At least in here, no one is snapping my photograph or live-tweeting my every move for their followers. It makes it easier to excuse myself for a moment.
“I’ll be right back,” I assure Alden, disengaging my arm from his when we reach the front pew, which has been reserved for the royal family since Windsor Abbey was first constructed. “I’m just going to run to the restroom before the service starts.”
“Do you want me to escort you?”
“That won’t be necessary.” I catch Galizia’s eyes and she nods in understanding, seeming to read the panicked look on my face. “I have my guard.”
Alden smiles at me. “All right. Hurry back, my dear.”
I pivot and do my best not to bolt for the side aisle. I just need a moment without all these eyes on me. Somewhere I can gather my thoughts, until the m-word — Married! Married! Married! — stops blazing through my mind.
Galizia leads me out of the main cathedral into a small hallway. We round a corner, passing the coat check area, and finally make our way into an empty back room. The engraved gold placard on the door mocks me.
BRIDAL SUITE
“Perfect,” I mutter, stepping inside with a laugh. “Just perfect.”
“Is something wrong?” Galizia asks.
“No. No, I’m fine. Promise.”
“You look pale.”
“Sorry. I just…”
“Needed a minute?”
I nod. “Mmm.”
“Take your time. I’m sure they’ll wait to start the services until you return.”
“That’s only slightly mortifying.” I groan into my palms. “God, I don’t know why I’m suddenly panicking.”
“I could guess, but psychology isn’t really my realm.”
“It’s just, being here at the church… I started thinking about how the next time I’m here, I’ll be…”
“Married.”
“Yes. Married.” I shake my head. “Why is that so scary to say out loud? I was fine the other day, during the engagement party.” I pause. “Okay, maybe not fine, but at least I wasn’t having a full-blown anxiety attack.”
“Toying with the idea of something and facing the reality of it are two very different beasts to slay.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I thought psychology wasn’t your realm.”
“It doesn’t take a shrink to realize why this might send your head spinning.” Galizia’s lips twist. “It’s not as though you’ve agreed to a private country wedding with six close friends and a bohemian minister, Your Majesty. You’re facing a ceremony broadcast live to the whole world… with the entirety of polite society in attendance… plus dignitaries from foreign countries… and a horse-drawn carriage ride through the streets when it’s all over…”
“Is this supposed to be making me feel better or worse? Because I’m about to start hyperventilating, here.”
“Just… sit down for a minute,” she orders sternly. “There’s a kitchen through there; I’m going to get you a glass of water.”
At her orders, I collapse into a nearby armchair and press my eyes closed. Galizia disappears deeper into the suite, presumably to fetch me a refreshment. When I hear the door swing open a second later, I reach out blindly for the glass… but it’s not my guard’s voice that greets me.
“Having another PTSD-incident, are you?”
My eyes spring open.
The woman who’s just slithered into the bridal suite is a serpent in a Prada pantsuit. Her coiffed auburn hair is shiny and perfect, her features twisted in her typical haughty expression.
I push to my feet, chin jerking higher to meet her stare. She’s got four inches on me, even in heels, but I refuse to be intimidated as she sidles closer to me.
“Octavia. What an unpleasant surprise. ”
“Oh, come now — is that any way to greet your stepmother?”
“Perhaps not. But it is the way to greet the bitch who’s been actively calling for my abdication on every news channel and radio broadcast for the past month.”
“So sensitive! It isn’t personal, darling daughter of mine.” She pauses. “Actually, I take it back. I suppose it is quite personal. Seeing as you have ruined my life, it’s only fitting I return the favor.”
“I ruined your life?” I snort in disbelief. “That’s rich. Seems to me it’s been the other way around since the first moment we met. Or have you not made it your mission to delegitimize me since the day Linus claimed me as his child?”
Her eyes flash at the mention of my father. “Don’t you even say his name. You are unworthy of it.”
“He was my father!”
“He never should’ve claimed you in the first place. It was the beginning of his downfall.”
“Don’t you dare insinuate his death was my fault,” I hiss, feeling my anger rise to a boil. “That’s low — even for you, Octavia.”
She takes a step closer to me, her blue eyes narrowing to pinpricks. For the first time, I feel slightly uneasy at her proximity. I’ve never thought of Octavia as dangerous before. Malicious? Definitely. But never an actual threat to my safety.
Seeing her like this, though… there’s a bizarre light in her eyes I don’t like. Not one bit.
Where the hell is Galizia when I need her?
“You were a plague on his life from the first instant you became a part of it,” my former stepmother seethes. “I should’ve—”
“Should’ve what?” I snap. “Taken care of me when you had the chance?”
“Trust me, it was not from lack of trying! One bloody sip!” She is practically quivering with rage, her breaths coming short as she spits the words at me. “But you, much like a cockroach, seem to be impossible to eliminate!”
I blink, slowly processing what she’s just said.
Not from lack of trying.
