Invasion: A Sequel to The Last Princess (3 page)

Later that night, I stood in front of the vanity mirror in a guest room, brushing my hair. During my time in the New Guard, a furious Portia had hacked off my long chestnut hair close to my head, so close that I was almost bald. Now it was finally back to its normal length. Standing here in the palace, brushing my hair with a silver-handled brush that once belonged to my mother, I could almost pretend that I was a child again. That I would wake up, and this would all be one bad dream. “Eliza?” Mary said softly, opening the door. She’d tried to get me to take my old room back, but I refused. It was full of too many ghosts. “Come with me. I want to show you something.” She smiled, holding out a set of tarnished keys.

“Um … now?” I shrugged and pulled on a robe, intrigued. Mary wasn’t often spontaneous like this. “Okay.”

The moonlight lit up the hallways and staircases. Running across the polished wood floors in our bare feet, we began to giggle. A chambermaid looked up at us in surprise, and I realized that Mary probably didn’t laugh much, not anymore. The orphaned queen of a ravaged, war-torn country—what would she laugh about?

It wasn’t until we were almost there that I realized where we were going. I stopped in my tracks. “Mary … ,” I began uncertainly, but she knew what I meant.

“Yes,” she said, grinning. “The dress room.”

I drew back in disbelief. “I thought Hollister’s army burned that section of the palace.”

Mary shook her head. “The flames didn’t reach it.” She tugged at my hand, dragging me along after her. “Now come on! We have some gowns to choose.”

The dress room could barely be called a room. It was really an entire floor, just below the servants’ quarters, filled with all the dresses worn by past queens and princesses of England—and the crown jewels. Before the Seventeen Days, it had been highly guarded, with fingerprint scanners and electronic security. Now a simple padlock stretched across the door.

Mary slipped a key in the lock, and we stepped inside. I wrinkled my nose; it smelled like sachets and cedar.

“Which one are you wearing?” I assumed she had selected her wedding dress months ago. I knew how much she loved pretty things.

“I was waiting for you,” she said simply. “You think I’d pick out my dress without the help of my maid of honor?”

I reached out to take her hand in mine, squeezing it softly.

We began to sift through the dresses that ran the length of the room, each of them marked with a little tag labeling who had worn it and to what occasion. I followed Mary to the section reserved for wedding dresses, letting my hand slide along the gowns as we passed—soft, creamy satin; thick netted tulle; heavy beaded skirts and light summer shifts. I’d never admit it to Mary, but this
was
all beautiful.

“You’ve always loved playing dress-up,” I said.

“And you’ve always been a good sport at humoring me.” Mary held up Princess Diana’s wedding dress with a raised eyebrow, and we both burst out laughing. The dress was stunning, with its full skirt and puffy sleeves, layers upon layers of silk and toile and rosettes. But it didn’t look like Mary at all.

“You’d drown in that,” I said giggling, trying to imagine such a dress on her tiny frame. “You’d literally have to come up for air.”

We caught sight of the next dress and both fell silent. It was a long strapless gown with tiny rosettes across the bodice—our mother’s. I brought it to my nose, breathed in deeply, but there was no trace left of her scent. Mary took it from my hand and gently placed it back on the rack, neither of us saying a word. We weren’t ready to face this ghost, not yet.

“Oh, Mary,” I gasped, as she pulled out the gown our grandmother Queen Kate had worn. With its lace overlay and narrow wrists, it was beautiful and classic.

Without a word, Mary slipped off her nightgown and shimmied into the antique dress. My hands trembled as I fastened the buttons up the back.

“This is it,” she whispered. I nodded, looking over her shoulder at her reflection. We had all seen the pictures of Grandma Kate at her wedding, like a dark-haired fairy princess, soft and lovely. But on Mary, with her white-blonde hair and porcelain skin, the dress turned into something almost dangerous, glittering and sharp-edged. For the first time, I wondered how history would remember my sister. She was the queen who’d defeated a dictator. Would they think of her as a warrior?

“Your turn!” Mary chirped, and I followed her back to the front of the room to look through all the other gowns, for cocktail parties and black tie events and summer garden parties—things we would never have again in this new world.

