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Pippa blinks repeatedly, looking toward my grandmother, then my father, obviously surprised by my announcement.
“Why’s that?” my grandmother asks finally, her cold eyes turned on me. Her shoulders are squared, a slight smile curving her thin lips. Despite nearing her nineties, she’s still the picture of poise and grace.
“His relapses have gotten worse over the past month, so much so that he momentarily lost his vision during the coin toss the other night. His doctor recommended a course of daily intravenous steroids to diminish the severity of these relapses.”
“It’s my understanding he’s been taking oral corticosteroids since the incident in the States,” she replies with an air of authority.
“And they’re not working as well as Dr. Mills hoped. Anderson agreed to undergo a more aggressive steroid treatment. He’ll receive daily IVs for five days, after which the doctor recommends he rest to allow his body to adjust.”
“There must be a better option,” my grandmother snips out, obviously frustrated. “The timing couldn’t be worse.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” My voice oozes with sarcasm. “Should we have consulted you first to see when he should be allowed to have a relapse? In fact, we probably should have gotten your approval for him to be diagnosed in the first place.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Esme,” she scoffs.
“I’m not being ridiculous. Whatisridiculous is everyone in this room. My brother has been pushing and pushing himself, pretending he’s okay because of all of you.”
With every word I speak, my irritation with the situation increases, chest tightening, the beginning of a headache forming behind my eyes.
“He’s so damn scared of losing everything he’s worked hard for because you’ll see his diagnosis as a weakness.”
“We’re simply preparing ourselves,” she replies evenly. “In situations like these, it’s wise to consider all options. Make sure we have contingency plans in place in the event—”
“Contingency plans?” I exclaim before she can finish her thought. Not wanting her to finish her thought. Refusing to even entertain the notion of something horrible happening to my brother. “You’d do that to your own grandson?”
A sour taste forms in my mouth, my throat burning.
“Of course you would,” I sneer, not even trying to hide my disgust. “Not like you’ve ever seen us as people.”
“This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this.” She folds her hands on the table in front of her, holding her head high. “The privy council is a place to discuss matters impacting the monarchy. And your brother’s…condition certainly does just that.” She looks at Pippa. “What did your first round of polling suggest regarding how Prince Gabriel’s diagnosis might affect public opinion and the referendum?”
Pippa focuses her attention on her laptop, hurriedly typing away at it.
“It appears—”
“No.”
At the sound of my father’s commanding voice, all eyes shift to him. His normally analytical expression is intense, jaw clenched.
“Gabriel is my son,” he says gruffly, a subtle waver in his tone.
“I’m aware of who the heir apparent is,” my grandmother retorts dismissively.
“No,” he repeats, this time louder. “Not the heir apparent.” He stands, his tall frame formidable as he towers over all of us.
Including my grandmother.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her flinch or back down. Yet right now, she sinks a little in her chair.
“Myson,” Dad continues. “Not a what. A who.”
He glares at my grandmother for what feels like an eternity, his stare icy. Then he turns, all eyes on him as he walks toward the window, looking out over the famous Lamberside Palace gardens. The vibrant flowers that line them during the spring and summer have since died, the grass and hedges coated white from a fresh dusting of snow.
My mother may not have lived at the palace long, but she loved the gardens. Would often bundle Anderson and me up in our winter coats and drag us outside to build a snowman, to hell with how the royal household thought we should behave.
Every time I see snow, I think of building a snowman with my mother. I wonder if that’s what my father’s thinking about, too.
“I didn’t stand up for Grace when she was diagnosed,” he begins softly. “Not like I should have.” He glances over his shoulder, his blue eyes finding mine. “It’s the greatest regret of my life. And you can be damn sure I won’t make the same mistake again.” He strides back to the table, nothing but raw determination in his expression.
