The Controversial Princess

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “Whoa,” Josh blurts, alarmed by my high-pitched shouts. “Slow the hell down, Adeline.”

  “They are sending me to Spain,” I whisper softly, my palm on my throat, massaging the swelling down. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. “With Haydon.”

  Josh chokes down the line. “Over my dead fuckin’ body. Where are you?”

  I swallow, pushing out some air. “In my car. Damon has strict orders to take me to the airport immediately.”

  “What?”

  “To the airport, Josh. I’m not even allowed to go home and pack my things. It’s been done for me.”

  “This is fucked up. Where’s Damon? Put him on. Now.”

  My hand shoots forward between the two seats. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Damon audibly exhales, pulling the car over to the side of the road. His empty eyes meet mine in the mirror as he reaches back and takes my phone. “I’m between a rock and a hard place here.” His voice is devoid of emotion, matching his eyes, as he speaks to Josh. He’s trying to disconnect himself. He’s trying to be professional rather than emotional. Damon knows what’s happening here is wrong. “I can’t do that,” he breathes, and then he laughs. It’s a disbelieving laugh, his eyes still stony in the mirror. What’s so funny? “You’ll give me a job if I lose mine?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. My body moves forward, trying to hear what Josh is saying. He would do that? For me? “Josh, you’re American. You live in America. The job would be in America. The commute would be shite. I have a direct order from the King of England. My hands are tied.”

  I sag, defeated. This is hopeless. Damon’s phone starts ringing, and he glances at the screen where it’s positioned to the left of the steering wheel. “I have to go.” He hangs up without so much as a goodbye, and then proceeds to take the call. “Yes?” He looks left and right a few times, his shoulders rising slowly in the chair. “What the fuck?” He breathes the rhetorical question out, his knuckles going white from the grip he has on the steering wheel. I fly forward in my seat again, trying to hear what has him trembling with anger. “Loud and fucking clear.” He slams the ball of his palm into the steering wheel, and I flinch as my phone starts ringing from the seat where Damon threw it.

  “Whatever is going on?” I ask as I reach for it.

  He barely checks his mirrors before he yanks the steering wheel clockwise and slams his foot down on the accelerator, spinning around in the road and flinging me back in my seat. “Damon!”

  “Put your belt on,” he shouts, the sounds of screeching tires piercing the air. “Now.”

  I quickly reach for my belt and clip myself in. “Damon, what is it?”

  “There’s been an assassination attempt on Prince Edward.”

  My heart feels like it could break through my chest and land in my lap. “What?” The sound of the roaring engine drowns out my murmured request for confirmation of something I couldn’t have heard right. Yet Damon’s urgency and intense vigilance, constantly looking around as he drives, tells me I heard him just fine.

  Someone tried to kill Eddie?

  “Where was he?”

  “Riding at the royal stables.”

  My eyes drop to my lap, where my phone is lying in my limp hand, Josh’s name flashing persistently at me. I only just manage to convince my hand to raise it to my ear. “Josh.”

  “Adeline,” he breathes.

  “Someone’s tried to kill Eddie.” The statement comes breezing out like a pre-programmed robot. And then there is silence down the line. A horrific silence that is filled with the scream of skidding tires as Damon brakes hard in front of the palace gates, smacking his horn.

  “Open the fucking gates,” he roars.

  “Jesus,” Josh says, obviously hearing the chaos unfold. I’m stuck to the back of the seat as Damon accelerates through the palace gates, barely waiting for them to open fully. “Where are you now?”

  “Back at Claringdon.” The car screeches to a stop and Damon is ushering me out soon after, crowding me as he hurries me up the steps. We enter complete and utter chaos, staff racing across the foyer, people on phones, shouting and cursing of the bluest kind saturating the air. I stop, staring at the anarchy, completely bewildered. “I have to go,” I tell Josh, my phone limp at my ear. “I’ll call you when I know more.”

  Josh puts the cursing of the palace staff to shame, blurting endless explicit language down the line. “I hate this. I should be there with you.”

