Take the Key and Lock Her Up (Embassy Row #3)(45)

“Jamie’s dead,” I say, the words automatic now. But neither of the women on the wall are fazed. I’m not surprised they don’t believe me.

“It doesn’t matter.” Ann gives a shrug. “As long as Amelia’s descendants survive, there remains a … problem.”

“And you think killing me and my brother is going to solve it?” I want to laugh. “Amelia lived two hundred years ago. There have got to be other descendants. Probably dozens. Maybe hundreds. Are you going to kill us all?”

“Wars have raged since then, Grace. Time has passed. Perhaps there are other descendants. Or maybe you and your brother are the end of the line.”

“Jamie’s dead,” I repeat.

“For your sake,” Ann says, studying me, “I almost hope that’s true.”

Suddenly, I’m too hot. The sun is too bright. I don’t want to be here. I want to turn and run all the way around the great walled city. I want to jump into the sea and swim away.

“What do you want?” I ask.

At this, Ann and Prime Minister Petrovic share a look.

“Your mother was the only child of an only child of an oldest child. We know this. We can trace her line back to Amelia. What we want is for your oldest child to sit on the throne of Adria,” the PM says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I thought the Society wanted to maintain a stable Europe?” I challenge.

But the PM is undaunted. “That is precisely what we want. And we intend to have it.”

They’re talking crazy, and I’m losing patience. “Say what you came here to say or I’m going to go ahead and kill you no matter what.”

I’m not prepared to hear Ann laugh. “Oh, Grace. You do have spirit. I hope my grandchildren inherit that from you.”

For a second I just stand atop the wall, stunned. And even as the words sink in, they still don’t quite make sense.

“You’re crazy,” I tell her, then turn to the PM. “She’s crazy. I’m serious. I think she is insane. And I’m something of an expert on the topic.”

“I assure you, Grace,” the PM says, “this matter is utterly serious. Hear her out. Please.” She almost chokes on the word.

“Amelia’s heir belongs on Adria’s throne, Grace,” Ann tells me, stopping only briefly to push her hair out of her face as the wind blows harder. “I’ve always wanted that. When I was a girl I wanted it more than anything. I still do. For a time, it seemed that I was Amelia’s heir, and I started trying to right this wrong then. I met the prince. I married the prince. Your mother and Karina and I … we thought we’d solved the problem. But I was the wrong princess.” The words are so surreal, so … crazy. I can’t quite believe this is happening when she says, “You are the right princess, and I want to end this. Now.”

“End it how?” I ask.

Ann smiles and shakes her head as if the answer should be the most obvious thing ever. “If Amelia’s heir marries the crown prince, then we are one generation from Amelia’s bloodline returning to its rightful place. All we need is a marriage. And a baby.”

“Baby?” I look at the PM. “Did she just say baby?”

“It is a tidy solution,” the PM says.

“You’re both crazy.”

“Grace, wait!” PM Petrovic calls out to me before I can leave. Or fight. Or … jump. The wind is in my face now, slapping me awake.

“Ann married the prince to put Amelia’s heir upon the throne. Now it is up to you to do the same.”

I know that she’s not joking—Prime Minister Petrovic doesn’t tease. But the earnest expressions that greet me don’t belong here. Someone’s playing a joke. Even if it is God.

“Please, Grace,” Ann says. “Let us end it.”

I look at the PM. “It would be best for everyone. For you. For your brother. For whatever children either of you might have,” she says.

“And the line in the constitution about what would happen if Amelia or her heirs were to show up? We’re supposed to forget about that, are we? If I’m right, your job would go away, wouldn’t it?” I ask the PM.

“Do you want anarchy?” she asks. It’s almost like a dare.

“I want a nap, Ms. Petrovic. I want a shower and the chance to wake up in the morning not terrified that someone’s gonna try to kill me. Again.”

She nods. “This plan gives you that, Grace. We can draw up papers. Your brother can abdicate the throne. And within a few years the succession will be secure. Amelia’s bloodline will be merged with the current royal family, and this will never be a problem again.”

“Okay. Fine. Then draw the papers up for me. Let me abdicate, too!”

“No.” PM Petrovic shakes her head. “As you said, there may be other heirs. There no doubt are other heirs. This needs to end, Grace. You need to end it. Put Amelia’s bloodline back where it belongs.”

“Bloodlines! You’re talking to me about bloodlines! As if I’m … livestock. How can you both stand there and talk about breeding me as if that’s all I’m good for?”

Ann actually smirks—she smiles—but there’s no joy in it. “Welcome to life as a princess.”