Henry and I both jumped to our feet. I backed as far away from his possible, as if putting as much distance between the two of us as I could would somehow negate the photograph.

"Who the hell are you?" Henry snarled, looking furious.

"We're from the newspaper," one of the men replied smugly. "And we just the scoop of the century." He redirected his gaze toward me, a sleazy smile spreading across his face. "The queen and the shopkeeper. My, my, how…intriguing. I do wonder how the king will react. "

"Get the hell out of my shop," Henry snarled. "Or I swear I'll break your goddamn camera."

"Well, well, well. Your man's got a bit of a temper, doesn't he?" the photographer said, still smirking at me. "I hope he doesn't use that on you."

"Get. Out." Henry's eyes flashed with anger as he clenched his fists at his side. For a moment he looked truly terrifying.

"Fine, fine," said the man, backing up toward the door. The silent photographer followed him, carrying the tripod in one hand and the camera in the other. I watched as they disappeared from sight, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Oh god," I murmured. "Oh god. Henry, what am I supposed to do now?"

"Ella, it's fine," he murmured, his tone soothing. "We were dancing and we fell. We didn't do anything wrong."

"Henry, there's going to be a photograph of me lying on top of you on the front page of the newspaper. Nobody's going to know the context. They're all going to assume the worst. And Edmund…" I groaned. "Edmund is going to be so mad."

"Well, that'll be a bit hypocritical of him, don't you think?" Henry asked, rolling his eyes. "Besides, you can always just try telling him the truth. You're his wife. Shouldn't he trust you?"

I didn't reply. I was too busy hyperventilating.

Henry sighed heavily. "Ella," he said. "You shouldn't care so much about what other people think of you."

"Well, that's rich coming from you!" I snapped.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I know how ashamed you are of the fact that your family fell so far down the social ladder, Henry. You used to be aristocracy. Now you own a bookshop."

His eye narrowed. "You think I'm embarrassed about that?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Well, Ella," he said. "You're wrong. I'm not the least bit ashamed. I'm proud of everything I've accomplished for myself. I built this business up from nothing. I'm glad I'm not some kind of spoiled aristocrat who's never done a thing with his life. Besides, the whole nobility system is ridiculous anyway. You know I feel that way. We'd be better off getting rid of it all and becoming a democracy."

"You do know who you're talking to right now, don't you?" I asked.

"Oh, you're right," he replied sarcastically. "I'm so sorry, Your Magesty. Forgive me."

It was at that moment that I burst into tears. Henry immediately looked alarmed. "Whoa, Ella, I was just kidding around."

"I know," I choked out between sobs. "I'm not upset about what you said. I'm still upset about that photograph."

His gaze softened. "Shhh," he murmured. "It'll be alright. Everything will be fine." He held out his arms and I fell into his embrace, burying my face in his chest. He planted a kiss on the top of my head and I felt a tingling in my stomach. Continuing to whisper soft, reassuring promises into my ear, he led me into the back room. There was a couch back there, which Henry slept on when he stayed at the shop too late to return home for the night.

"Why don't you lie here for a while," he suggested. "Try to calm down a bit and then you can return to work."

I sat down, perching on the edge of the seat, feeling a bit uncomfortable. I wasn't a child. I didn't need nap time.

"Lie down, Angel," Henry murmured.

I glanced up at him, surprised. Angel. I hadn't heard him call me that in years and years. It was a nickname he had given me when we were children. I'd never asked him how he had come up with it or why he had decided to start calling me it. It had just happened one day out of the blue. It wasn't a nickname he had used often. In fact, it had been quite rare. But when he did call me Angel, it was when his voice was at its softest and kindest. It was when his green eyes seemed to be able to see right through me. It was a nickname he reserved for the most private of moments, when the two of us were alone in our fort and telling each other our deepest of secrets. When he called me Angel, I always knew that I'd love him forever. It didn't matter that were so, so young. Too young to even fully understand what love was. I knew he was one of the most important people in my life. I knew he'd always be one of the most important people in my life.

"Why do you call me that?" I asked, stretching out across the couch.

"That's a story for another time," he replied, covering me with a blanket.

He turned to leave, but I grabbed his hand. "Wait."

He turned back around. "Yes?"

"Why are you so mean to me sometimes?" I asked softly. "Sometimes—like now—you're so lovely. But other times…" I trailed off, looking at him expectedly.

"Ella," whispered. "There's so much I wish I could tell you, so much I wish I could explain. But it's not the right time."

"When will it be the right time?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

He shrugged helplessly. "I've yet to figure that out."

I nodded, disappointed by his vague responses. I knew he had been hiding something, but now—more than ever—I wanted to know what it was.

"But, Ella," he said, "you should know that how I feel about you has never changed. Not once. Not ever. I know my behavior has been awful, but it has nothing to do with my feelings for you. I promise."

The tingling in my stomach was back, stronger than ever.

"Oh, Henry," I murmured, closing my eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

I paused outside the door of the dining room the next morning. I knew Edmund was already in there. I knew he would have already picked up the newspaper. If those photographers had published that picture like they said they would, Edmund would have already seen it. I took a deep breath and stepped inside the room.

Edmund was sitting in his usual seat the head of the table. His plate was empty. It was obvious he hadn't touched any of the delectable food that was piled on platters in the center of the long table. The newspaper was sitting right in front of him. Even from where I stood, I could see that a large photograph took up most of the top half of the first page, accompanied by a headline that I could not read.

He lifted his head slowly as I approached the table. Instead of sitting down at one of the chairs near his, I slipped into the one all the way at the other end of the table. I saw a couple of the servants exchange a look. They could obviously sense an argument brewing.

