“Because either they will, or you will.” Talia stood up. “Those are the only two ways this ends, and you might want to think about which way you want this to go before you decide to storm the castle.”

••••

“Your Ladyship. Your Ladyship!” Reporters still shouted from outside the gate, and tourists turned to stare as she handed off the keys to the Land Rover to a pocked-faced young man with a stereotypical deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression.

A camera flashed to her right. She turned to stare down the perpetrator, who quickly jammed a phone in his pocket and scuttled back into the crowd. Archie and Charlie hadn’t been wrong about the throngs of reporters, first at Emma’s and then at the castle. Honestly, she hadn’t known there were enough reporters in the entire region to create such a stir, but then again, she’d seen a crew from Edinburgh on her way through Newpeth, so maybe this wasn’t just a local story anymore.

Her stomach lurched for about the tenth time in as many minutes, but she kept her chin up and her eyes forward as she marched into the courtyard and through the main hall. She’d managed a short interview back in Amberwick, giving the assembled press the official line on her night out. She’d kept her cool and hoped she’d managed to appear bemused by all the attention. Sadly, she’d had plenty of practice at handling unwanted and unwarranted ambushes after Robert outed her a few years ago, but the prospect of returning to that sort of vigilance as a way of life made her stomach do another somersault.

Weaving between staff and visitors alike, she bounded up the stairs and made a sharp turn toward the residence. A security guard nodded his recognition and stepped aside but had the good sense not to say anything. Surely everyone on staff knew what was happening, at least on the outside, but none of them could know about the battle ripping apart her insides, and she preferred to keep it that way.

She’d held herself together in front of Sophia and Emma and the reporters, but with each step another tiny part of her resolve cracked. Her feet fell heavy on stone floors, and each strike of her heel served as a drumbeat for her breakdown chant. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

She didn’t even know where she was going until she skidded to a stop at the half-open door to the family chapel. She stared at the room she hadn’t entered in months. Suddenly, now felt like as good a time as any to call on a higher power.

Jaw clenched, fists balled, she stepped inside. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the muted light filtered through stained glass. She trained her gaze on the large cross hanging above the altar.

“Oh God,” she said more pointedly. “Please do not do this to me . . . again.”