Page 150 of The Unlikely Heir
Clive looks up from where he’s engrossed in his tablet.
“We need to prepare a press statement,” he says.
Something close to hysteria wells inside me. I almost laugh.
What was so important to me a few days ago suddenly doesn’t matter.
“What? We’d like to formally announce that the Prince of Wales is in love with the prime minister? Oh, and someone tried to shoot Prince Callum but hit the prime minister instead,” I say. “I’m fairly sure most of the world is up to date with these facts.”
Clive grimaces, but I don’t care.
Can’t he see it doesn’t matter? Nothing matters but Oliver surviving.
But the grimness on Clive’s face is nothing compared to the expressions of the next people who arrive in the room.
Two plainclothes detectives along with a woman in a police uniform. Their faces are so somber they wouldn’t look out of place at a funeral.
The female policewoman bends to whisper something in Gran’s ear.
Gran instantly goes pale, her hands trembling.
My grandmother, who I’ve hardly seen flinch, looks like she’s just been sucker punched. Completely and utterly devastated.
My breath rushes out of me.
Oh my god.
Would the queen be the first person they’d tell if the prime minister died?
My stomach flips, and suddenly, I feel like I’m falling down a dark chasm. I can’t cope if Oliver’s dead. I won’t be able to live with Oliver giving up his life to save mine. Tears overwhelm my eyes, but I can’t rip my gaze away from Gran, who is standing slowly, like every movement costs her more energy than she has to give.
“I’m just stepping outside for a moment,” she says.
“What is it? Is Oliver okay?” I don’t recognize my voice. It’s so raw with pain.
“I don’t know about Oliver. I just know I need to step outside.”
Amelia’s on her feet immediately. “I’ll come with you, Gran.”
“No, you stay here, Amelia.” The look she gives Amelia is blazing with fury, so sharp with anger that I recoil.
Amelia shrinks back too.
What the hell is going on?
The door has barely shut behind Gran and her security team before one of the detectives approaches Amelia.
“Princess Amelia, I am a member of the Metropolitan Police. You are formally under arrest for conspiracy to murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you fail to mention when questioned something which you rely later on in court.”
The words hit me like a freight train, slamming my breath out of me.
Conspiracy to murder?
They can’t mean…. They can’t mean…
My whole face feels numb.
“Amelia?” Her name slips from my lips before I can stop it, her whole name a question mark. I’m on my feet, vaguely aware that Nicholas has stood too.
