eyes are shining with tears now. “I had no idea. It must’ve been a setup—it was too much of a coincidence to run into them, and now the photo…”

“Do you have reason to believe there’s a connection between this Fawkes Rex club and the Army of the British Republic?” says Jenkins. “They’re the ones who’ve taken credit for the attack, though MI5 has yet to confirm their involvement.”

Kit shakes his head, but at the same time, he gestures toward the screen. “Aoife’s proof, isn’t she? And the other names that were released…I recognize them, too.”

Doyle mutters several curses under his breath, while Maisie’s posture stiffens. “You’re certain?” she says.

“That I recognize the names? Yes,” says Kit. “That Fawkes Rex has any direct ties to this Army of the British Republic outside of Aoife and her cohorts? No. It could feed the other way—Aoife could have been involved with the bombers before she joined the club, or the other members could’ve roped her into it. I thought—I thought it was all theoretical,” he adds, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I’d known for a second that there was a plan, or any chance they might’ve taken action…”

He trails off, and my sister watches him, her expression unforgiving. “You need to speak to MI5 immediately,” says Maisie. “The photo’s already out there, and we’ve no hope of getting ahead of it now. But we can at least come up with a reasonable explanation that has a chance of mitigating the damage and proving your innocence. And Evan’s,” she adds, glancing at me. “But the fact that you two were there yesterday…it doesn’t look good.”

No, it doesn’t, and as I stare at the picture again, I finally begin to understand just how bad this all is.

“Doyle,” says Jenkins, “draft a statement for anyone who asks about the photograph. Make it clear that Evangeline’s met thousands of people during her time in the UK, and find pictures of her hugging other fans to send to journalists who are friendly tous.”

“I could spin it into a security issue,” suggests Doyle. “Make it seem like we’re deeply concerned that someone like Aoife Marsh was able to gain access to Evangeline and accost her in the street.”

“Do whatever you have to do to steal the narrative,” agrees Jenkins. “Lord Clarence, I’ll have one of the palace lawyers join you before MI5 arrives. Follow their directions to the letter, is that understood?”

Kit nods mutely.

“Good. Your Royal Highness, as soon as everything is taken care of, I’ll update you and the rest of the royal family.”