Octavia seems to realize, too late, that’s she’s said too much. That, unwittingly or not, she has admitted something she never intended to. I watch her throat work as she swallows down a sharp inhale, the muscles moving beneath her heavy gold pendant.
One bloody sip.
I feel strangely calm as realization moves through me, pieces of a puzzle clicking together into a complete picture that has long remained a mystery. I suddenly know, without a shadow of a doubt, what happened.
I can feel it in my bones.
“Enlighten me, stepmother.” My voice is colder than ice as I advance on her. This time, she is the one backpedalling. “When, exactly, did you attempt to kill me?”
“I— I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, the time for lies is long over. You’ve practically admitted it already.”
“You’re hysterical. You misheard me.”
“Tell me the truth or, so help me god, I will allow my guards to interrogate you within the full extent of the law.”
She swallows again when her spine hits the far wall. I have effectively backed her into a corner. And I cannot pretend the sight of this evil woman brought to heel is one I will not savor for the rest of my days.
“One bloody sip,” I murmur softly, smiling as I see the fear flash in her eyes. “That’s what you said, is it not?”
Her jaw locks.
“You won’t answer? That’s fine. You can just listen while I tell you what I think happened.” I lean in and she actually flinches. “You wanted me gone. Out of your life. Away from Linus. And you saw the perfect opportunity — the champagne toast at my coronation ball.”
She tries to avoid my eyes, but I lock onto them, pinning her in place like a bug against a cork-board with my gaze.
“You were the one who laced the glasses with curare.”
She stops breathing. “No.”
“Oh, yes.” I continue. “Maybe you figured you could take out me and my father in one fell-swoop… leaving you to rule alone. Queen Octavia of Germania. Not merely a consort, but a regnant in her own right.”
“That’s not true!” she screams, eyes flashing with wrath. “Linus
was never supposed to get hurt! He took the wrong glass! The poison was only ever meant for you!”
I smile at her as the admission spills out.
She goes pale, realizing what she’s done. “I mean— That came out wrong—”
“I think it came out exactly right, actually.”
“Your Majesty,” she murmurs. It’s the first time she has ever used my title sincerely; likely the last, as well. “Please, listen to me. You must understand—”
“I do. I do understand.”
“You do?”
“I understand that you attempted to assassinate me — the Crown Princess of Germania — at her coronation ball. I understand that, in doing so, you nearly killed my father, the reigning King of Germania. I understand that this attack weakened his health — perhaps making him more susceptible to the stroke that eventually claimed his life.” I lean in even closer, my whisper laced with such anger, each word shakes. “I understand that you, Octavia Thorne, are guilty of conspiracy to murder and treason against the crown.”
She slumps back against the wall, as though her legs have given out.
I glance left, to the doorway where Galizia has been hovering for several moments, watching this family affair play out with vigilance. When our eyes meet, my guard nods somberly and says something into her headpiece.
In seconds, Riggs and three other guards burst into the room. It’s clear they’ve been at the ready this entire time, an invisible safety net, fully prepared to step in if the scenario escalated.
“Take her into custody, Riggs.” I turn on one heel and head for the door. “I want her out of my sight.”
“It wasn’t me!” Octavia wails as the guards close in on her. “It was all Bane’s idea! He was the mastermind behind everything!”
I pause and look back at her. Just once. “I do hope you like the color orange, my dear stepmother. You will be spending the rest of your life wearing it in your jail cell.”
Chapter Seventeen
I can hear Chloe on the phone with someone when I stop outside the door to her suite. Her murmurs are muffled by the thick oak panel, but I can still pick out a few choice words.
I know.
Okay.
I’ll take care of her.
I promise.
Love you too, brother.
I wait until I’m sure she’s hung up before I venture a knock.
“Come in, E.”
She knows it’s me.
Of course she does.
My stomach is a pit of anxiety as I step inside. Our eyes meet, holding for an uncharacteristically long moment of total silence. I don’t know quite what to say to her; I’m sure she feels the same.
After all, I’ve just learned her mother attempted to kill me, and had her thrown in jail.
Just a normal day as a Lancaster.
There’s no question that Chloe already knows — in the time it took Galizia to drive me back to the palace, the news broke on social media. Pictures of Lady Octavia Thorne, the former Consort of Germania, being led out of Easter Sunday services at Windsor Abbey in handcuffs by the Queen’s Guard went instantly viral.
The irony of my social media manager seeing her mother trending on Twitter is not lost on me.
I don’t know what to say — whether to apologize or try to explain. Chloe and her mother were not close. And yet… she was still her mother. She might never forgive me for this. She might hate me for the rest of her life.
“I’m so fucking sorry, E,” Chloe blurts, before I can say a word.
“You’re sorry?” I blink. “Why the hell are you sorry?”
“How could I not be? My mother tried to murder you. I’m ashamed to call myself a Thorne. I’m ashamed to even look you in the eyes. God, you must hate me…”
“Chloe, stop! Stop. I could never hate you.” I shake my head. “In fact, I thought you might hate me.”