"Well, well, well," Edmund said, his dark eyes flashing with anger. "Look who it is— my beautiful wife." He spat out the last word like it was dirty. I cringed, slumping down in my seat.

"Goddamn it, Ella!" he snarled, slamming his fist down on the table, shaking the dishes and startling the servants. "Don't slouch at the table!"

I quickly sat up.

"For once in your life could you manage to behave like royalty?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "I get so fed up with having to correct your behavior all the time!"

"Sorry," I muttered, my gaze dropping to the floor.

"Look at me when I'm addressing you!" he hissed.

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. I'd never heard him so angry before. For the first time, I was actually scared of him. What if he struck me? What would I do?

He picked up the newspaper, waving it around. "Care to explain this, Ella?"

"Edmund," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "That's all a misunderstanding. We fell down and I landed on top of him. That's all. There's nothing going on between us. I swear."

"You fell down and you landed on top of him," he repeated slowly. "How…believable."

"It's the truth!" I snapped.

He stood up, still clutching the newspaper in one hand. I watched as he calmly walked around the table and came to a stop in front of me. I lifted my head, staring at him defiantly. If he even so much as laid a hand on me, so help me god I was going to—Well I wasn't sure what I was going to do. But I was certainly not going to let him get away with it.

I needn't have worried though. He didn't even attempt to touch me. He merely held out the newspaper, giving me a closer look at the photograph. For the first time, I could understand why he doubted that the circumstances around the photograph had been innocent. One of Henry's hands was resting on my bum. I didn't even remember him putting it there. Had he done it on purpose? I was gazing down at Henry with an expression that bordered on adoration and he was looking back at up at me in the same way. Even through the blurry black and white of the picture, we looked like two people who were very much enamored with each other.

"It's lucky the photograph was taken when it was," Edmund remarked, his words interrupting my thoughts. "I have a feeling that had they showed up a bit later, there wouldn't be quite as much clothing involved."

I sighed heavily. Would it even be worth it to try to deny once again that anything had happened? He seemed to have made his mind up. And his mind was clearly telling him that I was having an affair with Henry Toulson.

"When you told me that you had gotten a job," he continued, "I thought that was particularly strange. You were a princess, after all. Why would a princess want to work in a bookshop? But now it all makes sense. This man was a childhood friend of yours, correct? So perhaps it was not a job you wanted. Just a way to see him without raising suspicions. Just a way to carry on your torrid little affair without getting caught. But that backfired, didn't it? It most certainly backfired."

"You're such a hypocrite, Edmund!" I exclaimed. "This is actually unbelievable. Have you forgotten about that maid on our honeymoon? Or Princess Rosa on my birthday? Or Jane? How dare you attack me as if you're just some innocent bystander. You have lot of nerve!"

"You were the one who confronted me about my cheating, acting as if I had wronged your horribly," he replied. "I agreed to make an effort to change my ways. I haven't touched another woman since. But you—you had the nerve to confront me while having an affair behind my back the entire time! At least I only slipped up a few times; you've been continuously carrying on with this man from the beginning!"

"No, I have not!" I exploded. "Would you shut up and listen to me? There is nothing going on between Henry and I. Nothing."

"Then quit," he replied simply.

"Excuse me?"

"Quit your job," he said. "And cut him out of your life. If there's nothing going on between the two of you, then that shouldn't be a problem."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, I can't do that."

I needed Henry. Especially after all that had just happened. He was the only one I wanted to talk to, the only one whose shoulder I wanted to cry on. I had nobody else. Anna was always off somewhere with James. Sarah was married and living far away. I wasn't close enough to Elizabeth or Catherine. And Jane…well, let's just say that there wasn't a chance in hell that I was going to talk about anything with her.

Edmund's lip curled. "You can't?"

I shook my head. "No, I can't. And you better not try to force me either. You can't keep me locked up like I'm your prisoner."

"I'm not going to lock you up," he replied. "You can do whatever the hell you want. You're not my slave."

I sighed heavily. "I still think you're a hypocrite," I muttered.

"Yeah, well, here's the thing, Ella," he said. "Princes and kings have had affairs since the beginning of time. It's practically expected. Princesses and queens, on the other hand, are supposed to remain faithful. It's just how it is."

"You sexist pig!" I snarled.

He shrugged, tossing the newspaper down in front of me. "In case you'd like to read the article," he said.

I stared down at it, reading the headline for the first time.

Is the Royal Baby Royal After All?

My stomach churned. Oh my god, this was worse than I expected. They were implying that my unborn baby—the future heir of the kingdom—was actually Henry's.

I glanced back up at Edmund. "You don't believe this headline, do you?" I muttered hoarsely.

He shrugged. "Seems like there's probably a fifty-fifty chance either way."

"So what happens if this baby is born and you're convinced it's not yours?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "Will you ignore him, treat him badly, make him feel unloved?"

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "That baby's going to be my heir no matter what and I'll treat him as my son even if he's a goddamn clone of your shopkeeper. I'm not going to punish an innocent child for the sins of his mother."

Though I was relieved to hear him say this (not that there was any chance the baby would look like Henry), his last statement stung. "Go to hell!" I hissed.

He lifted his hand and I flinched. Perhaps I'd finally gone too far. Perhaps he was finally going to hit me. But once again, I was only being paranoid. He simply brushed a lock of hair out of his face and surveyed me with a look of distaste.

"Enjoy your breakfast," he said, before turning and storming out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him and then I was alone. Except for the servants, of course. They were all openly staring at me, no doubt itching to return to the servants' quarters and spread this new piece of juicy gossip.

I stood up quietly, ignoring all the eyes that were focused on me, and exited the room. I left the newspaper where it was, not wanting to look at it a second longer than I had to.

Once upstairs, I threw myself down on my bed.

And I cried myself to sleep.

Uh-oh.