Page 108 of Thrones We Steal

No wonder the bastard had to jet off to London. He promised me he’d leave Bea alone, so he couldn’t very well mess around with her under my nose here in Wesbourne.

But her betrayal hurts even more. Technically, Henry doesn’t owe me anything, but Bea is my sister. Blood is supposed to be thicker than water.

If William notices the change in my demeanor, he doesn’t mention it. We sit there in silence, stroking Argos, our hearts breaking in tandem. His for the loss of his dog, mine for the loss of everything I hold dear.

33

“Let Her Go” - Passenger

Rain beats against the windows of my suite like a snare drum, sunlight a hazy memory. I stayed with William last night until Argos died, about an hour after I arrived. We were both late to dinner, and I noticed he didn’t eat much more than I did, both of our appetites having fled in the face of heartbreak.

I haven’t heard from Bea, even though she can see that I viewed her story. They’ll be home soon and then I’ll have to face them both, much sooner than I want. God, let’s not dwell on that.

“That’ll be all. Thanks, Daphne.” She’s arranged my hair into a loose chignon. I’m scheduled to speak this afternoon at one of the secondary schools in the city about the importance of nature preservation. Until then, I have several hours worth of agendas to review, phone calls to return, and emails to respond to.

I’m slipping my phone into my bag when it rings, causing me to drop it. It slithers under the sofa, just out of reach, the ringtone still tinkling as I strain to grab it. With a huff of frustration, I kneel down and stretch my arm under the sofa, finally clasping the now-silent phone in my hand.

The call was from Maisie. I return it.

“Your solicitor just called. He said it’s urgent.”

I smooth my dress and double check my hose for snags or runs from my escapade on the floor. “How urgent? Does he want me to call him back?”

“Urgent, as in he’s on his way here as we speak.”

I catch a glimpse of my frown in the mirror on the wall. I hear Rosalind’s voice in my head harping about premature wrinkles and force my face back into a neutral position. “Okay. I’m headed down right now.”

There’s nothing to worry about, I tell my stampeding heart. More than likely, he just has some simple paperwork for me to fill out. I refuse to dwell on the fact that I haven’t been called to an urgent meeting with my solicitor since I agreed to marry Henry and ascend the throne.

Mr. Weston has represented my family since before my birth, having known my father since childhood. I could have used one of the solicitors on staff at the palace, but it seemed the wiser option to use someone from outside.

He’s waiting in the antechamber outside my office when I arrive. Formally bowing at the waist, he greets me. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness.”

“Hello, Mr. Weston. Sorry to keep you waiting.” I lead the way into my office, setting my bag down. Rather than taking a seat behind my desk, I move to the grouping of armchairs clustered near the fireplace. It lends a less formal feel, like that will somehow change the nature of this meeting.

He sets his briefcase down beside one of the chairs and waits for me to take a seat. I try to determine from his face whether I should be concerned, but he gives nothing away. He’s one of those men who could be anywhere between sixty and eighty, with a ring of salt-and-pepper fringe surrounding an otherwise bald head. Short and wiry, he looks as though he might outlive me.

“How can I help you, Mr. Weston?”

“Actually, ma’am, I’m here to help you.”

My eyebrows fly up of their own accord. “I beg your pardon? I was told you needed to see me about an urgent matter.”

He chuckles briefly and lifts his case onto his lap. “My reason was to bring you some good news.” He unlocks the case and pulls out a file from within. He also takes out a pair of glasses and slides them onto his nose. “Now then,” he says, while setting the case back onto the floor. “I have something here which I’m told you’ve been very anxious to settle.”

I wonder if it’s possible he’s got me mixed up with another client.

He hands me the file. “It’s all within. Read over it, and then we can move on to the signatures. Your husband has already signed.”

As I take the file from his outstretched hand, trepidation creeps into my chest and lays a ginormous egg there. What’s in this file and why do I not want to open it? Mr. Weston’s confidence that I’ll be eager only makes me more nervous.

I flip open the cover. An official document greets me, the heading stating IN THE HIGH COURT OF JUSTICE, PRINCIPAL REGISTRY OF THE FAMILY DIVISION. The names listed under Between are mine and Henry’s. Next follows the date of our wedding. An official seal is located in the right corner. I scan the rest of the pages in the file.

This is it then. The annulment papers I thought were my golden ticket. Henry must have had them drawn up before he left. He’s so eager to get rid of me that he couldn’t even tell me face to face.

Like I was going to tell him?

“I don’t understand,” I say. “The whole purpose of our marriage was so we could jointly ascend the throne.”

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