Page 91 of Royal Affair
"No." He was already moving, pulling our security protocols from his bag. "Someone talked, or there was a security breach, because they found us here. Either way, this location has been compromised; it's no longer safe."
I watched him shift into full protection mode, his movements sharp and efficient. This was the soldier, the man who'd kept diplomats alive in war zones.
"Pack light," he ordered. "Only essentials. We leave in thirty minutes."
"Where will we go?"
"Somewhere they can't find us. Somewhere we can control the situation instead of reacting to it." He paused in his preparations, his eyes finding mine. "Unless you want to surrender now. Give them what they want."
The challenge in his voice steadied me. "Never."
"Good." His hand found mine briefly, a moment of warmth in the cold efficiency. "Then we do this properly. On our terms."
But even as we began gathering our things, I felt the weight of inevitability pressing down on us. We could run, but we couldn't hide forever. And my mother...
"She'll find us," I said quietly. "You know she will."
James's expression was grim but determined. "Let her try."
We spent the evening monitoring the news coverage whilst hastily packing, watching as strangers dissected and analysed our private relationship. Someone had dug up James's military records, his family background, even tracked down his ex-girlfriend for comment. The invasion of privacy was breathtaking in its scope and viciousness.
By ten o'clock, the story had gone international. American news shows featured segments about "The Princess and the Bodyguard," European outlets were speculating about constitutional crises, and social media users were exploding with opinions about whether royals should be allowed to marry their staff. The weight of it pressed down on me—every headline a reminder that I wasn't just Evangeline anymore. I was the Crown Princess, the future Queen, and my personal choices had international implications. Alexandra would have handled this with grace, with a clear plan. I was fumbling through a crisis that could destabilise the monarchy itself.
James had laid out escape routes and contingency plans with military precision. "There's a monastery in the mountains," he explained, showing me the route on a map. "The monks don't speak to outsiders, don't have internet or phones. We can regroup there and decide our next move."
"And then what?" I asked, folding clothes into a small travel bag. "We can't hide forever, I won't hide forever."
"No," he agreed. "But we can choose when and how we engage. Right now, we're reacting to their timeline. I want us to be the ones in control."
It was a good plan. A solid plan. But as I looked around the villa that had become our sanctuary, our private world away from duty and protocol, I felt the loss keenly. In a few hours, we'd be running again, and there was no guarantee we'd ever have this kind of peace again.
My secure phone buzzed with an encrypted message from Harrison. 'Situation deteriorating faster than expected. Palace sources confirm major decision being made tonight. You need to know—this isn't just about the photos. There's something else they're not telling you about the Kozlov connection.' I stared at the message, unease crawling up my spine. Harrison's timing was always impeccable, but something about this felt off. How did he know so much about palace decisions?
"James," I whispered, and he looked up from checking his weapons. "Whatever happens?—"
"Nothing's going to happen," he said firmly. "I won't let them destroy this."
But before either of us could say anything else, my phone rang. The caller ID showed my mother's private number, and my heart leaped into my throat.
"Mum?" I answered, putting the call on speaker so James could hear.
"Evangeline." My mother's voice was ice-cold, more formal than I'd heard it since childhood. "We need to talk."
"I've been trying to call you all evening?—"
"I'm aware. I've been in emergency meetings with the Privy Council, the Archbishop, and the Prime Minister, discussing the constitutional implications of your behaviour."
The formal language, the complete absence of warmth, chilled me to the bone. This wasn't my mother speaking—this was the Queen, and she was furious.
"Mum, if you'd just let me explain?—"
"Explain what, exactly? That you have been conducting a clandestine affair with your protection officer? That you have compromised the security of the crown by engaging in a relationship that creates obvious conflicts of interest? That you have brought scandal and ridicule upon the monarchy?"
Each word was designed to cut deep, and she delivered it with surgical precision. I felt James step closer, his presence a steadying force, but my mother's next words made us both freeze.
"Mr. Banks has been relieved of his duties, effective immediately. A replacement team is already en route to Sicily."
"You can't—" I started, but she cut me off.
