London, England
July 2015

Power junkies run the game

"I'm bored," complains Persis.

"I must ask you to imagine my utter surprise," I deadpan.

She pulls a most frightful – and most childish – grimace.

"It's so awful, having to lie here all day," she insists dramatically.

"I didn't say it wasn't," I reply calmly. "In fact, you keep telling me with reliable regularity, so it's not exactly news to me."

Persis pouts.

Softening slightly, I reach out to squeeze her arm. "Can I do something to make it better?"

"You could come again tomorrow!" she declares, her expression brightening.

I shake my head and smile apologetically. "I have to work tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is Saturday," grumbles Persis.

"Always a popular day for weddings, garden parties and birthday celebrations," I inform her matter-of-factly.

I'm still trying not to be too visible in public (though with recent events, I'm not sure how much good it does anymore), so I won't be overseeing the celebrations directly. Instead, I was put on background duty, meaning I'll be at my desk in the office, providing remote support for my colleagues 'out in the field' in case something goes wrong – and something always goes wrong.

Persis purses her lips unhappily, but I can see she has no counterargument to offer.

"How's this," I suggest with a view to placating her, "I'll come by after work tomorrow and on Sunday, we'll have breakfast together."

"Just breakfast?" asks Persis, frowning.

"I have plans for afterwards," I explain with a shrug.

I know Persis would like to monopolise my entire free time – and I get it, in a way – but Josh is coming down from Scotland for a visit and I invited him, Dev and Lucy to my place on Sunday. If previous visits of this kind are any indication, we'll spend the entire day catching up and they will crash in my guest rooms (or, in Lucy's case, in my bedroom) by the end of it, so I'm not making any promises to Persis to come see her any later than breakfast.

"Fine," replies Persis in a voice that leaves little doubt that it is not, in fact, fine, but that she can't see a way to win this particular discussion.

I laugh good-naturedly, not letting her mood get to me, and stand up from the edge of the bed. "Do you want me to put on a movie before I leave?"

"I don't want a movie," mutters Persis darkly. "I want to be able to get up." She glares at the cast her left leg is encased in.

Leaning forward, I put an arm around her and pull her into a brief hug. I know her well enough to be aware that she's putting up the pouting, childish front to hide how much she's really struggling with being confined to bed. For someone as energetic as Persis, being forced into inactivity is horrible at the best of times and, well, these aren't the best of times.

"When you rest your leg properly, it will heal that much sooner and you will be up that much sooner as well," I tell her, making sure to make my voice sound encouraging and upbeat.

Persis sighs heavily. "I know, I know. It's no fun though."

"No," I agree sympathetically. "It's no fun at all."

That seems to placate Persis somewhat, allowing me to move away from the bed again and in direction of the door. With the assurance to return tomorrow afternoon, I put on the promised movie, leaving Persis in the capable hands of Cary Elwes and Robin Wright. As expected, she grumbles a bit about it being a silly movie, but I blithely ignore the protests. She just doesn't know what's good for her and anyway, with Persis in her current mood, her words shouldn't be taken too seriously.

The irony of the opening scene under the current circumstances (sick princess complains about watching a movie in which a sick boy complains about being read a story about an eventual princess) isn't lost on me, of course. Shaking my head slightly, I smile to myself as I softly pull the door to Persis's room shut behind me.

Turning, I set off along the corridors of Buckingham Palace, where her parents took Persis after she was released from hospital. She insisted she was fine at Ivy Cottage, but Owen would hear none of it. Given that Persis doesn't do too well with being alone, he was probably right to put his foot down and move her back into her old bedroom at Buck House, frustrating as it certainly is for her.

Strolling along the corridor, I smile at a passing Jacky, who's one of the few housemaids Persis currently accepts in her room. She returns the smile – before suddenly taking a step back and standing with her back against the wall.

I pause. Members of the palace staff usually duck out of the way when they meet me, but I don't warrant the kind of deference Jacky is showing right now. In fact, very few people do.

Turning, I see Leslie at the other end of the corridor. She meets my gaze and nods in greeting. "Rilla," she states, coming closer.

