Addie's mood had been plummeting ever since their return from the Baxley ball. So, in other words, for nearly three months. She longed to reach out to Theo and tell him...well, everything. She wanted to tell him that she loved him and that the incident with Will had been a misunderstanding. She wanted to tell him about the baby.

George had been inconsolable in his mood swings. Often he would be positively youthful in his moods, laughing with those around him about any passing jest. But other days, his words to her would be harsh and clipped. His nature careless in a mean way.

Above all else, he was obsessed with her condition. He spoke incessantly about how the news of "their" child would be received by the public, and at the same time continued to fret about Theo. He knew the Duke of Kingfield had sway with the ton, and he continued to be fearful over the idea that he would be challenged for the parentage of her baby.

On multiple occasions, Addie had attempted to explain to him that Theo wouldn't do that, at least, not publicly. She wagered that he may be curious, and that he may try to find a way to speak with her about it, but she couldn't convince George of that, much to her despair.

She told him that his little act back at the Baxley ball had likely convinced him to forget about her already.

Addie was glad that George hadn't tried to kiss her again since that evening. If it wasn't for the fact that she was carrying "his" heir, he likely wouldn't care to speak to her at all. Addie was beginning to see that the George she had known at the beginning of her marriage was not an accurate portrayal of her husband. That, or her being pregnant had truly changed him.

Because George wasn't assuaged by any of her reassurances. He said that if Theo found out, he wouldn't believe her, or that he would purposefully spread rumors amongst society that the baby could be his.

One dreary morning, George passed any level of reasoning. Addie had been considering the ways she could appeal to George about speaking to Theo, since she knew there would be no way to deceive her husband. She wanted badly to, at the very least, have a conversation with Theo to clear the air between them.

Addie knew that George was in the library and so she walked into it, preparing her plea. Instead, she approached to hear a footman informing him of the Duke of Kingfield's activities the previous day.

"George!" she marched toward him. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Ah, Adelaide." He said, surprised and slightly guilty at seeing her. Good. Let him sweat a bit, she thought. "Just keeping tabs on our mutual adversary."

He dismissed the footman and rang for tea. Tea. He wanted tea at a moment like this? When she was more likely to throw the scalding liquid at him than drink it?

"Mutual adversary?" Addie repeated in disbelief.

"Yes, the duke of course. That delightful footman there used to be in His Grace's employ, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity that he presented."

"What? Who—" She whisked around to catch a glimpse of the footman in question, but he had long vanished.

"You needn't worry," George continued, "Nothing of interest has been reported."

"Of course nothing of interest has been reported! He doesn't even know anything about my condition."

"But he might, Adelaide. He might have noticed at the ball," George pointed out with a mischievous smile.

That was it. George had lost it, and Adelaide had no idea what to do.

"George. George," Addie repeated twice, trying to make up her mind how to approach him. "I understand that you don't trust the duke. That's fine. But why are you so concerned about what people believe about this baby? I have given you my word that I would support your claim to this child. Perhaps there will be a few rumors about it. But there are always rumors in the ton, and most are just that. No one would truly be able to prove anything." She came up next to him, putting a hand gently on his wrist. "It will be all right, George."

"I know it will be alright," he said simply, twisting away from her. Addie's hand fell limply to her side.

"Then why all this business with spying on His Grace?" she pleaded, trying to understand. "What is bothering you?"

Addie saw him drag his hand through his dark locks. He looked unkempt today. His cravat was messy, and his boots were unpolished. She had never seen him in such a state. When he rounded back on her his face had changed too. His carefree mask was removed to reveal dark desperation. "Surely you know that the rumors have been growing, Adelaide. Except they aren't rumors. They are true."

"George, what are you talking about? No one even knows about the babe yet."

"No!" he shouted and then lowered his voice again. "Not the babe, Adelaide. Me. The rumors about me."

Addie's mouth fell open in a slow descent. "There are rumors about you?"

He rolled his obsidian eyes. "There have always been rumors."

"About your...preferences?"

He chuckled darkly, without humor. "Yes, about my preferences." He stared at her directly. "Toward men. It is all right, you can say it."

Addie was surprised beyond reckoning. She had never heard any rumors about George in that regard. In fact, she had never heard rumors about George at all, full stop.

"George, are you certain—"

"Yes, I'm bloody certain, Adelaide!" He buried his face in his hands and dropped into the plush settee. "Growing up, I fought it. I told myself that I was just curious about my own sex so that I could...learn more about myself. I don't know, really. But I fought it, to no fruition." His chest heaved a deep sigh. Addie took it upon herself to sit down opposite him, careful to not disrupt the words that George so clearly needed to say.

"Women are so...integral to the experience men have growing up. Well, all men except me it would seem. At school, it seemed women were all my peers could talk about, disgustingly so, at times. The interest was difficult to feign at times, but soon it became almost automatic, repeating the same jeers, the same boasts. Somewhere along the way, however, people began to notice that all my talk lacked follow through. And once the seed of doubt is planted, it is often difficult to escape."

Addie nodded, rubbing her belly instinctively. "And so this baby..."

"Yes, the baby. He, or she, is my chance at escaping the rumors. They will likely come back," he paused, shrugging as if in acceptance, "but it will keep them at bay. You will keep them at bay, so fabulously can you play act."

"I've had a lot of practice," she replied quietly.

"I know," he said, "why do you think I advocated for our marriage to my father?"

Addie just blinked, thinking of how easily he had gone along with their plans, how he had told his father that the marriage agreement they had proposed was reasonable when in all reality, it was a stretch. How when Addie wanted to be involved in the affairs of the crown, he supported her.

