Page 19 of Thrones We Steal

“Would you calm down? I just want you to think about this before throwing it all away.”

“Stop telling me to calm down! The press would drag me through the mud. And then they’d hang me. Throwing a curve ball like this out there will affect everything.” I take a stabilizing breath. “Why do you want this so badly?”

He doesn’t say anything, and the truth smacks me between the eyes.

“Oh,” I say. A sick knot forms in my chest. “Doing this would relieve you of your own responsibilities. You’re unbelievable.” I throw the dishcloth at him and walk out, not bothering to find out if it hit him or not.

In the library I gather the diary pages from where they’re scattered on the floor. Henry’s footsteps sound behind me.

“C, that’s not why I want this.”

“Save me the bullshit. I should have been suspicious from the very beginning.”

“If we let this go, it will all be a lie.”

I slam the stack of papers onto my desk. “Since when are you such a proponent for the truth?”

“That’s low, even for you.”

“Even for me?”

He tousles his hair, and the firelight glints off the strands like it’s interwoven with gold. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you know how to fling barbs quite effectively.”

“Words seem to be the most effective way to let people know exactly how you feel.” He will not make me feel bad. “You should know.”

“Fine. I deserved that. But maybe you should sleep on this before deciding.”

“There’s nothing to decide. This conversation is over, and this—” I slap my palm on the pages. “—doesn’t leave this room.” I push past him. “And stay the hell away from Beatrice.”

Henry can find himself another scapegoat.

7

“Royals” - Lorde

My phone rings before the morning light has even had a chance to slither its way past the curtains in my bedroom. As I should have expected, it’s Maisie.

“I waited as long as I could,” she says in greeting. “But I can’t take it anymore. You read it, right? All of it?”

I push myself into a sitting position and rub the sleep from my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Five-thirty. So, did you? Because I’ve been thinking. And I think we need to come up with a game plan. The best thing to do is to go into this fully prepared. But first, tell me your initial reaction. Were you shocked? When did you figure it out? I had my suspicions pretty early on, but it’s so unexpected, I still find it a little hard to believe. What—”

“How much coffee have you had?”

“I don’t know. Five or six cups, why? Oh, and how did you—”

“God, Maisie. Slow down. Not everyone has a caffeine drip in their arm.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stumble downstairs. Neither Rosalind nor Beatrice are up yet, because in the Chapman-Payne household, we follow normal-people hours, like rising at seven am.

I start the coffee maker before lifting the phone to my ear again. She’s still talking as fast as ever, and I’m not sure she even knows I was gone. I let her ramble on and grab a mug from the cupboard.

Last night hurtles into my mind like a wrecking ball as I gain consciousness.

The diary. Helena. William II and Catherine. Family trees. Henry. Me. The monarchy. God, what a mess. Did the whole thing actually happen? I’d write it off as the craziest dream I’ve ever had if it wouldn’t be for Maisie’s incessant chattering about it through the phone.

“—which seems like something to consider too. Are you even listening to me?” She finally stops for a breath.

Coffee streams into my cup and I take a sip. “I am now.”

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