The queen winked at her, and then all at once, she morphed into her grandmother. “How about Grandmama for this conversation?”
Some of Ele’s tension drained away. “Of course.”
“You look lovely.”
Not ready for a compliment, Ele smiled tentatively. “Thank you. Beatrix is a master.”
“Well, one can be when one has a beautiful canvas with which to work.”
Ele’s hands rubbed once across her thighs. It was hard to resist Lilian when she was being charming. Ele merely bowed her head in acknowledgment.
“You have questions, I’m sure.”
The thing was, she didn’t really have any. Robert’s story had rung true for her. The father he’d described was the one she had grown up with. Indulgent but firm, committed to his duty as both a father and a crown prince, loving. She remembered the shift in her family around the time of Jamie’s diagnosis. She’d refused to leave Jamie’s side through his leukemia treatments, so they’d turned one of the palace rooms into a hospital room, and the two of them had weathered his illness together. Even though her father had had another son, Ele never doubted his love for his family.
“No.”
Her grandmother speculatively eyed her. “Hmm,” she hummed. “But you have things to say.”
Until then, she hadn’t really known what she was going to say. She glanced at Jamie, and he nodded his head, her adoring brother who always had her back. Then, to Robert. It had been easy to forgive Jamie for sending Robert away after learning the truth. What had there been for her to be mad about? Robert watched her though, like he was expecting her to put something together.
Lilian and Jamie, they’d needed a catalyst. It hadn’t occurred to her to question how things had gone so horribly astray the night of the gala, how easy it had been for the paps to surround her. The palace was a fortress, her security team a well-oiled machine. There was no chance of failure because they covered every angle. The only way for the press to crawl out of the woodwork like a swarm of rats was if the cheese had been planted for them. A breach of security was the only way they could send Robert away.
“You set me up,” she said suddenly.
Robert looked proud, Jamie slightly horrified, and the queen triumphant.
Lilian was still a gorgeous woman, and when
she rose to her feet, with her crown planted perfectly into her coifed hair, Ele got chills. She was that magnificent. The queen sauntered around her desk toward Ele. The queen’s gaze turned inward, and Ele knew she was remembering the terrible day she’d lost her son.
“It was time, my dear. We should have pushed you harder, made you face up to what had happened. But once Robert took over your detail, we got complacent, and we let you slip away. To think, it was your interactions with that footballer that made us all stop and reevaluate. I’m sure you will be livid about the heavy-handed manipulation when you’ve had time to really digest it. But it came from a good place.”
Ele almost scoffed. She should be mad. But right at the moment, most of her anger was directed at Jamie. The queen was the queen, and she was going to do what she wanted. For some reason, Ele didn’t hold Robert accountable. But Jamie’s betrayal hurt more than anything.
“Still,” the queen went on, “as much as I am indebted to Mr. Davenport, it has to be over. You are still a princess, the second in line for the throne, the mother of the future king or queen. And I’ve entered into an agreement with Lord Barrington. With the current political situation, I am afraid I can’t renege on our agreement. A joining of our two houses will go far to stabilize the call for succession.” Queen Lilian’s stare bore down on Ele. “I’m afraid you must put a stop to this relationship.”
Ele locked eyes with her grandmother and held on. There were tomes of information exchanged but not one morsel of apology. A glint shone in the eyes, so like her own, and Ele knew the pillars of hopes for her relationship with Tristan were about to be bowled over.
“Unless, of course …” The queen’s index finger came up to rest against her mouth, like some divine inspiration was about to flow from her lips. Lilian looked to Jamie, her brow raised. “There’s always Juliana.” The queen merely raised her brow before she withdrew to move behind her desk, the grandmother portion of this discussion clearly at an end.
Ele’s wide eyes met Jamie’s.
“So, it’s me or Juliana?”
“You simplify.” Lilian sat regally in her plush chair, placed her elbows on her desk, and clasped her hands together.
“Sophie’s choice,” Ele mumbled.
Here it was—the elusive test. Duty over self.
If the queen deigned to roll her eyes, she would have. “This is about the preservation of our country, in a way that doesn’t involve violence or arrests.”
“The public, in every part of our country, loved the thought of Tristan and me. It could help.”
“A pop in public opinion, yes. A long-term solution to a problem that has plagued the monarchy for decades? No.”
She dragged her eyes away from her grandmother and found Jamie’s. She’d expected contriteness, regret, begging. Instead, her twin’s gaze dared her. The boy she’d held through chemo, who she’d shored up after his illness, whose legacy she would preserve with the birth of her children, did not want her forgiveness or her capitulation. He challenged her to take what was hers, what she wanted, to be the girl he relied on to do what she needed.