Mag-log inLiam's POVQueen Helen's private sitting room was smaller than most of the rooms in the palace that I had been in for official purposes. No long table. No formal arrangement of chairs designed to communicate hierarchy before anyone sat down. Just a room that a person actually lived in …with books on the shelf that had been read rather than displayed, a writing desk with papers that had not been tidied for our arrival, two armchairs and a small sofa arranged around a low table.It felt more like her than any other room I had been in.She was standing when we arrived, which was the formal version of receiving us. She gestured to the sofa and waited until we had sat before she sat in the armchair across from us … not the one at the head of any imaginary table, just across, the way people sat when the conversation was meant to be between equals rather than between a queen and two people who needed something from her."Thank you for agreeing to meet with us," Ken said."You are the King,"
Liam's POVI had been sitting with the question for weeks.Not because I was afraid of the answer … you know, I had stopped being afraid of most things that required honest conversation somewhere around the time I had stood in a coronation hall and watched Ken say what he said. But because the question had a shape to it that was difficult to hold, and every time I had come close to raising it, something else had arrived that made it feel like the wrong moment.The council review. The kidnap attempt. The court proceedings.There was always something.But we were sitting in the palace garden on a Tuesday afternoon with nothing urgent pressing from any direction, and Ken was reading something on his tablet. Maybe for the fact that I was not reading anything, the question was sitting in my chest the way it always sat when I had been carrying it for too long."Ken," I said.He looked up."I need to ask you something," I said. "And I need you to not have a prepared answer. I need you to act
King Ken's POV.I got to Jenny's office and knocked on her office door… that was 7AM.She looked up from her desk with the expression she wore when she was already 3 hours into her day and was not surprised to see me but was waiting to find out what I needed."I need you to clear tomorrow," I said.She looked at me. "Clear it entirely?""No engagements," I said. "No council. No press. No schedule whatsoever."She held her pen over the page for a moment. "For the full day?""Yeah, for the full day." I confirmed.She wrote something in the margin of the schedule in front of her … not on the schedule itself, in the margin, which was Jenny's way of noting something she was going to handle without it becoming part of the official record. Then she looked up at me."Anything else?" she said."No," I said. "That is everything."She nodded once and looked back at her work, which was Jenny's way of telling me the conversation was concluded and she had what she needed.I had not explained furthe
Liam's POVThe sentence was read at 11 in the morning.‘Community service … 200 hours, to be completed within 18 months. A permanent ban from palace employment and any royal household affiliated positions. A formal caution on her record. No prison time, in recognition of her full and immediate cooperation with the investigation and her willingness to testify against Uncle Jones without requiring compulsion.’The judge delivered it in the same flat, unhurried voice that courtrooms used for everything, and Rhoda stood and received it with her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes looking at the floor.I was in the gallery.Ken had offered to come. Although I had told him this was something I needed to attend on my own, which he had accepted without argument … we had both gotten better at accepting those boundaries without making them into something they were not.I watched Rhoda from the gallery as the sentence was confirmed and the formal proceedings closed, and I sat with whateve
Liam's POVThe message came through on a number I did not have saved.‘It's Eric. I know you have no reason to agree to this. But I would like to talk. Somewhere neutral. Not the palace and not the school. Just a conversation. You can say no.’I read it twice.Then I put the phone face down on the table and sat with it for a few minutes, which was something I had gotten better at over the last several months … sitting with things before responding to them rather than acting on the first instinct that arrived.The first instinct was to say no.The second instinct was to wonder what he actually had to say.I picked the phone back up.‘Name the place,’ I typed.*****He chose a small café on the east side of the city … the kind of place that had no particular connection to either of our worlds, which was probably the point. Ordinary tables, ordinary noise and I could bet that nobody would recognise either of us or care if they did.I got there first.He arrived 7 minutes later, which tol
Uncle Jones's POVThe courtroom was larger than I had expected.I had been in many formal rooms in my life … council chambers, palace halls, negotiating rooms in foreign ministries — and I had learned to read a room by its architecture before anyone in it said a single word. This one was designed to communicate that the institution it housed was permanent and the people who passed through it were temporary.High ceilings. Solid wood. And the specific gravity of a space that had been doing this work for generations and intended to continue.I sat at the defendant's table and looked at the room without expression.My lawyer … a careful, experienced man named Quartey who had handled cases considerably more complicated than this one — sat beside me with his files arranged in the specific order that people arranged files when they had a plan they believed in.Although, I was less certain about the plan than he was.The charges were read by the court clerk in the flat, unhurried voice that