"Hello," I reply. It's been a while since I last saw Leslie and with what I heard about her wellbeing in recent months, I'm suddenly feeling a little unsure. I don't want to say something to upset her by accident.

Leslie opens a door to her left and waves me inside with a small motion of her hand. "Do you have time to keep me some company or are you in a rush?" she enquires.

"I'm not rushing anywhere," I assure as I follow her invitation. As I do, I try to catch Jacky's eye to nod farewell, but she keeps her eyes downcast. (It's one of these moments when I have to remind myself that people are deferring to the position, not the person.)

Stepping through the door, I enter Leslie's private study, a tastefully decorated room overlooking the garden. As with all rooms Leslie lives in, it has a light, almost ethereal feel to it. No heavy wood and leather for her.

"What mood was she in?" Leslie asks as we sit down on the elegant mauve-coloured sofa. There's tea sitting on a warmer on a side table and Leslie reaches out to pour us some.

"Persis? She's irritated with having to stay in bed," I answer. "But that's to be expected."

Leslie nods. "Yes, she was grumpy about it this morning, too. It isn't like her to be so inactive."

"Definitely not," I agree, accepting a cup of tea from her.

"It's nice of you to come and spend time with her. She's always in a better mood after your visits," Leslie tells me.

I shrug, feeling a little uncomfortable. "Don't mention it, please. She's a good friend and I'm glad to support her. Besides…" I trail off.

Despite keeping my eyes averted, I can still feel Leslie's alert gaze on me. "Besides?" she prompts.

I sigh, folding my hands around the hot cup of tea. "I was there when she was injured, wasn't I?"

There's a long moment of pause, before Leslie speaks again. "What happened wasn't your fault."

"I know that," I reply quickly. "It was no-one's fault. Just a stupid accident, right?"

It really was no-one's fault, which is simultaneously a relief and somewhat frustrating because of the randomness of it. The man who waved the flag was thoroughly screened and questioned by different police departments, but it turned out that he really thought he could support Persis by waving his Union Jack. Poor guy was utterly stricken when he realised the consequences of what he did and utterly shaken by the following police ordeal. He's learned his lesson, if nothing else.

"It was an accident," Leslie affirms. "You couldn't have done anything."

I nod slowly. "I know that, too. I guess I just… I saw her get hurt, so it feels right to be with her when she recovers as well. I can't explain it any better."

Leslie hums thoughtfully. "I think I understand."

If anyone does, I reckon it's her.

"I did make the decision about Blacky," I remark after a moment of silence, looking down at the rich, dark tea.

Blacky's death is something I've been struggling with since the day of the accident. Rationally, I know I did the right thing, but emotionally… it's not something you put behind you all that easily.

"Didn't Owen talk to you about that?" Leslie asks. Her voice is earnest and it makes me look up at her.

"He did," I reply. "Sort of."

In fact, when I tried to talk to Owen about having decided to have an erstwhile valuable tournament horse put down, he just said he trusts me to have made the right decision and that was that for him. (As for Persis, I didn't dare broach the subject with her at all, not when she's still in such a bad shape herself.)

Leslie shakes her head, clearly unhappy with her husband. "So he bungled it," she deduces.

I take a sip of tea and shrug, not wanting to agree and not wanting to disagree either.

"You worked with that horse at least as much as Persis did and you bonded with him even more," Leslie points out carefully. "You, of all people, wouldn't have let him go if it hadn't been the kindest decision for him. You wouldn't have let him suffer."

No. I hated letting him go, but I couldn't make him suffer.

Taking a deep breath, I muster a weak smile for Leslie. "Thank you. For… you know."

"I do know," Leslie assures me with a sympathetic smile of her own. Considering me for a moment, she adds, "I know Blacky was your main riding horse for the past year and while I also know you can have your pick of Persis's horses, especially right now, I just wanted you to know that you have my permission to take Rusalka, if you ever need a horse to ride. She isn't the easiest horse to handle, but I'm sure you'll be fine."