“Such a shame,” Mary murmured, looking at a dress that had belonged to Queen Elizabeth. “Look how damaged this is. The fabric is coming apart at the seams.” She sighed. “I guess it’s true that nothing lasts forever.”

“You and Eoghan will,” I said. More than anything, I wanted my sister to have a long, happy life with the man she loved. “I’ve missed you, Mary,” I went on. “I’m sorry if I haven’t said it before, but I’m so happy for both of you.”

“It’s strange,” she said, raising her eyes to meet mine. “This might be the only good thing that came out of the Seventeen Days—me and Eoghan, I mean.”

In the old world, a queen or princess could never have married someone who used to work in the stables. Of course, there hadn’t been arranged marriages for centuries. But all the women whose dresses we’d tried on tonight—Princess Diana, Grandma Kate, our mother—had come from wealthy and well-connected families. Those were the types of men who would have courted Mary if the Seventeen Days had never happened. It was only in the aftermath of the disaster that she even began to get to know Eoghan, let alone fall in love with him. Now, the fact that he used to take care of our horses seemed immaterial. Things like that didn’t matter anymore.

“Look at this!” Mary pulled an apple-green dress with a delicate gold neckline off the rack. “I know you’d never wear it, but maybe for Polly … ?” She stepped forward into a ray of moonlight, and I suddenly realized how dark the circles under her eyes were.

“Mary,” I proceeded carefully. “Do you think you might … slow down a little, after you’re married? Maybe take a vacation—a honeymoon?” Mary was doing her best to rebuild the government, but she was running the entire country essentially on her own.

Mary laughed. “And where exactly would we go? It’s not like I can just hop over to Rome. Now come on, help me find your maid of honor dress.”

I sighed and followed my sister’s footsteps, knowing that she wouldn’t slow down anytime soon.

* * *

The next morning, Buckingham Palace was busier than it had been in years. Servants polished the silver and the brass doorknobs, waxed the wood floors, aired out all the oriental rugs. Tonight was the rehearsal dinner, and everyone wanted the palace spotless for Mary.

I was in the stables, brushing Caligula’s coat, when Mary ran up behind me, breathless.

“I have a surprise for you,” she exclaimed. “Come on!”

I gave Caligula one last pat and followed Mary out into the courtyard. Up the grand path, I saw a simple wooden carriage approaching the palace, pulled by four stout workhorses.

I stepped closer. There was something familiar about the horses and the carriage, but I couldn’t quite place it. Then I spotted a girl looking out from the window, and I took off running.

“Polly!” I yelled, hurrying through the front gates and up to the carriage. The driver pulled the horses to a halt as Polly opened the door and reached out to pull me inside. Laughing, we hugged each other so strongly that we fell backward on the seat.

I hadn’t seen Polly since Mary’s coronation last summer. It felt like years. With the brutal winter, travel to and from Scotland had become practically impossible. But somehow, Polly and her parents had made it here.

Mary greeted us just inside the palace gate. She was thrilled to see them all again, especially Polly’s mother and father, who were like parents to us in the wake of our own parents’ deaths. When I fell ill from infection after my time in the New Guard, Polly’s mother nursed me back to health, never leaving my side even when I was near death.

“Mr. McGregor,” Mary said, helping Polly’s father down the steps of the carriage. “Thank you so much for coming. I was wondering—” she hesitated, then blurted out the rest of her question. “Would you give me away at the altar?”

“Oh, Mary.” His voice broke. “I’d be honored.”

Mary led Mr. and Mrs. McGregor upstairs to settle in, but I pulled Polly off into the sitting room. I hadn’t seen my best friend in months, and I needed some time with her. We sat side by side on the red settee opposite a crackling fire. Polly leaned forward to warm her hands over its flames. She wore her red hair up, clipped back from her face with tiny barrettes. It made her look younger, more like the little girl Mary and I had grown up with, picking blackberries and playing tag every summer in Scotland.

“Tell me everything,” Polly said.

For a moment, I considered telling Polly the story about the ship. She would believe I’d seen it, maybe even more than I believed myself. Polly could always be counted on to have a vivid imagination.

“The snow last night was terrible, wasn’t it?” I said instead. “Did you find somewhere to stay on the road?”

Polly nodded. “It was like a solid sheet of white. I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face.”

She was right, of course. How could I have thought I’d seen a ship miles out to sea?

