Page 7 of Falling for the Widowed Prince

“You muttered something about how this kind of confirmation research should have been done. No one but youwould have done this. You’re far more conscientious than many of your predecessors. They were very competent keepers of the documents and portraits or other artifacts, but none were overly interested in doing a deep dive into nearly every document available to see if anything we think we know is wrong.” He pointed the tines of his fork her direction. “You, Ms. Woodward, are the only one. I believe any of them would have spent a couple of days doing a cursory search through digitized archives. Perhaps they would have gone to a few of the original sources in the annotations, but none would have gone searching for evidence to confirm or contradict the widely accepted history.”

Her face turned bright red at his compliment. “I don’t know about that…”

“I do,” Anthony told her firmly. “There is no one I’d rather have doing this research to help protect my daughter.”

“I’ll do my best.” Ms. Woodward turned back to the timeline projected on the wall. “I feel like I might be close to a breakthrough, to finding whatever it is that I can’t remember but…” She grimaced. “If I had to guess I would have said I was looking for something closer to the late 1400s or possibly early 1500s than the 1620s.”

“Maybe it is further back. Maybe this is just a slightly odd way of the duke referring to the king’s reign.” He shrugged. “At least we’ll know.” He motioned toward the wall. “Go on. What else have you found?”

She turned her attention back to the wall and directed her laser pointer toward a name and date. “This is a well-known discrepancy. The dates were transcribed incorrectly by a new…” This time her face scrunched in concentration. “I don’t remember what his title was off the top of my head. A recorder of information of some kind. He transposed the year. It’s mentioned multiple times in correspondence from his contemporaries. In fact, I believe he may have been imprisonedfor quite a while for allegedly intentionally altering the document.”

Anthony had grown up in Eastern Novigradia, and knew the story. He’d studied history at university, had a minor in it. But he’d never heard anyone say “allegedly” in relation to this event. “He put 1501 instead of 1510.”

“Correct.”

“But you don’t think it was intentional?”

Ms. Woodward swiveled in her chair. “I think he might have been dyslexic with numbers. A couple of years ago, I was cataloging some recently discovered documents and noticed a similar error in several of his earlier transcriptions. These, however, were more like rough drafts with the incorrect date crossed out and the right one written in. I looked it up. Dyscalculia is often called dyslexia with numbers. That’s not quite accurate, and without a lot more information, it’s impossible to know if that’s what it was, but there is evidence he quite specifically avoided work involving numbers and maths. He may have had difficulty with numbers in general and often transposed them, but he or someone else caught it in the draft stage.” She clicked a button on her laptop a couple of times, bringing up the document. “This one made it onto the official document.”

“Interesting. It was nearly fifty years later. What would have been his rationale for intentionally recording it incorrectly?” He realized he’d had a bite of food on his fork for the last minute and decided he should probably eat it.

She picked up her beverage. “Who knows what the powers that be thought his motives were. I think it’s far more likely that it was an innocent mistake.” It took her a few more minutes to finish getting through the timeline, but there weren’t any other surprises. “I haven’t quite made it back to King Stephen. I reallyhope I don’t find something that indicates anyone else was our first king. That would be a disaster.”

“It would,” he agreed. They spent the next fifteen minutes eating their lunches and talking about other things. Nothing deep or serious. She’d carried those conversations the first two weeks, and he’d learned far more about her in a much shorter time than he ever had about anyone before. Slowly, he’d started asking questions for clarification or commenting on a story she told. Most of the stories weren’t even about the history of Eastern Novigradia, but rather about her life in general or a documentary she’d watched the night before.

She watched a lot of documentaries on a wide variety of subjects. Everything from expeditions on Everest to cults and their escapees to true crime to big wave surfing to biographies and even one on something she called “malice at the palace” about a fight between two professional basketball teams and their fans in the States at the end of a game.

When they finished, he took their lunch dishes and set them where someone would pick them up. As he walked through the Hall of Records, he glanced up at the camera expertly hidden in the corner, and currently obscured further by Christmas decorations. At least the greenery and other decor was no longer shrouded in black. Twenty-one days had been more than enough.

The camera was an assurance that everything in the archives was recorded, all the rooms, including the offices. There wasn’t even a bathroom in the archive suite. It had surprised him, but Ms. Woodward explained. If everything was recorded, it would be much more difficult to do something in the archives without being caught than it would be if there was a known blind spot.

It made sense.

Anthony continued back to his office. For now, he’d insisted the newest monarch only be a part of a few minor things anddecisions. It would be fifteen years before a regent was no longer needed. The introductions to the more complex side of the monarchy could be done over a decade-and-a-half.

Well, not quite fifteen years. Catherine would be eleven in just a few months.

He prayed Ms. Woodward could find proof that he could be the regent without Parliamentary approval. The regulations the Prime Minister discussed with him strongly discouraged the remaining parent from taking the job, but didn’t outright forbid it. There were a few members of Parliament and the Council who would try to use his grief against him, try to get someone of their choosing in his place.

Several hours later, as Anthony put the last of his things in order for the night, the intercom buzzed.

“Sir, Ms. Woodward is here to see you.” Maxwell’s voice always sounded like he was in a deep canyon.

She’d never been to his office. Did this mean she’d found something? “Send her in.”

He moved to the sitting area near the windows overlooking the capital city as she entered. Motioning to one of the other chairs, he sat down. “Please. Sit.”

Ms. Woodward did, but perched near the edge of the seat, not further back. Clearly uncomfortable, she twisted her fingers together before seeming to forcibly stop herself. “I think I found it.” She sounded unsure of herself, but having seen her diligence for years, he suspected that she had no reason to.

He waited for her to go on.

“I think I found the reason for the discrepancy for the dates of King Gilead’s reign.” She sucked in a deep breath. “King Fulke passed in late 1627, leaving his young son as the new king. The coronation was scheduled, but prior to it, the son passed under somewhat mysterious circumstances. The crown passed to the late King Fulke’s brother, who became Gilead I. Withthe coronation already planned, they just used it anyway. There wasn’t even an official mourning period for the young king. It seems most of the population never even knew the switch had been made. The reasons why are currently lost to time. Even the son’s name is lost.”

Interesting. “Was the uncle the son’s regent? Did that make it easier to get away with.”

Ms. Woodward shook her head. “No. His mother, the king’s widow, was his regent.”

A wave of relief started to spread, but he stopped it. There had to be something more.

---