smiles at me.
I had always heard King Arthur was a good man. The fact that Xander admires him so much told me that as well.
But now I can see it for myself, and I’m so grateful Xander has had this man in his life.
“All right,” I say, smiling back at him. “Would you like to hear about my beginnings in Cardiff?”
“Careful how you answer that one, Father,” Xander chimes in. “She goes into long narrations. You might be hearing about maths in year three by the time the entrée course is served.”
I shoot him a look. Xander laughs.
“Well, that sounds perfect,” King Arthur says good-naturedly. “Much better than some of the conversations I’ve had at state dinners, I assure you.”
I shift my gaze to Christian and Clementine. “Would you please entertain this one,” I say, nodding my head in Xander’s direction, “so I can have a pleasant conversation with King Arthur?”
Christian laughs. “I’ll do it if you bring more M&M cookies. They were ace.”
“I thought Clementine was Ace,” Xander teases.
As they begin joking, I turn back to King Arthur. Before I can say a word, he reaches out and puts his hand on mine.
“Please, you may call me Arthur. I’d prefer that, actually,” he says kindly.
I smile. “I would like that, too.”
While we chat, more white-gloved servers appear with silver trays, presenting each person at the table with the first course. I glance down at it and find a fragrant brown broth, clear and light, filled with gorgeous mushrooms.
“Oh, this is lovely. I do love mushrooms,” I say to Arthur.
He smiles. “I’m glad to hear that. This is my favourite starter. I request it once a week,” he tells me.
“Oh, I have a feeling I would, too,” I say, reaching for my spoon. I’m about to say more when I hear voices rising from the other side of the table.
“I’m so done with it!” Arabella shouts, her voice breaking. “I’m tired of this charade of a marriage. I’m tired of you, you bastard!”
“Mum, please, let’s go,” Liz says, rising from her seat.
“You know what? You don’t have to go. I’m going to go,” Prince Henry yells back.
“Henry, stop,” the dowager queen commands. “Stop this minute.”
“I will not!” he roars, throwing his chair back and standing up. “You don’t want a charade, Arabella? You’re tired of everything? Well, that makes two of us. I’m done. It is archaic that we are in this marriage, and I won’t do it anymore.”
Oh my God. I watch in shock. Liz goes white. Roman quickly rises from his seat, putting his hand on her back for support.
Arthur rises as well. “This stops. Now,” he commands, his voice full of anger.
“No,” Prince Henry challenges, shooting his brother a hostile glare. “I will not stop. I should have bloody stopped ten years ago. I’m getting a divorce.”
“Oh my God,” the dowager queen says, dropping her spoon. “I’m going to faint.”
“Please, everyone, this is all emotion speaking,” Queen Antonia says crisply. “And this is not the place for it. We all know nobody in this family divorces, isn’t that right, Arthur?”
“How dare you!” Arabella shrieks, ignoring Queen Antonia and levelling her fury at Prince Henry. “I gave you my entire life. I stayed with you out of duty while you cheated on me, and now? You leave me for your mistress? When it’s too late for me to have a life?”
Arabella picks up her champagne glass and hurls it at him. Prince Henry dodges it, and it crashes to the floor.
Oh my God, I think, it’s an affair. An affair is destroying the York family.
“Stop, Mum, stop,” Liz cries, her hand flying to her mouth.
My heart wrenches for Liz. I want to go to her, but I know I can’t. At least Roman is there for her, standing by her side.
“Arabella, we need to go,” Roman says, taking command. “Liz and I will escort you out. You need to calm down.”
“I will not!” Arabella cries. Then she whirls back to face Prince Henry. “Hell will freeze over before I consent to a divorce. I’ll go to the press and expose your affair, that’s what I will do. I will destroy you!”
I notice Arthur grab the edge of the table with both hands so hard, my water glass shakes. I stare up at him. I gasp when I see how sickly Arthur looks. Beads of sweat are on his brow. He’s wincing as if that chest twinge is back.
With a jolt, an image of my Grandpa Joe pops into