Page 91 of Thrones We Steal

“Ah, yes. Henry is very good at charming innocent and unassuming women. Aren’t you, Henry?” I turn my own smile on him, albeit much icier than Maisie’s.

He actually looks backed up a tree. I couldn’t have orchestrated it better myself. “I’m not very good with old people.”

“Maybe not, but Maisie’s right. You do know women.” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “Unless you think you’ve lost your touch?”

His eyes narrow ever so slightly. My tactics might not be very subtle, but they are effective. “I guess it can’t hurt to try, right?”

27

“Diamond Heart” - Alan Walker + Sophia Somajo

With a bit of schedule juggling, mostly handled by Maisie—well, entirely handled by Maisie—we are able to clear our afternoon to visit Mrs. Schumann in her care home the next day. She sets up the appointment while I pray it will give us some answers.

When I arrive at the entrance to the garage, Henry’s already waiting, leaning against the doorway, chatting with the security guard stationed there. There’s no sign of Maisie. She’s likely been tied up by a last minute phone call.

“Ready?” Henry asks and pushes away from the wall, his hands in the pockets of his dusty blue chinos. He’s wearing a white dress shirt, and his aviator sunglasses dangle from the unbuttoned neckline. He looks exceptionally good, and exceptionally dangerous to a compromised heart.

“Have you seen Maisie? She should be here by now.” I glance down the hallway I just came from.

“She can’t make it.” He slides on his sunglasses and holds the door for me. “Said something came up she has to take care of.”

Suspicion floods my veins as I follow him into the garage. “And she told you instead of me? I was just with her fifteen minutes ago.”

He shrugs and presses the button on the key fob in his hand. The lights of his car flash twice. “Maybe she didn’t want to bother you.”

I don’t believe him for a second, but I’ll have to talk to Maisie about it later. There isn’t time left. It will take at least an hour to drive to the village where the care home is located. I slide into the passenger seat without a word and vow to ignore him the entire trip. My arsenal of weapons is dwindling, and I need some kind of armor.

Dramatic orchestra music flows from the car speakers as I melt into the buttery-soft leather. Despite his many flaws, no one can fault Henry his choice in cars or music.

The Wesbourne countryside flies past as we race up and down the rolling green hills dotted with lush forests and ponds. Henry slows on the cobblestone streets as we drive through several small villages. In one of them, school has just let out for the day. A cluster of children cross the street, all crumpled uniforms and excited chatter, bags swinging from their arms.

Henry munches from the bag of crisps in his lap as we watch them in the crossing. “You know I’ve never been asked what I want to be when I grow up?”

I glance at him in surprise. He hasn’t challenged my silence yet, but there’s something about being with Henry outside the palace walls and something about the innocence of his comment that makes me give up my cold shoulder, to say nothing of the curiosity tugging at me. “Well, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A king, of course.”

I make the sound of a buzzer. “Wrong answer. Try again.”

“If I could do anything? Probably business.”

“Business? In what capacity?”

“You know, owning them. Running them. I like the idea of exploring all of the possibilities that make something work.”

I remember his constant fascination with taking apart toys, electronics, anything he could get his hands on. He even took a car apart one summer and put it back together when he was fifteen or sixteen. “I’ll bet you could do it.”

“My father would disagree with you.”

“Your father is an atrocious disgrace to humanity. I hope we disagree on everything.”

“I stopped trying to please him a long time ago. He’ll never be happy with anything I do anyway.”

Maybe that’s why he lives the lifestyle he does. William is disappointed in him, destroyed any chance he ever had at an innocent childhood and in return, Henry embarrasses him every chance he gets.

It certainly makes more sense than any of the reasons I’ve come up with to explain Henry’s day-to-night change at seventeen. One minute we’re best friends, the next we live in two separate worlds—Henry in one filled with women, fast cars, drinking, parties, gambling and, I’m sure, plenty of other shudder-inducing things. He quickly gained a worldwide reputation as he was featured in tabloid after tabloid, morphing from a sweet and funny boy into a dark and handsome prince.

I had, on the other hand, had my debutante season, danced with respectable gentlemen, only kissed three of them, sipped champagne only socially and never more than two glasses, attended art openings and museum exhibitions, completed finishing school and went on to become the youngest director of the Historical Society at the age of twenty-three.

---