He shrugged again, noting her expression. "I knew you could play the part of a loving wife well. You know, really make them believe. Only someone truly able to conform to their surroundings could escape my father's notice for over two years. The fact that you were already pregnant was just icing on the cake. Your over infatuation with Kingfield has been troublesome, though." He spoke flippantly, as if it wasn't her life that he'd manipulated.

"Is really nothing more important to you than your own reputation?" she choked out.

"You don't understand!" he roared, leaning forward, so they were just inches apart, his perfect teeth sneering at her through his twisted features. "My reputation is everything. Everything. I am to be the King. And I will not have a single person doubting my ability to lead this country!"

Addie leaned an inch forward, meeting him in his declarations. "They will not doubt it when you take the throne and prove them wrong. It doesn't matter what your preferences are. You can show our people what strength truly means. But manipulating your family is not how it's done."

He shook his head, his expression instantly changing back into a placid arrangement. "You don't have to understand. It isn't necessary, and you should just forget what I've said. A blissful marriage is now at our feet, without anyone in our way." A wan smile appeared across his face.

Though the words were surely meant to be happy or perhaps encouraging, ice fill her veins.

"What do you mean, George?" she asked slowly, fearful of the answer.

George opened his mouth to answer when the maid appeared with the tea. "Ah," he said instead, "the tea has arrived, how lovely."

The maid busied herself with preparing the tea, first for Addie and then for George. But Addie didn't care one whit about the tea. She thought she would perspire of impatience before the maid finished her task. Addie nearly dismissed her on the spot but knew George disliked it when she took over responsibilities of the servants. And she needed him amiable.

Not able to sit one moment longer she went to stand by the window while the young woman finished preparing George's tea just how he liked it, cream, three sugars. Preposterous really. Who took three sugars in their tea? In addition to cream?

Finally, she heard the door creak close again indicating they were alone once more. She spun back to face him.

"So?" she asked.

"So," he drew out the word. "Let's just say Kingfield will no longer be a problem."

Addie had to grip the windowsill to keep from falling. A deep fear filled her in a cold wave.

"What did you do?" she ground out.

"Oh Adelaide, why don't you have some tea to settle those nerves. It cannot be good for the baby."

Her hand automatically went to cover her growing bump, but she couldn't bring herself to move from her spot. Instead, George took both teacups from the serving tray and carried them over to her as she stood by the window, her fingernails cutting in the wooden trim surrounding the glass.

He offered her the cup of tea, but she shook her head. "I don't want tea, George. I want you to tell me what's happened with Theo," she demanded.

"Suit yourself," he said, taking a sip from the porcelain. It was a long swig, and George instantly made a face. "Argh, that must have been yours. Truly awful, much too bitter." He looked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

"The Duke of Kingfield, George."

"Right—oh, Christ," George stumbled to the right, both teacups falling from his grasp as he grabbed for the windowsill right next to him. She barely saw a flash of his features, his face distorted in discomfort, before he doubled over, falling to his knees next to her.

"George!" she cried, rushing to kneel next to him. "What is it?"

He seemed unable to talk, just gaping at her with an increasingly red face, his eyes searching hers wildly before darting to the floor just next to her. She followed his gaze to the fallen teacup. Her blackened tea and his cream-colored, mixing together upon the carpet. It soaked the floor.

Addie turned back to George, intent on helping him, but when she looked to where he had been kneeling, she found his body strewn across the plush multi-colored rug.

"Oh, no. No!"

George's face was hidden within the strands of fabric, and Addie frantically reached for him. A small scream escaped her body at the sight that befell her as she flipped him over. With it, all the air left her body.

"God, no," she breathed, tears streaming down her face steadily now. George's eyes stared at her, blank and empty. She shook his shoulders in an attempt to wake him but was given no response. Her hands fluttered around his chest, searching for signs of breathing, anything at all to indicate life was still in reach.

But there was nothing.

All there was to do was stare at her shaking hand upon his lifeless body.

Addie wasn't sure how long she knelt next to him before she forced herself to her feet, and the realization hit her hard.

For the second time in her life, someone had attempted to kill her. For the second time, she had watched another die instead. And now she must flee.

The first time this had happened to her, she had felt empty. Today, there was only fury.

Life had seeped from George in a matter of seconds. It happened before she could do or say a thing. He didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve that. She clenched her hands and bit back a scream. Her fingernails dug into her flesh in an attempt to steal herself against this moment where the pain felt all encompassing.

Finally, she broke free of the library. Her husband was dead. She could only pray that the man she loved hadn't already joined him, too.

The palace was a blur as it passed her by. She knew what she was doing, what fleeing would imply for whoever found George. But Ernest would make this into her fault regardless. Without George, she as at the mercy of the king. And above all else, Addie had to ensure that Theo was alright.

She forced herself to move quickly without breaking into a run. Luckily, while Addie didn't necessarily go unnoticed, neither was she stopped as she slipped through the halls to a side entrance mostly used by footmen to come and go from their duties.

The gates to Buckingham Palace loomed in front of her, an unavoidable obstacle. Panic began to set in, but the bells rang out through the thick London air with the new hour. On cue, she saw the liveried royal guard approaching, the gates opening and the changing of stations begin. Amongst the systematic exchange, she slipped out of the gates without alarming any notice.

In a world where her murder had been attempted twice, she reveled in this small display of luck.

Addie found that her anxieties only worsened the further away she traveled from the palace, the hustle and bustle of London drawing her in. She accepted with disquietude that she cared far more about what happened to the person she loved the most than what became of her. And so, though she distanced herself from her attempted murder, she found what potentially laid ahead to be far more dreadful.

Would it be too late for her to reach Theo before whatever George had planned would take place?

Fear, and fear alone, kept her moving.