King Ernest fell ill two months after Prince George's death.

It was said to be only a chest cold, but Addie was summoned to his side late one afternoon when the sun was beginning to dim, allowing cool air to penetrate the hazy heat of London.

She had been living at Buckingham Palace again, after pointing out to Ernest that despite George's passing, she was still a princess. Addie had reminded him of what they had agreed upon; she was never to be a consort. She was now the heir to the throne. And the baby, as Addie and Theo had known, convinced King Ernest of that. Her pregnancy helped to ensure that she had a place within the walls of the palace.

She also argued that she could marry whoever she pleased. No foreign princes or dukes for her. She had married once for the sake of her country and it had ended disastrously. This time, it would be for love. Not having much in terms of bargaining chips if he wanted his grandchild on the throne, Ernest had consented.

Did Addie feel sorry for deceiving her uncle to get her rightful place in English history? No. Honestly, she couldn't find it in her to care. The man had fought, fucked, debased and conspired his way to the throne. And this lie was worth knowing his own blood could never succeed him.

She knew this was her biggest sin. Addie wasn't perfect. But, she had never felt more perfect than in this betrayal.

Addie was only living at Buckingham until her old home, Bushy House, could be prepared for her and her son to live. And then eventually, Theo as well, once the mourning period for George had passed. They would marry as soon as they were able. Just the thought of living with Theo and their child in her own home made her believe again. In life, in love, in her purpose.

But while her life blossomed, it would seem that Ernest's life was withering. Lord Trotten had publicly denounced the king in a bold move that left many in parliament and ballrooms around Mayfair speechless. Addie wasn't sure how he had done it, or even what his battle to do so had looked like, but she was confident that one day she would know when he was ready to tell her.

Ernest, his soil no longer watered by the praises of the ton's elite, could not withstand the heat of England's summer. His roots, which had grown so deep into parliament, severed. And then the wind had blown on his time as a monarch.

It was with a simple illness that King Ernest was brought down to dust.

Addie walked her way to his suite of rooms with measured steps, unsure of what scene she would see before her when she entered. As it so happened, it was rather morose, but not in the way one might expect a deathbed to be.

No, it was morose in the way he lay in the monstrous bed, beneath the fine golden threads of his silks and satins, pale, frightened and alone. No amount of finery could save him now. Addie did feel a pang of remorse to see him there like that, but she steeled her nerves, telling her to reserve her compassion until she had come to say what needed to be said and learn what she needed to know.

"Come here, child," he said in a scratchy voice.

Addie was cautious of the kindness she heard there. She approached the bed gingerly. Her movements were belabored, simple though they were, by the exceedingly round belly that protruded from her.

"I am not a child, uncle."

He began to chuckle, but it evolved into a harsh, hacking cough. Addie waited until he had finished and then asked what she needed to before it was too late.

"Tell me honestly," she said. "Did you have my family killed? Did you try to kill me on that dark winding road?"

He gave her a blank look. There was no regret or denial. It was void of emotion in an empty way. "Yes," he admitted.

"Why?" Addie asked, needing to know. "How?"

"I had a team of horses and a carriage filled with heavy cargo following you. They were to wait until you were out of town before causing the collision. The roads were icy, so I knew it would not take much. But I am told that they chose the moment that the carriage had stopped to strike. I think, however, if they had done the deed when the carriage was moving, it would have been nearly impossible for anyone, including you, to survive."

He gave her a cold, knowing look.

"You really have no remorse, do you?" she gasped, trying not to choke on the words. He shrugged.

"I wanted to be revered in society. I thought I wouldn't care what the masses thought of me if my friends regarded me with admiration. I needed the throne, the power, to do that."

"What friends, uncle?" she poised, scanning the empty chamber around them.

His face flushed with anger now. "I had more supporters than you ever realized. More than your father ever realized either. Those people were my friends."

Addie shook her head. "Ironic, really. Anyone else, I might give the advice to 'keep your friends close and forget all the rest.' But you're a king of a nation. It isn't the same for you."

He just narrowed his eyes, his face growing pale again after his flash of annoyance.

"And then what happened? What has happened now?" Addie sat on the edge of the bed, beholding him beneath her, looking small.

"The power didn't matter," he revealed. A startling admission. "No one was impressed with me at first. I needed Trotten to help me. And now, he is gone. I am no more liked as a king than I was as a fifth son."

Addie raised her brows, surprised at his candid words. And then she said, "The person you were born as or the title you carry does not determine the way others see you. At least not always. Your place in this world is what you make it. It is the things you do, the things you say, that make people follow you and like you. That is where true power comes from."

Ernest closed his eyes with her words, listening to her for the first time.

Addie considered telling him, then, about her child. That George wasn't the father. But it would hurt an already dying man and betray an already dead one.

When he was gone, she would tell the world. When this man was no longer a part of her life; she would live as she wanted.