“But we’re not really going to sit here and talk about the weather, are we?” Polly nudged me. “You’ve been living with a boy for the last six months and haven’t told me a thing! So, how are things with Wesley?”

I smiled at the thought of Wesley. There weren’t many certain things in this world, but I knew for sure how I felt about him. “Things are good,” I said. “But before I get all sappy romance on you, don’t you want to hear about the wedding first?”

“You can’t fool me,” she said, but she was laughing. “Okay then, I’ll bite. Tell me about the wedding.”

“There,” I said, adjusting Mary’s last curl beneath her tiara, trying not to tap my foot with impatience. I was helping her get ready for the rehearsal dinner, though I wasn’t sure I was much of a help. Still, Mary wanted me here, so here I was.

“You can go,” Mary said with a smile, seeing my restlessness. “And Eliza—” I paused, already at the door, about to head downstairs. “You look beautiful tonight,” she finished.

I glanced at my reflection. Mary was the beautiful one, with her soft silver gown and long white gloves, diamonds glittering at her ears. But perhaps some of her beauty was shining out like her happiness, to be reflected by others, because she was right—I did look pretty tonight. In my crushed velvet, midnight-blue gown, I looked older than my eighteen years.

“Thank you,” I said, and hurried down the stairs. I needed a breath of fresh air, even though it was cold out.

To my surprise, I saw another figure in the gardens. I squinted in the dim light, then smiled when I realized who it was. “Wesley!”

He turned to see me, and the way his face lit up caused a warm glow to spread through my chest. “Eliza!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing out in this cold? Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket and slipped it over my shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down my arms to boost the circulation.

“I’m never cold when I’m with you,” I said, teasing, and stood on tiptoe to give him an impulsive kiss. Even as I perched in the towering five-inch heels that matched my dress, Wes was so very much taller than me.

We turned to walk along the gardens, arm in arm, like some couple from a long-ago time. The silence between us was comfortable. After all the months in the cottage, we were used to the peace and quiet.

When we passed the picnic spot where my mother died—from eating a poisoned peach given to her by Cornelius Hollister—I shivered. “Being in this garden … It still hurts,” I said softly. I didn’t have to explain what I meant to Wes. He knew that his father had killed my mother here.

“Eliza.” Wes stopped and put his palms on my shoulders, turning me to face him. “I’m so sorry. You know that I hate what my father did to your family. I would never, ever hurt you.” His voice quavered, and I looked up, startled. “I love you.”

I tried to say it back, I really did, but the words caught in my throat. I was no good at any of this. I’d lost so many people in my life. And somehow, I couldn’t help thinking that by loving Wesley, I put him at risk. If I didn’t say it, maybe I would never have to lose him.

“You know how I feel about you,” I said as a compromise.

His eyes bore into mine so intensely I had to look away.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “I do know. And I know we’re young now, but Eliza, I don’t ever want to be without you. I hope that one day we’ll be married.”

This
was a shock. I felt so overwhelmed I couldn’t move or breathe, couldn’t look at Wesley.

But he was patient, and he waited for me to find the words I needed.

“When I was little,” I finally managed, blinking back tears, “I hated Mary’s game of being a bride. I never wanted to dress up in gowns and march around the palace, but I had to, because she made me. She was the bride and I was always the bridesmaid. I’m sorry, I know I’m not making any sense. What I’m trying to say is …” I turned and took his hands, lacing my fingers with his. “I never, ever in my whole life pictured myself marrying anyone. Until I met you.”

That was enough of a
yes
for Wesley. He stood up and pulled me into his arms, twirling me around, laughing with giddy delight. The world around us disappeared into a blur, spiraled into oblivion, until it was just Wesley and me and the delicate bubble of happiness surrounding us.

“I love you, Princess Eliza!” He yelled to the sky, to anyone who was listening. “I. Love. You!”

* * *

Holding hands, our faces bright pink from the cold, Wesley and I hurried into the Royal Hall just as the rehearsal dinner bell rang. My heart was still beating rapidly from what he’d said in the garden. But when I walked through the double doors into the Grand Room, I stopped suddenly, my lips parted in surprise. It looked almost like it used to before the Seventeen Days, with the long table and white linen and silver place settings. And on the center of the table, in a giant crystal vase, were a dozen white roses—Mary’s favorite. It wasn’t so long ago that there weren’t any roses left in England. The delicate blooming flowers on the table before us were just one more reminder that England was finally beginning to come back to life.

