The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(125)
The camera falls back onto the journalist, his face obviously solemn. “The details are sketchy and the crash site cornered off for a mile in every direction,” he goes on. “Not much is clear, only one thing. We’ve lost our King and the world is in mourning.” Shock eats my muscles away, and I drop to my knees before the screen, transfixed by the man who is telling me that my father is dead.
I hear Josh curse from behind me, helpless, and I hear the door fly open. I cast my bleary gaze across the room, where Tammy has a laptop in her arms, a disturbed look on her face. “Prince John was on board, too.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Josh’s hands go to his hair, and my eyes fall to my lap, darting chaotically. “He can’t have been,” I choke quietly, trying to straighten out my tangled head. Think clearly. “No, it can’t be.”
Josh joins me on the floor, taking my hands and feeling. “Adeline?”
“John couldn’t have been on the flight,” I say again, this time clearer, looking across to Tammy. “The Monarch and the Heir Apparent never travel together. For this exact reason.” My hand shoots to the television, though I can’t bring myself to look. “My father would never have broken age-old rules. He was a stickler for rules.” Never would the King have let John travel with him. I just know he wouldn’t.
Tammy shakes her head, as if she doesn’t know what to say. “I’m just telling you what my source has told me.”
“Your source must be wrong.” I stand, and it takes me a while, my legs like jelly. “What if everyone is wrong?” This time, I do look at the TV, and I wish I hadn’t. There’s an aerial view of a field, the crumpled remains of the royal helicopter scattered over every square meter of it. “Oh my God.” I’m pulled back, my face forced away from the TV. “I need my phone,” I demand, heading for Tammy. “I need to call Damon.”
“I turned it off in case they were tracking you.” She pulls it from her pocket quickly, and once I’ve wrestled with my trembling hands to switch it on, I see the dozens and dozens of missed calls from Damon, Davenport, even my mother. And I know that the nightmare behind me being broadcasted to every country in the world is true. My hands shake as I fight to unlock the screen, and when I eventually dial Damon, he answers with it barely ringing. The tone of his voice is like I have never heard before. Anxious. It adds credence to the reported news. “Adeline, where are you?”
Emotion tightens my throat. “Tell me they’re wrong,” I sob, feeling Josh close behind me, ready to catch me when my fears are confirmed. “Tell me there’s been a massive mistake.”
“I can’t,” Damon breathes, and I fold, agony ripping me in two, my cries wretched and broken. I can’t keep hold of the phone, can’t keep myself upright. My landing is softened by Josh, and he finds my mobile, taking over the call.
“Damon, it’s Josh.” He uses his free arm to pull my jerking body onto his lap, and I make myself as small as I can in his chest, my mind muddled, my devastation growing. “And John?” he asks, following it up with a curse.
“No,” I cry, pushing my face into Josh’s chest, like I can disappear into my heaven and escape this hell. His hand is on the back of my head, holding, stroking, trying to comfort me.
“I’ll bring her back now,” Josh says, all kinds of unease in his voice. “You need to prepare for her arrival … Yes … Good.” He hangs up, but he doesn’t move, keeping us on the floor, holding me. “I need to take you back to Claringdon, baby.”
“This is all my fault.” Regret and guilt tear through me, destroying everything in their path. Destroying me.
“No,” Josh snaps. “Don’t you start talking like that, Adeline.” He forces me from his body, looking fuming mad, but his hands in contrast stroke my face softly. “You didn’t tell him to follow you to Scotland. You didn’t tell him to chase you back to London.”
My chin trembles uncontrollably. “I need to see my mum. And Eddie. I need to see Eddie.”
“I’m taking you back now.” He looks past me to Tammy, giving her a sharp nod. “It’ll be chaos outside the palace. The Met are controlling the growing crowds and Damon is sending a few more cars to escort us.”
“Got it.”
“The press release?”
“I stalled.” Tammy doesn’t sound apologetic. “I … I wanted to make sure you were as sure this morning.”
Josh breathes out, obviously relieved. “Adeline.” He coaxes me out of his lap gently. “You need to dress, baby. I’m taking you home.”
I don’t have the will or inclination to make myself look half decent. So Josh is forced to dress me himself, while I try to wrap my mind around what is happening.
I can’t.
This can’t be real.
THE BLACKED-OUT WINDOWS ARE THE only thing between Josh and me and the rest of the world. Swarms of people—bystanders, journalists, news networks from across the world—are camping outside Claringdon, the police presence the most prolific I have ever known.
Our convoy is forced to a crawl as we near the gates, a police motorcycle leading the way. Everything is a blur. Sound, movements, sights. I feel like I’m floating on the outside looking in on the carnage. Lights flash, people shout. There are even officers manhandling people out of our path. The palace beyond the gold railings and gates looks gloomy, the usual glittering golden detail dull. The flags are at half-mast, every curtain at the dozens and dozens of windows drawn. My limp hand in Josh’s is squeezed tightly, though I am unable to acknowledge his gesture, not with a return flex of my hand, nor by looking at him, when I know he is looking at me. I haven’t spoken a word since we were chaperoned from the apartment. All I can hear are the reporter’s haunting words. All I can see is the helicopter in a million broken pieces scattered across a field. More tears tumble, more desolation and guilt attacks me.