  Hearing his hopelessness, his frustration, has me closing my eyes where I stand. “I’ll call you.”

  I hear him inhale deeply, gathering patience. “Okay.” His agreement is strained, but it’s all he can do. “I love you.”

  I smile sadly and cut the call, just as my mother appears across the foyer, virtually being held up by Mary-Ann. Her expression, the visible state of her, haunted and shell-shocked, makes me forget my despondency. I hurry over, quick to comfort her. “Mother.” I claim her from Mary-Ann and help her through to the lounge off the foyer, where the chaos continues. “Sit.”

  For the first time in her existence, my mother follows an instruction from me, lowering to the brocade couch. One of the servants is quick to pour some tea, and I load Mother’s with a sugar she never has, stirring it quickly and placing it in her limp hands. Her gaze, empty and vacant, doesn’t move from the floor. “How could this happen?” she asks herself, her hands shaking terribly.

  I curl an arm around her shoulder, my only offering, since I don’t have the answer to her question. “I’m sure everything is being done to find out.”

  Davenport marches into the room, his expression lethal. “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks, coming to a stop before the Queen Consort. Then, shocking me completely, he lowers to his haunches and places a hand over hers, searching out her eyes. “Catherine?”

  Never have I heard Major Davenport speak to my mother so informally, and I can only watch as she turns clouded eyes to the major, tears beginning to stream. “How?” she asks, so helpless it breaks my heart.

  The lethal edge of Davenport’s expression cuts deeper, his hand squeezing Mother’s. “I won’t rest until I find out.” He looks as fierce as a warrior, his stiff upper lip gone. It’s an alien sight, but I’m immediately thankful he is with us.

  “Where is he? Where is Edward?”

  “He should be—” Davenport is cut short by the slam of a door, and all our heads shoot to the entrance of the lounge. Past the madness, I hear a voice.

  “It’s Eddie.” I’m up fast, running to the foyer and fighting through those in my path. Not even the formidable presence of the King deters me. I push my father out of the way and throw myself at a bewildered-looking Eddie. “Thank God,” I say into his jacket, clinging to him tightly.

  “I’m okay,” he says, though he doesn’t sound it, his voice broken as he wraps a shaky arm around my waist. “Everyone needs to stop fussing.”

  “Yes, enough,” the King barks, backing Eddie up as he pulls me away. “Let the man breathe, Adeline.” Father casts a stern look around the crowded space, and everyone heeds the silent order, dispersing quickly. Except me. I’m going nowhere. “To my office.” Father marches on, his relief short-lived. “Now.”

  He’s not even going to give Mother the opportunity to hug her son, to shower him with love and appreciation that he is home. Safe. She’s standing at the entrance of the lounge, looking on, her place known. Business first, reunions later. That doesn’t stop Eddie from going to her, though, giving her a precious moment to feel him, kiss him, and hug him. She looks old all of a sudden, the stress taking its toll on her usual serenity. Holding his face with her palm, she smiles through her tears and pats his cheek lightly, a wordless show of her relief. The light kiss my brother drops on Mother’s head before he follows our father leaves the Queen Consort with her eyes closed and Davenport holding her arm to keep her steady, his duties all askew. He should be on the King’s heels, not tending to the Queen Consort. There are many other staff to se
e to her, as well as me, yet I can’t help but feel profoundly grateful for his clear concern for her well-being. He even walks her to the couch and helps her down before relieving himself of his duties. As he passes me by the door, I hold my hand out, delaying him.

  “Thank you,” I say, and he looks at me, definite surprise being masked by his usual harsh blankness.

  “Part of the job, ma’am.” He heads toward Father’s office and I smile, because it most definitely is not part of his job. This horrific news has rocked the palace to the core. An assassination attempt on Prince Eddie? I lean against the doorframe, looking up the stairs. It’s crazy. Edward is loved by this country. I watch as Davenport joins Eddie at the top of the staircase, his palm landing on my brother’s shoulder and massaging as they walk. And then the doors to the palace swing open again, and John and Helen are hustled in. John goes straight to the King’s office, and Helen is shown to the lounge by a footman, not giving me a second’s glance as she passes. I stand where I am, the quiet observer, as my mind spins, my problems seeming inconsequential now, and diluted by the madness surrounding me. I nearly lost my beloved Eddie.