Her eyes go wide. “Why would I hate you?”
“I did just have your mother arrested…”
“And..?”
“She’s your family.”
“E.” She crosses to me and grabs me by the shoulders, shaking lightly. “You are my family. That woman was never more than a birthing vessel to me.”
Tears gloss over my eyes as I step forward and throw my arms around my sister. I’m so relieved, I could sob.
“I thought—” I choke. “I thought maybe this was going to drive a wedge between us.”
“I thought you might not want me around, anymore. Daughter of a traitor and all.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You are nothing like Octavia.”
She hugs me tighter. “Thank god for that.”
We cling to each other for a while, taking comfort in the embrace. The anxiety stirring inside me slowly dissipates. Eventually, we move to sit on Chloe’s bed, each processing our own thoughts in silence.
I keep replaying the coronation over and over in my mind.
Linus, taking a sip of his champagne. Toasting to the future. Falling to the platform, froth forming at the corner of his mouth as poison hijacked his system.
It was the scariest moment of my life — at least, at that point in time: holding my father in my arms. Thinking he was about to die.
Now, looking back with all the facts, it’s strange to realize he was not the intended target. That, if not for a mix-up with the champagne flutes, I would’ve been the one dying on that platform.
One bloody sip.
“At least now, we finally have some answers,” Chloe says after a while, breaking the silence. “We know who’s been killing off the royal family.”
“You can’t possibly mean…” My brows lift. “You think Octavia started the fire last fall? Intentionally? To kill get Leopold, Abigail, and Henry out of the way?”
“Who else had the motive?” Chloe mutters darkly. “Octavia was the one to benefit most from that fire. With the royals out of the way, she knew her husband was next in line for the throne. And what has she wanted, more than anything else?”
“To be queen.”
“Exactly. To be queen.” She expels a sharp breath. “I don’t relish the thought that my mother is a mass murderer but… facts are facts.”
“There will be a trial,” I murmur. “I suppose the truth will come out then.”
We fall silent again, both trying to digest the enormous implications of this information.
Octavia.
It’s no secret she has never been my favorite person. She is malicious and calculated and plainly awful. And yet… I never in a million years would’ve thought her capable of something like this. The magnitude of her atrocities far outweighs any possibility I considered in the past.
“What did Carter say about it?”
Chloe glances over at me. “Eavesdropping, were you?”
I shrug. There’s no point lying.
She sighs. “He was typical Carter. Man of few words, you know him.”
“I do.” My heart pangs painfully.
“He wasn’t exactly doing cartwheels over the news, but he wasn’t totally flabbergasted by it, either. We’ve seen Octavia’s true colors since we were kids. She wasn’t mother-of-the-year.”
“Fair enough.”
“He told me, if there’s a public trial, he doesn’t want anything to do with it. He doesn’t want to come back. To see her. To testify on her behalf.” Chloe shakes her head. “Neither do I, to be honest.”
“I doubt you will need to. She’s already confessed most of it. I’m guessing she’ll throw Ramsey Bane and any other coconspirators under the bus the minute Riggs leans on her for more information. We know she’ll do just about anything to save herself from spending the rest of her life in federal prison.”
“When will it happen? The trial?”
“Soon, I think. According to Simms, justice must be served with speed in order for the country to move on.” I snort. “And there’s a royal wedding to focus on, of course! Can’t have a pesky thing like treason interfering with my nuptials!”
Chloe lays her head on my shoulder. “You’ve had a hell of a week.”
“Hell of a year, actually.”
“God, I could really go for a Xanax right now,” Chloe murmurs.
I look over at her, alarmed.
“Don’t worry — I’m not going to take anything. I’ll call Dr. Hess over, have an emergency session. Talk out my feelings and all that shit.” She blows out a sharp breath. “But damn, I’d be lying if I told you the craving wasn’t there. It’s like a conditioned response. For a long time, when bad shit happened… especially bad shit stirred up by my mother… Drugs were my coping mechanism.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Just sit with me. I’ll be okay.” She smiles softly. “I finally feel stronger than my addiction. It’s a nice change.”
“I’m proud of you, Chloe.”
She closes her eyes, still smiling. “Truth be told? I’m pretty fucking proud of me, too.”
In mid May, Lady Octavia Thorne — former Duchess of Hightower, Dowager Queen Consort of Germania — adds several more monikers to her long list of titles.
Traitor to the Crown.
Felon in the First Degree.
Conspirator to Commit Murder.
She waves her right to a trail by a jury of her peers, perhaps realizing the evidence stacked against her is not going to fall in her favor. The plea bargain her lawyers agree upon — a full confession in return for life in prison without the possibility of parole — takes the death penalty off the table. It also ensures a speedy end to a very public spectacle.
For weeks, the Thorne name has been dragged through the mud. Not just Octavia’s but Chloe and Carter’s as well. They are painted in almost every publication as social-climbing scoundrels — clinging to the royal family for prestige, clawing their way to the top of Germanian polite society by any means necessary.
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