That reliably renders me speechless. Rusalka is Leslie's horse and no-one ever gets to ride her. There's one single groom who's allowed on her when Leslie isn't able to exercise her, but that's it. For Leslie to offer her to me… it's an incredibly high honour and I definitely recognise it as such.

"I… uh…" I stutter. "That… I don't… I don't know what to say."

Leslie smiles. "Don't say anything. Just let me know if you want to try her out."

I nod, still not quite having wrapped my head around this sudden offer. Leslie, on the other hand, is all calm. She raises her teacup to take a long sip and I automatically follow suit. For several long moments, we sit in companionable silence and drink our tea, giving me enough time to gather myself again.

Finally, Leslie puts down her teacup and looks at me. "It's been a while since we've talked properly."

I nod cautiously, not knowing where she's heading with this.

"After Ken left… I wasn't feeling well," she continues, letting her gaze drift towards the window.

"Yes, me neither," I reply. Then, catching myself, I add quickly, "I mean, not that I'm suggesting –"

Leslie shakes her head. "It's no comparison and it shouldn't be. There is… some comfort in knowing that we share the feeling of missing him."

I'm not sure I agree entirely, but I got some idea of what Leslie went through from Owen's remarks and if the thought helped her, I guess it's okay.

"I'm sure that if he'd known what his departure would mean to us – and to Owen and his siblings – he wouldn't have gone," Leslie remarks as she pours herself another cup of tea, her voice full of conviction.

That makes me sit up straighter. Carefully resting my own tea cup on my knee, I consider how to react to what she said. Because if I didn't entirely agree before, I definitely disagree now.

I can't agree with what she said, but I don't want to upset Leslie either, so I remain silent, torn between speaking my mind and not speaking at all.

Leslie, perhaps sensing my indecision, looks at me over the rim of her teacup. "What are you thinking?" she asks.

Giving myself a mental push, I blurt out, "I think he knew."

A fine line appears between her brows. "He knew?"

I swallow, trying to organise my words. "He knew what it would mean to you and perhaps even what he would mean to me," I finally elaborate, hoping I'm getting this right. "He always, always considers how his actions affect you, in anything he does. I can't imagine he made such an important decision without considering it at all."

The line between Leslie's brows deepens, but she doesn't say anything, just signalling for me to continue.

"He knew," I repeat. "He knew and he went anyway. Maybe that's okay, because he can make decisions about his life just like everyone else can. But I think we shouldn't pretend he didn't know what it would mean for everyone else, because I'm sure he did."

Leslie takes a sip from her tea, appearing to consider my words.

"This was very important to him, so I don't begrudge him his going" she finally states, her brow smoothing out. "He'll be back soon, too, and then it will all be over."

I hide my expression in my tea cup for a moment as I attempt to bring order to my thoughts. It's a bit disconcerting, to go from feeling that Leslie understands how I feel about Persis's accident and its consequences, to go to feeling like she doesn't understand my point about Ken at all.

But maybe, I remind myself, it's to be understood. With how complex the relationship between Leslie and Ken is and with how difficult the last months have been for her, maybe my view on the matter is more than she can face up to.

I lower my tea cup again and smile vaguely in Leslie's direction. "Yes, he'll be back soon," I agree, because it's the safest thing to say.

"You must be looking forward to it," she replies with a smile of her own.

After the briefest of hesitations, I feel myself nod. "Yes, of course. As do you, I'm sure."

"Very much," she agrees as she reaches for the teapot again. "More tea?"

I accept the tea and thankfully, that puts the awkward topics to a rest. We make some easy small talk until the teapot is well and truly empty. Declining Leslie's invitation for dinner by pointing out the early start I'll have tomorrow, I take my leave. It was nice talking to Leslie again and it's good to see Persis get better, but somehow, today's visit to the palace exhausted me enough that I'm looking forward to a quiet evening home.

Unfortunately, there are people here who have other plans.

Having left the royals' private apartment, I quickly walk down yet another corridor. I've just pulled out my phone to check for messages – one from Katie with new baby pictures and one from Sam asking whether I want to join them at Mo's place later – when there's a voice behind me. "Miss Blythe?"