  THE KING HAS BEEN IN his office constantly, people coming and going, from MI6, to the Prime Minister, important people on a mission to get to the bottom of what’s happened. The incident hasn’t been contained from public. Gunshots in the countryside is not unheard of; high society shoot in the area frequently. But on that day, there were no scheduled shooting meetings. The bullet missed my brother, but it took out his horse. The sketchy reports in the newspapers is putting pressure on the Royal Press Office to put out an official statement.

  Poor Eddie looks as dazed now as he did on that wretched day. He’s here, but not really here. We’ve talked, but he’s not in the conversation, his mind clearly wandering. I can’t blame him. The questions are driving everyone around here insane, including me. Not just because it’s becoming less likely each day that whoever is responsible will be tracked down and an explanation found, but because until then, no one is going anywhere.

  If I ever felt like a prisoner before, now I feel buried alive. Claringdon is on lockdown, no one is permitted to leave. For two weeks, I’ve been contained within the palace walls, not even allowed to roam the gardens without Damon in tow. I’m struggling to breathe, and this is only worsened by the fact that I haven’t been able to see Josh for the whole time. We have spoken every day and there are constant text messages going back and forth. But no matter how much contact we have, it doesn’t ease the growing ache in my heart. He left for New Zealand last week. Now, he’s on the other side of the world, and I don’t know when I might see him again. The time difference is a nightmare too, our calls limited simply because of that. My only comfort is knowing he is missing me as much as I am missing him. My mobile phone has been glued to my hand wherever I go. When I take a shower, I prop it up on the vanity unit and never take my eyes off the screen until I’m done. When I eat, it’s in my lap on vibrate, so I’ll know the second Josh calls or texts me and I can excuse myself quickly. I may be naïve, but I am sure Eddie is the only person who has noticed the extreme activity of my phone and my extended time alone so I can talk to Josh. Everyone else is too distracted by the shock of Eddie’s incident. It would be a blessing in disguise if I could monopolize on the hypothetical space I’m being given. But I can’t, and it is slowly driving me to despair.

  As I’m weaving through the maze at the far side of the grounds, my phone clutched in my hand, I smile to myself, looking at the sky for some imaginary sense of freedom. Damon is only a few paces behind me, ever close, though he has detected my need to at least feel like I have some privacy, only speaking to me when he’s spoken to.

  There’s a quick route to the center, where the imposing statue of my grandfather dwells, yet today I take the long route, ambling like I have all the time in the world, which, technically, I have. It’s bright today, the sun warming my bare shoulders, the quiet needed. I try to focus on the sounds of birds tweeting, of the hosepipes spraying water upon the beds of flowers, instead of listening to the endless questions circling my mind. To most people, this would be heaven. But for me, it’s the farthest away from heaven I could be. Quite literally.

  “It’s late in New Zealand,” I say to Damon, as I glance at the world clock on my phone.

  “Yes. Eleven, ma’am.”

  I return my attention forward as I near the turning that will have me at the center of the maze.

  The day feels like it has gone on forever already, yet it’s only midday. As the huge statue of the late king comes into view, I stop at the edge of the clearing, taking him in from top to toe, the white shiny marble perfect in my less than perfect world. And I wonder, is this what I will become? A statue or a portrait on the walls of the palace, perfect in my death. Will people remember me, and if they do, for what? The daughter of the King, the controversial princess who defied the strong arm of the Royal Family? The one person who stood up for herself and refused to bow to the expectations of the throne? The one royal who fought for happiness with the man she loved. I smile, dropping my eyes to the base of the statue, seeing Josh there, champagne in his hand and a cunning smirk on his face. Yes, I will be that princess. Because I refuse to be anything less.

