In a surprising show of chivalry, Carter hops out of the front seat and pulls open my door before any of the servants have a chance. He reaches for the folded wheelchair by my feet, but I shake my head to stop him.
His brows lift in question. Our gazes clash and, suddenly, we’re having one of our wordless conversations.
What the hell do you think you’re doing?
I’m walking in there on my own two feet!
Don’t be stubborn, Emilia.
Don’t tell me what to do, Carter.
You’re impossible.
He sighs, as if he’s already regretting this, and offers me his arm to help me down. I grab it gratefully, ignoring the tinge of pain that shoots through my leg whenever I put any weight on it. In full view of the household staff, we hobble slowly from the SUV toward the stairs. I feel Galizia and Riggs hovering behind us, waiting to step in if I fall. But I know Carter won’t let that happen.
It takes a long time to make it a dozen feet — an embarrassingly long time. But I do it with my head held high and my face composed.
I will not be brought to my knees by a senseless act of terror.
I will not cower or hide from those who wish to destroy me.
I am Emilia Victoria Lancaster.
The Crown Princess of Germania.
The Heir Apparent.
The People’s Princess.
I will not falter.
Not now, when they’re looking to me for strength.
Not ever again.
No one laughs at me. No one looks bored or restless or annoyed by my crawling pace. They look… proud. As though they know exactly why I have to make this halting, heartbroken walk on my own volition. As though they understand perfectly that I am reclaiming something here, step by step, inch by inch.
By the time we make it to the bottom of the stairs, I’m breathing hard, leaning heavily on Carter, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He supports my weight easily, keeping me steady when I begin to sway off balance.
My eyes meet Simms’ and, between the space of one blink and the next, they fill to the brim with tears. I’ve never been so glad to see the pudgy Press Secretary in my life. His absurd pinstripe suit, that familiar pompous expression. Last I saw him, he was standing onstage beside me in the middle of the melee. I wasn’t even sure he got to safety in time, and I was too afraid to ask. I couldn’t bear to add another casualty to my kill-list.
It’s long enough already.
He’s looking a bit red around the eyes as he walks down the steps to us. He stops a customary four feet away, always careful to leave a proper margin of distance between himself and the royals he serves.
“Welcome home, Your Majesty.” His voice is thick with unspoken emotions. “I’m— I’m quite relieved to have you back here, safe and sound, where you belong.”
I wait a beat, simply staring at him. Trying to think of something suitable to say. Finally, I decide the best way to express what I’m feeling isn’t with words at all. Launching my body forward, I fling my arms around his massive shoulders and hug him as tight as I can manage.
“Oh!” he exclaims stiffly, stunned beyond words. He doesn’t return the hug but, when I release him, I notice his eyes are glossed over with tears. He dabs at them with an embroidered handkerchief as he pivots around to flee back up the steps, muttering some excuse about Lady Morrell needing him.
Old softie.
I start to sway again, but Carter’s suddenly there — looping his hand around my waist, taking on my weight. I wind my arm around his back and press my fingers into his side, eyeing the long set of stairs stretching upward to the door.
“Thank you for helping me,” I whisper under my breath, wondering how the hell we’re going to make it all the way to the top.
“You can thank meafterwe make it up these damn steps,” he growls darkly. “And then thank me again later, when I call your doctor back to treat you for overexerting yourself with this pigheaded endeavor.”