Turning, I find myself looking at Elphinestone.

"Yes?" I ask, a little wary.

He clears his throat. "Do you have a moment for us?" He inclines his head to indicate the room behind him.

I look at my watch and sigh inwardly. "A moment," I relent, but only grudgingly.

"Thank you." Elphinestone steps aside to enter the room. Gathered around a boardroom table are four men and a woman who look vaguely familiar. The only one I've ever spoken to before at any length though is Oliver, Ken's private secretary.

"Have a seat, please," invites Elphinestone and points me to one of the chairs.

Slowly, I sit down. I have no idea what they want from me.

With everyone seated, Elphinestone introduces the other people around the table. As far as I gather, the majority of them belong to Owen's staff, while one of the men is with the air force, at least judging from his uniform.

This is getting odder by the second.

"How can I help you?" I ask when no-one offers any further information.

Elphinestone looks at Oliver, who shifts on his seat uncomfortably, before speaking, "Do you remember our conversation in March, Miss?"

I grimace slightly. He's referencing the conversation which basically saw him ask me to put my life on hold until Ken's return. It's not a memory I like to revisit.

Instead of actually saying that though, I just nod curtly. "I do."

It's apparent that Oliver would love for someone else to take over, but no-one does. Elphinestone just indicates for him to continue and, with a sigh, he does. "There is some worry that there has been too much attention focused on you as of late."

I frown at him. "Meaning?"

Oliver squirms. "The concern is that recent behaviour shown both by you and by people in your social circle has been drawing too much attention to you."

I blink. "Who… and how?"

After a desperate look from Oliver, Elphinestone finally takes over, his demeanour much more suave than that of his younger colleague. "You're aware of the press reports written about Mr Carl Meredith?"

I just about prevent myself from rolling my eyes. "He got arrested and he got released the next day. I don't know why this is an issue."

"He is a former partner of yours," Elphinestone reminds needlessly. "His actions reflect on you and, through you, on the royal family."

Briefly, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "Carl stands up for what he believes in and he deals with the consequences," I explain. "I hardly see how that reflects on anyone."

That's not true, of course. I saw the articles speculating about whether I share Carl's beliefs and pondering where the royal family stands on animal testing. It's annoying in the way those articles often are, but in the grand scheme, it's hardly noteworthy. I mean, the tabloids are gonna tabloid, right? It's not like that is news to anyone.

"Animal testing is a controversial subject that the royal family should not get involved in," chimes in the woman named Walters who I take to be Owen's press secretary.

"Nor did they," I point out.

"His Majesty was asked for his opinion while on an engagement yesterday," one of the men tells me. If I remember correctly, his name is Weatherfield and he was once introduced to me as Elphinestone's deputy.

"And I'm sure he handled it well," I reply with confidence. If Owen is good at one thing, it's fielding unwanted questions.

"He did," admits Weatherfield.

His neighbour, who I believe to be named Sabian and to be part of the security team, takes over the conversation to inform me, "We'd rather the royal family wouldn't be asked about matters as controversial as these at all."

"And what do you want me to do about that?" I ask, a little weary.

"We'd appreciate if you could ask your acquaintances to steer clear of any political issues." That's Elphinestone again.

I snort in a very unladylike way. "If anyone here thinks I can control Carl, they're sorely mistaken. He lives his life as he sees fit and I can assure you he won't change it just because his high school girlfriend asks him to. And what's more, even if I had that kind of power, I wouldn't use it."

That shuts them up for a moment. There are long glances exchanged all around the table and I just stop myself from drumming my fingers on the table top in impatience.

"We recognise that you have limited control over Mr Meredith," concedes Weatherfield in a voice that I think is meant to sooth me. "However, if perhaps you could exert your influences over members of your family, we'd certainly appreciate it."

I narrow my eyes slightly. "I don't think I understand."

Elphinestone wordlessly pushes a glossy magazine towards me. When I pull it closer, I recognise it as an edition of Science. On the cover is a large syringe above a headline declaring the content to focus on vaccination.