I took my seat next to Mary, who was across the long table from Eoghan, as was tradition. Wesley had the seat on her other side, directly across from me, his green eyes full of love.

I looked around at all the friends who had gathered here tonight to help celebrate Mary and Eoghan. Eoghan’s boys Aiden and Liam sat with Jamie on the far end, dressed in matching navy blue suits and ties. Next to me was Polly, in a soft blush-pink dress that made her look like a ballerina; and farther along, her parents. The other guests were members of Parliament and their families, along with other political figures and the main workers in the rebuilding and restoration of England. I did my best to avoid eye contact with General Wallace, still uncertain how I felt about the whole ship fiasco.

Eoghan stood at the head of the table, looking like a king in a dark gray suit and navy tie. He cleared his throat, and everyone fell silent. Polly squeezed my hand underneath the table, and I was thankful again that my best friend was here. Someday she’ll be
my
maid of honor, I thought, and the realization made me blush.

“Thank you all for coming this evening,” Eoghan began, his voice gruff. “I’m the luckiest man in the world, to get to marry the world’s most incredible woman. Please, enjoy tonight!” He smiled and sat back down, and then the first course was served.

I hadn’t been at a dinner like this since the Roses Ball, the night my father was killed. I had been worried that tonight would bring back those memories, make me nervous and fidgety and ruin the night for Mary—but seeing Mary and Eoghan smiling at each other across the forty-foot table swept all those fears away. This was a happy occasion.

“Remember when we used to go to dinners like this all the time, when we were little?” I turned to Mary as servers dressed in crisp black and white uniforms set the first course, a mushroom bisque, in front of us.

“When we were the dessert princesses?” Mary asked, smiling. “You hated that!”

Our parents used to have state dinners at least once a week, before the Seventeen Days. Though Mary and I were certainly not old enough to attend, we were often summoned near the end of the meal to make an appearance in matching tartan dresses. We would smile and curtsy as the guests were enjoying their dessert, give our parents a kiss, and then our governesses would usher us back upstairs to the nursery for bed. “We’re the dessert princesses!” Mary would call us with a giggle, while I sulked, bored with the whole thing.

“I wasn’t always the best behaved,” I said sheepishly, taking a spoonful of my soup. It was delicious.

“How are you doing?” Wesley whispered across the table to me, when there was a break in the conversation. “This is more people we’ve seen in one place in a long time.”

“I do miss the cabin,” I admitted. “But you have to admit, this is amazing.”

“Agreed,” Wesley said with a grin. “Enjoy it. We’ll be home soon enough, forced to eat our own bad cooking.”

“Hey!” I said, kicking him playfully under the table. “We’re not so bad!”

He held up a forkful of truffle beef Wellington, eyebrows raised. It couldn’t be more different from the simple meals we’d grown accustomed to cooking for ourselves. “I wouldn’t mind if we learned to make
this
,” he said, reaching across the table for my hand. “I miss it too, though. Don’t worry, we’ll be back there soon enough.”

Finally, General Wallace stood up, tapping his glass with a knife for silence. The toasts were beginning.

“Friends,” he began. “Let me take this moment to honor Her Royal Highness Mary Windsor, queen of England, and Mr. Eoghan Burns.

“I have had the distinct honor to know Queen Mary since she was a little girl. And in a mere twenty years, she has managed to accomplish more than most people have in a lifetime. She saved our great country from a dictator and led the most extensive rebuilding efforts the world has yet seen. Someday, children in history class will report on Mary as the greatest queen in British history.” I glanced over to Mary, whose eyes were brimming with tears. “Please join me in congratulating her on this exciting new chapter in her life!”

Applause filled the room, and Mary stood up to begin a speech of her own. “Dear guests,” she began.

The room fell instantly silent. All motion stopped as though a spell had been cast, freezing everyone in place.

“I am so very grateful to all of you for being here to celebrate this happy occasion with me this evening. For those of you concerned this soon-to-be new bride will shirk on her duties …” She paused for the laughter coming from her guests. Not a single one of them were concerned about that at all. “Allow me to put your minds at ease.”

