Until now, Princess Eva Windsor was content in knowing she wasn't remotely considered to be the successor to the throne. In fact, she was glad she wasn't. Everything about her family's royalty she hated.
But the princess can't hide away forever, and...
"Being his real brother I could feel I live in his shadows, but I never have and I do not now. I live in his glow." - Michael Morpurgo
A month passes in nothing more than a blur. After my plate-throwing evening with James, I don't see him again as he takes a visit to Balmoral to pay some respects with other members of my family. His quest for a bride goes on hold for the month of mourning and I spend my days speaking to a therapist specialised in grief and loss and do my best to avoid all outside press and the constant request for a comment as the new heir to the throne.
The more that time passes, the more my brain numbs itself to the pain I feel. The counselling helps – admittedly the woman knows her stuff and after almost two weeks of full-on crying I can now speak my brother's name without bursting into tears or hyperventilating. My parents walk on eggshells around me, not once bringing up my new position as the heir to their throne or talking to me about what the hell my life will now entail. Dad shuts himself away in his office and cries most days and I know my mother is doing her best to outwardly act as if she is okay but I can tell she is holding it together by a thread.
It's late summer now and as per my therapist's request, I have been trying to spend more of my time outside. I sit by the pool, the book I haven't been able to concentrate on for weeks propped up on my lap, my feet sloshing around in the cool water. The one single thing I can tolerate right now - music - is pouring into my ears from my headphones. I have had the same few songs on repeat, all heavy electronic, drum and bass style that have no words. I'd usually turn my nose up at anything you couldn't sing to, but lately, a lot of noise lets me know I'm not alone.
I'm concentrating on the beat of the song when a cold hand presses down onto my shoulder and my body lurches forward in fright. I can't save myself from crashing into the pool, dragging my phone in with me.
As I resurface gasping for air, I rip my sunglasses off and find Adam above the water's edge.
"What the hell?" I splutter, pulling myself out of the pool.
"Your Highness," Adam addresses as I grab my towel. I squeeze out my hair and rub the ends on the towel. "I do apologise I scared you. I tried calling your name several times but you did not hear me."
"Oh," is all I say.
"Your father has requested an audience, but first, Her Majesty Queen Katherine has reminded you that you have a meeting now, an important one."
"Looking like this?" I point to my dribbling wet appearance. Adam shifts on his foot and turns over his shoulder.
"Your shirt, Ethan."
The other guard blinks at Adam stunned. "Excuse me, sir?"
"Your shirt for her royal highness," Adam repeats.
Ethan doesn't need to be told again. I watch as the secret service agent unfastens his suit jacket and starts to unbutton his shirt.
"It's not really necessary," I say quickly as poor Ethan starts to tug off his shirt. "What is he going to wear?"
"Some time today, Ethan," Adam drawls, ignoring me and I watch as Ethan frantically tugs off the last of his shirt and holds it out to me.
I roll my eyes at the theatrics of this moment and glance back at Adam. "Where is this meeting being held, then?"
*
With the mourning period meaning little people who were not family were allowed to remain in the palace, the girls on James' list were removed to Clarence House, a fifteen-minute car journey from here.
It appears the mourning period is over because the girls are back, immaculately dressed and not tear-stained and puffy from consistently crying.
I'm announced into the room, my hair dripping water and my shorts sodden through, but I am wearing Ethan's shirt and it's long enough to cover the evidence of my shower in the pool.
I take my place in the only remaining seat – a deep green armchair in the corner of the room. It's one of the rooms that are typically toured on the side of the palace that the public gets to visit. I try to ignore the obvious puddle I will be leaving behind on the ten-thousand-pound armchair.
"Attention ladies," Queen Katherine's voice rings out and the chatter hushes. A door to the side of the room swings open and James saunters in, leaning against the wall beside his mother with a kind of ease that makes me want to punch him in the mouth. I haven't clapped eyes on the guy since we threw his mother's plates and if the gods weren't mean enough, he seems to look better each time I see him. He's got on a white shirt that is tucked into smart dark grey trousers, his first two shirt buttons undone and a pair of sunglasses are dangling in the gap. His hair is styled but messy and his green eyes swing around the room bored until they land on me and the corner of his lips twitch.
"On the second Tuesday of the month, you will join me and my son as we host a garden party for some well-esteemed guests here at the palace. These guests include diplomats, foreign secretaries and distant relatives of the Windsor's. You are now being handed out a folder with our guest's information inside. I want you to memorise every face and learn every detail. It is important that when you are queen you can maintain good conversation skills and appear personable. There is nothing these guests love more than feeling like they are important which is why these personal details matter."
The girls all nod respectively and some paw through the thick file with unease. I let mine settle on my lap, uninterested in what was inside. The file is thicker than my longest fantasy book and it's already giving me a headache.
"Now if you will excuse me, ladies." Queen Katherine moves to leave the room, squeezing her son's forearm as she passes. "I will see you in a few day's time."
I move to leave too as the room erupts again with a conversation but feel a pair of evil eyes hot on my back. I turn to watch as Henna stares at my movements, her lips curling at the state of me but I am in no mood for playing games.
"My portrait is over there if you want to look at me more," I turn my head to the portrait I know is hanging behind my head.
Some of the girls look to Henna with amusement in their eyes but before Henna can respond, James flops down into an armchair in the centre of all the girls and shoots me a wink, the girls immediately yearning for his attention.
Something flops in my stomach. I know he did it for me.
It's the little miracles, I remind myself.
Thank you for reading! x
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