"Page 52," supplies Oliver.

Looking at him out of the corner of my eyes, I open the magazine on page 52 – and realise why they made me look at it. Science might have had the good grace to introduce Di as a 'leading Canadian microbiologist involved in the development of new vaccines', but I know that the tabloids won't be so professional once they discover this interview. Cinderilla's sister gets involved in the vaccination debate, will be the tamest of possible headlines.

I close the magazine and look up. "So?"

Not that I don't see their point, of course, but I won't make it this easy for them. Not when they're trying to put me on the spot like this.

"If you could talk to your sister to stay out of debates such as this in the future, you'd have our gratitude and that of Their Majesties," the woman named Walters tells me.

I raise an eyebrow. "Did His Majesty send you to talk to me?" (I can't imagine he did. If Owen has something he wants to say, he says it himself.)

"Not as such," admits Weatherfield, the deputy private secretary. "We prefer to resolve these issues on our own and not to encumber His Majesty with them."

"Well, then I suggest you don't encumber me either," I snap, not too kindly. I'm running out of patience with them and knowing that they're going renegade without Owen's permission doesn't make me feel more inclined to continue this conversation.

"We would prefer not to," pipes up Oliver bravely, "but –"

I shake my head to silence him. "No but! Let me get one thing straight once and for all: I will not tell my family or my friends how to live their lives. None of them ever spoke to the press about me and they never will, but if Di, a microbiologist, is asked to do an interview with Science about vaccine development, that's her job and I'm sure as hell not going to prevent her from doing it! Because you know what? Quite apart from anything else, she's right!"

"She wouldn't have been asked if not for her connection to you though," mutters Sabian sotto voice.

I turn to glare at him. "You don't know that. Maybe they were just looking for a good microbiologist to interview and I'll have you know that my sister is excellent at her job! And even if her connection to me what was piqued their interests, if you think I'll tell her off for it, you've got another thing coming."

"Miss Blythe…" begins Elphinestone, his voice as reasonable as could possibly be.

"No!" I shake my head. "No! Do you have any idea what my sister went through because of being related to me? What they all went through, but Di especially? She's suffered through years of having thinly-veiled homophobic comments thrown at her by the press, not to mention the blatant racism directed at her wife, who also happens to be a dear friend of mine. And don't even get me started on how the paparazzi behaved on their wedding day!"

"We understand that…" tries Oliver.

"No, you don't," I correct, doing little to hide my hostility. "You don't understand and you don't get to have an opinion either. I'll call my sister later and I will congratulate her on her interview and that will be that! Is that clear?"

I look at all of them, one by one. Some have the decency to avert their eyes, but others still don't seem to get it.

"Anything else?" I ask curtly.

"There is one more thing," answers Elphinestone and nods to Walters. She slides me a green folder, which I open warily.

Inside are photographs. Photographs of me and Sam, specifically, and it takes me only a moment to realise they were taken in front of the hotel on the god-awful day of the accident that claimed Blacky's life. Shifting through the photos quickly, I see that most of them show Sam holding me close and me hiding my face against his shoulder, but some others also picture us looking at each other in a way that could easily be misconstructed. In fact, if you take out the photos showing that I was crying, they tell a story that has very little to do with what happened. (And as for what almost happened, that's none of anyone's business, is it?)

Taking a deep breath, I look back up at the people sitting opposite me. "Where did you get these?"

"A photographer was waiting in front of the hotel and took them," Oliver explains. "He shopped them around to newspapers and one of the editors alerted us."

"So, they will get published?" I ask. I can't even say how I feel about this.

"They won't," assures Elphinestone.

I raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"The press realised that publishing photos like these will compromise His Royal Highness's safety while on deployment," Sabian the security guy elaborates.

"And now…?" I let the question trail off.

Holdsworth, the air force man who's hitherto been quiet, clears his throat. "We bought the pictures as a security measure."

The… the air force bought them?

I blink, processing this.