  “Ma’am, your phone,” Damon says, startling me from my thoughts. I look down and see Josh’s name, and life literally surges through my veins at an epic rate.

  I answer on a long sigh. “Fifteen days, twelve hours, and sixteen minutes.”

  “And twenty seconds,” he replies. “The longest fuckin’ time of my life. Shit, I’m going out of my mind, Adeline.”

  “Me too.” I stroll past the exact point where Josh first got his hands on me, all the feelings and conflict powering forward, reminding me of where my American boy and I began.

  “Where are you?” Josh asks as I come to a stop at the foot of the statue, turning and resting my backside on my grandfather’s shins.

  “I’m in the maze staring at the spot where you ordered me to my knees.” My eyes root to the grass and stay there, aware that Damon is close enough to hear, but I’m way beyond caring. I hope the entire world knows soon.

  “Damn you, woman. Why’d you have to tell me that?”

  “I miss you,” I murmur. Despondency is a vice on my soul, squeezing, the weight pulling me down. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

  “I’m at the airport,” he tells me, and I look at Damon, as if searching for confirmation that I heard Josh right. “I’m about to fly to London.”

  I straighten, and Damon frowns, clearly wondering why I’m tense. “What?”

  “Filming is done here. I have a week’s grace before we head to South Africa.”

  “But, Josh, I can’t go anywhere. I’m trapped here.” Despite the overwhelming happiness that Josh is coming back to London, too much misery is masking it. Knowing he’s within a few miles when I’m confined to Claringdon will be torture of the worst kind.

  “They can’t keep you there forever. Something’s gotta give soon, before I do. How’s Eddie? Have there been any developments?”

  “He’s fine. And no, nothing.” I hear the sound of an announcement in the background. “What’s that?”

  “Last boarding call. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you the moment I land, okay?”

  “Okay.” I look at Damon as I disconnect, reading his questioning expression. “He’s coming back.”

  Worry. It’s written all over his face in an instant at this news. “Don’t you be pulling any wild stunts.”

  “Damon, when will this be over? They can’t keep us prisoners here forever.”

  I see him breathe in his patience, taking his phone from his pocket when it rings. “Yes?” He turns away and starts pacing. “I’m on my way.”

  “What is it?” I ask, the second he cuts the call, pushing myself off the legs of my grandfather.

  “Meeting in the King’s office.” He’s quick to collect me, tugging me along, his
way of telling me I’m not remaining out here without him. “You can have lunch with Queen Catherine while I’m busy.”

  I take the lead when I note that Damon is going the entirely wrong way through the maze to get us out in the most efficient time. “What is it? Do you think they have found whoever did this?”

  “I don’t know anything until I get there, Adeline.”

  “But you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

  Damon looks at me, wary and affectionately. “Yes.”

  I power on, keen to get Damon to the King’s office without delay.

  I’M PACING, THE CARPET BENEATH my Uggs close to becoming threadbare. They’ve been in there for two hours now. The King, the Prime Minister, head of MI6, close protection, Sir Don, Davenport, and David Sampson. The only important person who seems to have slipped the guest list is God himself.

  I’m the only one keeping close watch of the doors, the only one who seems to care whether the bars of this godforsaken jail will be opened anytime soon. Of course, I’m desperate to hear news of a satisfactory outcome, first and foremost, but my eagerness is only amplified by the fact that it will signal the end of my captivity.

  When the doors to the King’s office open, I come to an abrupt halt in my pacing, watching on a held breath to see who will emerge. It’s Davenport. He looks at me. The stony face of the man who has served my father so steadfastly for so long is soft, as it has been for these past couple of weeks. This whole messy affair has affected us all, but Davenport, the impenetrable, cold man, seems deeply affected. It’s a comfort knowing he’s human after all. Nodding, he passes me, making his way down the stairs as the rest of the room empties onto the huge landing of the palace. I spot Damon amid the sea of heads and hurry over to him. “Well?” I ask, falling into stride next to him. “Have they found whoever is responsible?”

  “No.”