The Queen Demanded I Chase Her? Then I Let Her Go

I was halfway through the emergency call when the north windows of Wren House went black. "Get everyone out," I said into my phone. "No one goes back inside for anything." Across the lawn, firefighters dragged a hose toward the old lodge while smoke poured from its roof. The wind pushed it toward the cedar grove. I could smell burning varnish and wet earth. Beyond the taped perimeter, staff crowded together in coats over evening clothes. I counted faces without meaning to. The housekeeper. Two kitchen staff. The night porter. A security guard with soot across his cheek. Vivienne was missing. I called her number. The call rang once and went to voicemail. "Your Majesty," said Chief Inspector Mara Bell, stepping over a hose. "We need you away from the building." "I'll move when you tell me whether the queen was inside." "We're checking." The answer landed harder than it should have. I stared at the upper windows, where flames flickered behind the glass. Wren House had been empty for most of the year, but tonight the royal household had scheduled a small dinner there. Vivienne had requested it. She'd said she wanted a quiet evening, just the two of us, away from the palace and its staff. At seven, she'd canceled dinner. At eight, the fire alarm had gone off. At eight-ten, the first crew arrived. I turned toward the staff. "Did anyone see her leave?" The porter lifted a hand, then lowered it. "I saw Her Majesty by the east doors, sir. Before the alarm." "Before the fire?" "I don't know." A medic touched a blanket around my shoulders. I shrugged it off. I needed my hands free, though I had no idea what I meant to do with them. A figure emerged from the service path. Vivienne's private secretary, Nora Finch, was carrying a leather folder against her chest. Her hair was damp from the mist, and one sleeve was streaked with ash. "Where is she?" I asked. Nora stopped in front of me. "She's at the boathouse. She's safe." The relief came first. Anger followed close behind. "Why didn't she answer her phone?" "She asked me not to bring it." "Did she start the fire?" Nora's mouth tightened. She didn't answer. Chief Inspector Bell stepped between us. "I'll need to speak with both of you. Separately." "I'm the king. You can speak with me now." "I'm speaking with you now. I'm also telling you not to interfere with the investigation." Her tone was level. I liked her for it. The fire crew got the blaze under control before it reached the cedar grove. Wren House's west wing was gutted. The old library and dining room had taken the worst of it. No one was hurt. The phrase should have comforted me. Instead, I kept thinking about how close the fire had come to the bedrooms. Vivienne was waiting in the boathouse, wrapped in a wool blanket. When I stepped inside, she stood up. "I didn't know the flames would spread that quickly," she said. "You knew there would be flames?" She looked at me, and for the first time that night, her composure cracked. "I needed you to understand what it feels like when someone ignores you." I shut the door behind me. "You could have asked me to listen." "I have. For seven years." The boathouse smelled of lake water and smoke. Behind her, a small side table held a glass of untouched water. Her hands were clean, but I could see a red mark at her wrist where someone had gripped her too tightly. Maybe she'd caught a door. Maybe it was from the firefighters. I didn't ask. "What did you want?" I said. She laughed once, without humor. "You know." "Say it." "Rowan's title." Rowan Vale. Her oldest friend. A man whose family had once managed the coastal lands belonging to the Crown. The title he wanted was an old hereditary grant attached to those lands. It carried no real governing power, but it came with a seat on the Crown Land Trust and authority over the Wren district's redevelopment funds. I'd said no three times. "Why burn the lodge for him?" I asked. "I didn't burn it for Rowan." "Then who?" She took one step toward me. "I burned it because you never hear me unless something breaks." I wanted to tell her that a building had broken. That people could have died. That she had turned our marriage into a public emergency and expected me to call it devotion. Instead, I said, "There's a note." Her face went still. I had found it on the desk in my office, delivered by a page before the alarm. The envelope had my name on it in her handwriting. I hadn't opened it until the fire was under control. I pulled it from my coat pocket. "You wrote that seven years of marriage had failed because I wouldn't give you what you asked for," I said. "You wrote that if one gesture could make me regret refusing, then you would make it." She lowered her eyes. "Was the note meant to make me chase you?" "No." "Then what was it meant to do?" "I don't know anymore." The answer sounded honest. It did not sound safe. Outside, the sirens faded down the drive. I folded the note and put it away. "I'm not giving Rowan the title," I said. "And you're not returning to the palace tonight." Her chin lifted. "You're sending your wife away?" "I'm keeping a fire investigation separate from a marriage argument." "Then what happens tomorrow?" I looked at her. I loved her. That fact had survived the smoke, though I wasn't sure what love could do with what she'd done. "Tomorrow, I find out who was in that house."