Chapter 9 - ONE YEAR LATEROne year after the royal wedding that never happened, I stood on the deck of a rescue vessel off the coast of Bellmare.
The morning was cold.
Gray clouds hung over the water.
Dad would have loved it.
The ship was called RCV Robert Carter.
I had argued against the name.
King Edmund ignored me.
Apparently monarchs can be stubborn.
The vessel was the first financed through the maritime rescue foundation.
It carried advanced medical equipment, high-speed rescue craft, drone systems, thermal cameras, and enough emergency gear to respond to disasters across hundreds of miles of coastline.
No gold trim.
No ceremonial nonsense.
A working boat.
Exactly right.
I had returned to regular duty after the scandal.
The Navy investigated every aspect of my involvement and cleared me.
For six months I barely spoke publicly.
Neither did Caroline.
She moved out of the palace.
That shocked the press more than anything.
She rented a small apartment in Boston.
She started working with a nonprofit that provided trauma counseling to families of emergency responders.
Not as a spokesperson.
Not as a royal fiancée.
As Caroline Carter.
She and Julian did not see each other for four months.
At least not in person.
I knew they spoke occasionally.
I never asked.
That was their business.
My relationship with Caroline rebuilt slowly.
Painfully.
Honestly.
She started therapy.
So did Mom.
Eventually, after a lifetime of considering emotional vulnerability an inefficient use of time, so did I.
Dad would probably have made a joke about it and then secretly approved.
The first real breakthrough between Caroline and me happened at Thanksgiving.
She showed up at my house carrying a terrible pumpkin pie.
We ate takeout instead.
At midnight, she said:
“I envied your medals.”
I said:
“I envied how easily you made friends.”
She stared.
“You?”
“Yeah.”
“You walk into rooms full of admirals.”
“Admirals have rules. Cocktail parties are terrifying.”
She laughed so hard she cried.
Then I laughed.
Something old and good began to grow again.
Not the relationship we had before.
That one had been built partly on silence.
The new version was better.
Harder.
But real.
On the morning the rescue vessel was commissioned, Caroline arrived alone.
She wore a simple navy-blue dress.
No security entourage.
No designer hat.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
She smiled.
“So do you.”
I was wearing dress whites.
She looked at the uniform for several seconds.
“I was an idiot.”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
“Thank you for not arguing.”
“I’m learning boundaries.”
We hugged.
Then a convoy arrived.
King Edmund stepped out.
Julian followed.
Caroline froze.
She had not known he was coming.
Neither had I.
“You okay?” I whispered.
“No.”
“Good luck.”
“You’re an awful sister.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Julian greeted officials.
Then he saw Caroline.
He stopped.
For several seconds they simply looked at each other.
He approached.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
I suddenly found the rescue vessel fascinating.
Caroline asked, “How have you been?”
“Busy.”
“Me too.”
“I heard.”
She smiled nervously.
“Good things?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“You still make terrible pie.”
Her mouth fell open.
“You talked to Emily.”
He smiled.
For the first time in a year, I saw something familiar between them.
Not fixed.
Not magically restored.
But alive.
The commissioning ceremony began.
King Edmund spoke briefly.
Then I was asked to say a few words.
Public speaking usually didn’t bother me.
This did.
Because Dad’s photograph was mounted beside the podium.
I looked at the crowd.
“My father believed rescue work was simple.”
People smiled.
“He used to say you don’t ask whether somebody deserves help before pulling them out of the water.”
I paused.
“You pull first.”
I looked toward Caroline.
“You ask questions later.”
Her eyes filled.
“That philosophy works surprisingly well at sea.”
A few people laughed.
“It is more complicated with families.”
More laughter.
“But I’ve learned something this year.”
I looked at Mom.
At Caroline.
At Edmund.
At Julian.
“Sometimes rescuing someone doesn’t mean preventing them from facing consequences.”
Caroline nodded.
“Sometimes it means telling the truth and standing nearby while they learn to live with it.”
I touched Dad’s medal pinned inside my jacket pocket, unseen.
“My father saved a prince. He saved a future king. And in the final minutes of his life, he saved his daughter.”
Caroline’s face crumpled.
“He never asked to be remembered for any of it.”
I looked at the ship.
“So we will honor him the way he would have wanted.”
I smiled.
“By getting to work.”
The crowd applauded.
After the ceremony, Julian found me near the stern.
“Can I ask your advice?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether this is about my sister.”
“It is.”
“Then absolutely not.”
He laughed.
“Fair.”
I leaned against the rail.
“What happened?”
“We had coffee.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“She told me everything she’s been doing this year.”
“That sounds healthier.”
“She’s changed.”
“Yes.”
“You trust her?”
I thought about it.
“More than I did eleven months ago.”
“But not completely.”
“Trust isn’t a light switch.”
He nodded.
“Do you think people can genuinely change?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think Caroline has?”
“I think she’s changing.”
That distinction mattered.
Julian looked across the deck.
Caroline was talking to Mom.
“I still love her.”
“I know.”
“She loves me.”
“I know.”
“But everyone expects either a fairy-tale reunion or permanent disaster.”
“Then disappoint everyone.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“Stop living for spectators.”
He smiled slowly.
“Is that advice?”
“No.”
“Sounded suspiciously like advice.”
“I outrank you on boats.”
“I’m literally the crown prince.”
“Not in the United States Navy.”
He laughed.
Later that afternoon, I found Caroline sitting alone near the bow.
Julian approached.
He carried two paper cups.
He handed her one.
Coffee.
Nothing dramatic.
No ring.
No cameras.
He sat beside her.
They talked.
For almost an hour.
I gave them privacy.
Six months later, Caroline called me from Boston.
It was 6:12 in the morning.
I answered expecting an emergency.
Instead she said:
“He asked me.”
I sat up.
“Asked you what?”
“To marry him.”
I was silent.
“And?”
“I said no.”
That woke me up.
“You what?”
She laughed.
“Not forever.”
“Explain.”
“I told him I don’t want another royal wedding.”
I smiled.
“He agreed.”
“I told him I don’t want twelve months of planning and press coverage.”
“And?”
“He said good.”
“I told him I want twenty people.”
“Now you’re talking.”
“And…”
She hesitated.
“What?”
“I want my sister there.”
Something tightened in my chest.
“I’d hope so.”
“In uniform.”
I smiled into the darkness.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“No embarrassment?”
She began crying.
“Emily.”
“I’m teasing.”
“I deserve it.”
“Yes, you do.”
She laughed through tears.
Then her voice softened.
“Will you come?”
I remembered the message from a year earlier.
Please don’t come.
Now this.
May you like
I answered the only way I could.
“Try keeping me away.”
