“Don’t be trapped by the occasional dazzle and the attentive staff and some image of yourself as a sunlit, gracious royal, carefully posed beside Edgar on a magazine cover. That’s only publicity, and whatever pleasure it holds fades, rather quickly. And then it’s just the two of you, behind barbed wire and brick walls and armed guards, making a life, as best you can. Think it through.”

Why was Maureen telling me this? Was she being straightforward and helpful, as a battle-toughened veteran, or maneuvering to eliminate me? Her face was, as always, masklike, and I wondered what would happen if she ever cried.

“Maureen—do you regret marrying Gerald?”

She uttered the tiniest sigh. “No. Of course not. But at times, I regret marrying everything else.”

“Triscuits or saltines?” asked Edgar, carrying boxes of both. “Maureen? I thought you’d gone back to London.”

“On my way. I just wanted to check in with our boy here, who seems to be on the mend. Please feel better, Carter, and think about what I’ve said. I’m one of the few people with a firsthand perspective. And Edgar, do take better care of Carter. No more rainbow trifle.”

She touched my hand and left.

“What is she talking about? What did she tell you?”

“That I should rest and drink fluids and try not to barf on her shoes again. She was fine. Very sweet.”

This was the first time I’d deliberately lied to Edgar. Through my exhausted haze, I managed to sit up on the edge of the cot.

“Carter, I’ve come to like Maureen, but the one thing she’s not is sweet. What did one of the tabloids call her? ‘The Pink Piranha’?”

“Okay,” I said, resolving not to dance around my most recent fiasco. “I know that today wasn’t my fault, sort of, but it’s part of a pattern. I can’t keep embarrassing you and forcing you to look chipper and put a smiley-face spin on everything and tell me I’m doing great. It’s not fair to either of us, but especially not to you. Or to all those queer kids watching us and thinking, ‘You know, maybe being straight isn’t such a bad idea after all.’ I just, I’m . . .”

I was grasping for some adequate phrase, to let Edgar off the hook. I couldn’t look in his eyes.

Harriet was standing a few feet away. “Mr. Ogden?” she asked. “And Your Highness? May I have a word?”

“Of course,” said Edgar, although there was nothing I could say to make amends with Harriet after what I’d done to her.

“Mr. Ogden, I’m so sorry about your physical distress, and I need to apologise for the trifle.”

“No no no, it’s not your fault, and your trifle was fantastic, you deserved to win . . .”