She raised her glass. “My first priority will always be to serve and rebuild my country. Nothing will stop me from fulfilling my duty. Not even you, Eoghan.”

Again the crowd laughed.

Eoghan and Mary looked at each other, love crackling in the air between them, and someone sighed romantically. I realized that it was
me
. But I couldn’t help thinking of Eoghan and Mary years from now, growing old together, surrounded by their children and grandchildren.

Then the servants pushed in a trolley stacked high with cakes and tarts, and rarest of all, champagne. There wasn’t much left in the cellars from before the Seventeen Days,
but these bottles had escaped the looting of the palace. I had tried to convince Mary to finish the few bottles tonight, but she only took two. “We’ll need some for your wedding, Eliza,” she had said, smiling.

Through the windows of the dining room, I could see a low-hanging full moon, framed by an almost perfectly clear dark sky. I took the stem of my champagne flute into my fingers and stood up, gesturing for Wesley to join me.

We stepped out onto the small balcony and looked up at the stars. I suddenly remembered that when I was little, I used to wish upon a star every night for Jamie to get better. And now he had. I closed my eyes and furiously wished again, this time for Wesley. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

“Wesley,” I said, reaching for his hand. “When we get married, I want it to be small. Just us, and Polly and Mary and Eoghan. And Jamie. None of …” I gestured back to the dining room, indicating the long banquet table, the speeches, the five-course meal. “None of that.”

Wesley threw his arms around me and laughed. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” He squeezed me tightly. “But that’s just fine by me.”

When we get married
. I never thought I’d ever say those words aloud.

I squinted through the window to see Jamie and Aiden and Liam shoveling chocolate pudding into their mouths. Polly was smiling at something Mary was saying, taking dainty spoonfuls of the custard she had chosen. Everyone looked so happy and content, mingling around the room and stuffing themselves with sweets.

And then a loud knock sounded on the dining room doors.

The doors swung open to reveal four men in British military uniforms. In the past years of isolation and rebuilding, the military was now essentially a police force, serving under the general. I could tell they were seeking him out now.

“This can’t be good,” Wesley said, as we swiftly returned to the room.

“Your Highness.” One of the officers stepped forward, his hat in his hand. “Please excuse us for disturbing you. We would never have interrupted if it wasn’t urgent.”

“Of course,” Mary said, all business. “Please, follow me.” She led the officers into the small smoking room off the dining room. Wesley and I hurried to join them, followed by the general.

“What is it?” Mary asked, when I had shut the door.

“A foreign ship has been sighted off the coast,” the officer said.

Mary’s eyes widened and locked with mine momentarily. Even the general gasped.

“It appears to be abandoned,” the officer continued. “There’s no response on the radio transmitters. But it’s in full view.”

“What kind of ship?” General Wallace demanded.

The second officer, older than the first, stepped forward. “Sir, and Your Highness, it’s … difficult to describe. I have never seen a ship like this, not even before the Seventeen Days. It looks as though two giant oil tankers were welded together. It’s the size of a small island.”

“Is there a flag?” General Wallace asked. “Or any sign of where it comes from?”

The officer scanned our anxious faces. “There is a flag,” he said. “But none we can identify with any country known to us before the Seventeen Days. And from our radio sensors, we haven’t picked up any human sound. The ship seems to be deserted with no sign of life.”

The general took charge then, shouting out an order to fire up the
Royal Voyager
—the strongest, largest ship in England’s fleet.

Mary threw open the smoking room’s doors. “Order the carriage around!” she shouted to whatever servants were nearest. Her eyes were alight with delight. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Eliza,” she added quietly, turning to me.

“Of course Eliza was right,” Wesley said. “I knew it.”

The word
ship
was spreading like wildfire among the guests, whispered from ear to ear in hushed, excited tones. They quickly gathered their coats and called for their own carriages. Everyone wanted to see this for themselves.

Eoghan came to my side. “Will you and Wesley ride with us in the royal carriage?”

“Of course,” I said. Wesley was already nodding his head.

“Boys,” Eoghan addressed his sons and Jamie. “You’ll stay here.” Their voices immediately rose in loud, angry protest.

“Eliza!” Jamie cried out, giving me his best puppy-dog pout. “Please let us come.”