Page 35 of Thrones We Steal

“If he can’t understand that, poppet, he doesn’t deserve you.” She reties the silk scarf around her neck and I see the large birthmark she always keeps covered. She pats my hand where it rests on the rock. “Beck is a good man.”

I squeeze my eyes against the tears. “The best. To give that up, to never have a satisfying marriage … What am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking of the greater good.”

“Sometimes I’d like to tell the greater good to bugger off.”

She laughs and the wind snatches away the musical sound.

The ocean spreads before us, shocking in its limitless expanse. The waves crash further out at sea. The tide will be coming in soon.

It makes me think of one of our weekend trips to the coast when Bea and I were little. We found a live starfish on the beach, and my father scooped it up and threw it back into the water. Then he told us the story of an old man who walked along the seashore after the tide went out, picking up starfish after starfish and throwing them back into the ocean.

A younger man watched him and asked what he was doing, and after he explained, the young man asked why he bothered. He wasn’t making a difference, he said, because the beach was full of washed-up starfish. He’d never be able to save them all. The old man bent over, picked up another starfish, and threw it into the sea.

Then he straightened and said, “It made a difference for that one.”

The only question I have is: which starfish do I save?

12

“All Too Well” - Taylor Swift

I am officially procrastinating.

My first of the three days is gone, and I’m no closer to making a decision than I was when I walked out of the Green Drawing Room, dragging the pieces of my demolished world behind me. Henry has called several times, but I always let it ring through. I’m not talking to him until I know what to say.

I haven’t talked to Beck yet either for the same reason. What do I tell him? Hey honey, how would you feel if I broke our engagement because a better opportunity came along? If our situations were reversed, he’d be lucky to leave the room with all of his appendages attached.

I consider flipping a coin. I even spin it on my desk, but the circles make me dizzy so I stop. I imagine explaining to the prime minister that I made my decision because the coin landed face-up. I have a bit too much pride for that.

Speaking of pride, if I’m being truly honest, that’s one of the biggest issues at stake here. It’s what kept me quiet about the diary in the first place, has prevented me from doing a single interview since, and is now complicating this whole thing by rearing its atrocious head again.

If I do what Parliament is requesting, some people will see me as heartless and cruel for leaving my fiancé behind, all in a bid for power and fame, they’ll say. This bothers me more than it should. I’m also worried that I will lose the faith of the people I’ve championed for the past few years. My opinion on the outdated class system is no secret, and I’ve been a vocal advocate for equality. I will lose their trust entirely if I accept the position as their queen, lording over them like I’m somehow their superior.

On the other hand, if I say no to this whole thing and try to get my life back to B.D.—Before Diary—I’ll still be ostracized by those who think I made the wrong decision. And of course, I’ll have to live with the knowledge that I could have saved Wesbourne from a civil war.

No matter which way you spin it, my life will never be the same again, and now there will always be people who hate me.

I try not to let this bother me, but it does.

By the time noon rolls around, I haven’t done anything to get me closer to a decision other than accept Beck’s dinner invitation. There’s a sickening dread simmering in my stomach at the thought of what I’m going to say to him, but I push it aside. Until I know how to proceed, there’s no use stressing over it.

Maisie calls to ask if I’m willing to meet with Kira Radbury’s mother. Maisie has unofficially stepped into the role of private secretary / gatekeeper-to-the-world since the Society has been closed, and I couldn’t be more grateful. She had the foresight to send flowers to Ms. Radbury because she knew I was too preoccupied to remember.

“She says it won’t take long. I think she wants to thank you in person for the flowers and for what you’re doing to protect children like Kira.”

Which, to date, is nothing.

“I’m heading into the city this evening. I could meet her then.” Beck and I agreed upon dinner at his flat. I don’t relish the idea of Davies and Lane, or any other restaurant patron, being privy to what the two of us need to talk about.

Maisie says she’ll arrange everything and get me the details. Four hours later, I’m once again riding in the backseat of the obnoxious Crown-issued SUV that may as well be a military tank on the narrow country road.

I don’t know what I’ll say to Kira’s mother, and I don’t have a bloody clue what to say to Beck. I’m hoping my fairy godmother will transform me into a pumpkin by the time I get there so I can claim temporary insanity.

Maisie has arranged for me to meet Ms. Radbury at Flynn Park. It’s one of the less frequented ones in the city and has the benefit of being close to Ms. Radbury’s home in the northern district of the city.

I’m shadowed by my favorite PPOs, who insist on securing the area before allowing me to exit the car. It’s complete overkill because this area of the park is clearly deserted, but I do as I’m told and stay in the vehicle while Lane scouts around like he’s 007.

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