"That… I guess that's nice?" My voice lifts at the end, making the sentence come out as more of a question.

"You must not worry about anyone seeing the photographs," Weaterfield tells me, sounding more patronising than I care for. "One reason we decided against involving Their Majesties is so they wouldn't see them."

I frown, shaking my head. "I don't have an issue with them seeing those photos. Sam is a friend and he consoled me on a difficult day. I know the press would do their thing and spin a lie around them, but there'd be no harm in Their Majesties seeing them."

Unless…

Looking from one to the others, it dawns on me.

"You think I'm actually having an affair," I state, more surprised than anything.

"No-one wants to insinuate –" tries Oliver.

I glare at him and he shuts up. "Yes, you do! You think Sam and I…" I can't even say it.

"Miss Blythe…" Elphinestone begins. "We're just asking you to be more careful so as not to draw attention to yourself."

I shake my head and get to my feet. "Okay, do you know what? No! Just… just no! You don't get to… Look, I don't care what happens to those photos. Destroy them, file them, publish them, make copies of them and throw them from a helicopter over London. I don't care! But I'm not listening to any more of this!"

I slam the folder shut and push it back to Walters. Elphinetones tries to say some more, but I cut across him.

"Contrary to popular belief, you don't own me!" I snap. "You don't get to dictate my life, you don't have a say in what I do or what my family does and it's bloody high time you realise this. Is that in any way unclear?"

Getting to my feet, I look at them, my eyes narrowed to slits. "No? Well, good. Because this conversation is over. Have a good day!"

I spit out the last words, before turning and stalking from the room. My breath comes too quickly and my heart beats twice as fast, but somehow… somehow, I think I haven't felt this good in a long, long time.


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'The Big Ones Get Away' (written by Buffy Sainte-Marie, released by her in 1992).


To Guest:
I'm glad you enjoy Persis and Rilla's friendship, because I think supportive friendships are a hugely important thing, especially between women =). As for Ken, he clearly wasn't in this chapter, but since we're already in July and he's set to return in August (both in story and in real life terms), I promise it won't be a long wait anymore. Though I must say that it's a good thing you'll accept them either loving or fighting, because, well, let's just say "it's complicated" is a rather fitting relationship status for those two at the moment...

To Rach H:
I do try to limit the horse-y bits to a few chapters so as not to bore those who aren't very familiar with horses and riding, and hope it isn't too much. The terminology, by the way, is so specific (both in English and in German), that I keep having to look up words and phrases. I can mostly write this story without a using dictionary by now, but whenever I reach a part that's heavy on the equestrian terminology, I'm looking every second word. That alone ensures that I won't be writing about it too often ;).
Persis being in ICU is mostly a precautionary measure. This is a small-ish country hospital and they suddenly have the third-in-line to the throne to take care of, so I imagine they're all quite nervous and don't want to make a mistake! I really think they're just super scared to miss anything with her especially, so they prefer keeping her hooked up to some machines just to be sure. Besides, when you tell an emergency doctor that you fell of your horse and landed on your head, they get weirdly paranoid about brain haemorrhage, no matter how often you tell them that it's just a headache and you'll be fine. (They also come in every hour at night to shine a light in your eyes, which is definitely
not conducive to sleep! And then they don't want to let you go home the next day without an EEG and there's nothing more disgusting than having that EEG gel smeared in your hair. It's really very inconvenient!)
I think it's pretty obvious that Sam wouldn't mind being more than a mere friend for Rilla, hence the long trip to Wiltshire. Though she does very much want him there and is glad he came, so at least he was right in coming. Despite being happy to see him, however, Rilla doesn't reciprocate his feelings the same way, which I hope to have made clear. That she even considers kissing him as a way out of a complicated relationship isn't her best moment, but at least she's grown from her student days. It mirrors the situation with Eric and Chad, but while she took the easy way out then, she doesn't now. That's got to count for a little bit, don't you think?
As you predicted, there were more royals (and royal-adjacent hanger-ons) in this chapter. And yes, the end of Ken's deployment is indeed fast approaching! ;)