Page 10 of Twelve Nights In The Prince's Bed

Darling? Call me when you get this. We need to talk.

Panic drummed through her. No one knew what had happened. No one. Unless Adrastos had said something?

To his parents? Not bloody likely. With a growing sense of trepidation and flashes of memories and experience garnered over years of living adjacent to the royal family, she thought of the microscope that was trained on Adrastos’s life by a well-meaning but nonetheless outrageously invasive public. His every move was reported on, the tantalising speculation surrounding each of his brief, high-profile relationships something with which Poppy was all too familiar.

But this was different.

He hadn’t taken Poppy to a movie premiere or dancing at a nightclub. Their dalliance was a secret, it had taken place behind closed doors and, afterwards, Poppy had gone back to the party and pretended nothing had happened. Adrastos had left by the time she’d emerged.

So what had happened in the eight or so hours since she’d come home and flopped into bed, and now?

With fingers that were shaking, she loaded a browser on her phone and typed first her name, then deleted it and typed Adrastos’s instead.

And grimaced.

Sure enough, several of the trashier papers were already running the story, salivating at Poppy’s connection to the royal family, so her heart was beating so hard in her chest it was like a heavy, metallic drum. Adrenalin filled her veins.

The first photo was benign enough—it showed Adrastos in the corridor outside the bedroom. While there was little scope to misinterpret what he’d just been doing—that he had dressed in haste was clear—it didn’t necessarily implicate Poppy. And though she was hungry to understand the rest of the story, she couldn’t help but idle on that image a moment, to stare at his face—thunderclouds would barely describe the emotion on his symmetrical features.

Swallowing, she quickly scrolled down and then saw the truly damaging image: a photo of Poppy on the balcony, cinched in against Adrastos and being kissed as though... She trembled. Was that really what it had been like? Just looking at the photo almost seared her with passion and urgency.

She dropped her phone like a hot potato.

‘Darling Poppy...’

Clementine’s voice was soft, and Poppy knew the Queen well enough to be able to perfectly picture the expression her face would bear.

‘I find myself in a very difficult position.’

Poppy closed her eyes on the squirming sense of guilt. She had ignored several more calls from Eleanor and the royal courtiers but when the Queen herself began to ring, Poppy found it impossible not to answer. She didn’t know what she’d say, but figured she would work it out as the conversation progressed. Only now, she was uncharacteristically lost for words.

‘When your parents passed away, I was determined to bring you home with us. I was determined to raise you as my own, to love you as they did. I knew I could never replace your own dear mother, but I was desperate that you would know a mother’s love, that you would know how adored and wanted you were.’

Tears filled Poppy’s eyes.

‘It is what I know your mother would have done for my children, had we—had anything happened to us.’

Poppy bit down on her lower lip.

‘You have been a part of our family for a long time and I am grateful every day for that.’

A lump formed in Poppy’s throat. She felt lower than low.

‘But that means youknowus better than anyone else.’

Ice spread through Poppy.Us.It was one tiny word, one of the smallest in existence, but its weight was hefty, for it made Poppy instantly feel like an outsider. She grimaced, pressed her back against the wall and tried to breathe in and feel strong.

‘Adrastos is a good man, and he will be an excellent king, but there can be no misunderstanding where his priorities are in his personal life.’

Clementine’s voice, though still soft, was also heavy; it carried a sadness that Poppy had heard before, usually when some Adrastos scandal or other had landed him in the papers. It didn’t matter though what Adrastos did in his personal life. He was so roguishly charming that even his pathological inability to commit was looked on with fondness by the public. Only within the palace did it cause serious, ground-shaking despair. And now Poppy was a part of that narrative.

‘Your Majesty,’ she said, reverting to Clementine’s title. It felt appropriate, in the circumstances. Guilt was searing her. She knew what the family thought of Adrastos’s philandering. Having slept with him somehow made Poppy complicit in that. She couldn’t bear for them to think she didn’t take their worries seriously, that she didn’tunderstandwhy they held such concerns. ‘I wish I knew what to say...’

Clementine sighed. ‘He’s gone too far this time. And at your birthday party. AtEllie’sparty!’

‘The photos are misleading,’ she murmured, trying to pull on all her legal training to connect the dots. What did the evidence show? What could be proven? But Poppy had never been a good liar, she’d never felt comfortable with any elimination of the truth, no matter how small, and lying to Clementine felt particularly wrong. And yet, the situation was so complicated. Wasn’t it sometimes better to blur the lines, just a little, if doing so was harmless and the result eased another person’s suffering? ‘We thought we were alone.’

‘You thought you were alone, but Adrastos should have known better,’ Clementine huffed. ‘He has lived this life long enough to know there are very few places where privacy is assured.’

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