The Royal Heirs #42: Emma

The Royal Heirs #42: Emma
A slight hesitation this time. "The connection there is... complicated. We've uncovered financial links dating back to the founding between Humphreys family accounts and organisations now known to be Coalition fronts. However, these could be explained as standard aristocratic investments rather than ideological support. We're continuing to investigate."
I took another sip of my tea, using the moment to gather my thoughts. "The ruling in their trial—could it be overturned if you found concrete evidence of their involvement in these extremist activities?"
Simpson sighed, the sound carrying the weight of decades navigating legal complexities. "Potentially, Your Majesty. But we would need substantial new evidence—not merely connections or suspicious patterns, but direct proof of criminal activity. The Humphreys family has considerable influence in the judicial system, and any case against them would face intense scrutiny."
The twins shifted restlessly within me, as if sensing my frustration. I placed a calming hand on my belly, drawing a deep breath before continuing.
"Tell me about the boxes, Chief Simpson," I said, unable to keep a slight edge from my voice. "Not just the one found today."
If he was surprised by my knowledge of multiple threats, he concealed it well. "There have been five in total, Your Majesty. The first arrived at the palace gates shortly after your pregnancy was announced publicly. The subsequent three were delivered through various means—one left at a charity where you serve as patron, one sent through official royal mail channels, one discovered by groundskeepers near the eastern perimeter of the palace."
"And they all contained the same... items?" I asked, the memory of those mutilated stuffed wolves making my stomach clench.
He nodded grimly. "Essentially, yes. The presentation has been consistent—two white wolf toys with their throats cut, damaged miniature crowns, and threatening messages specifically targeting your unborn children. Only the exact wording of the messages has varied, though the general content remains the same."
Artemis growled within me, her protective rage a golden heat spreading through my chest. Threat to pups. Find them. Kill them.
I forced myself to focus on the practical rather than the emotional. "Have you found anything useful from them? Fingerprints? DNA? Handwriting analysis?"
"We've exhausted every forensic avenue, Your Majesty. The perpetrator—or perpetrators—have been extraordinarily careful. The boxes themselves are standard commercial products available at any shipping store. The toys appear to be custom-made but contain no identifying marks. The notes are printed on common paper using a standard printer. We've analysed ink compositions and paper sources, but they've yielded no useful leads."
"So we have nothing," I said flatly, disappointment bitter on my tongue.
"I wouldn't say nothing, Your Majesty." Simpson leaned forward slightly. "Each threat gives us more data, more patterns to analyse. The one left for you in the forest today represents a significant escalation—they're growing bolder, taking greater risks. And people who take risks make mistakes."
The twins kicked emphatically, as if agreeing with his assessment. I rubbed the spot where a tiny heel or elbow had jabbed me, finding unexpected comfort in their vigour.
"Is there anything else I should know?" I asked, meeting Simpson's gaze directly. "Anything else about these investigations that affects me or my children that has been... filtered from my knowledge?"
Simpson held my gaze, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, with evident care, he spoke. "There have been three additional threats deemed credible enough for investigation but not serious enough to warrant attention—comments made at public gatherings, a suspicious individual repeatedly observed near palace grounds, and a minor security breach in the royal communications system two weeks ago. All have been thoroughly investigated and resolved without incident."
I nodded slowly, grateful for his honesty even as each new revelation stoked my anger at being kept ignorant of these matters. "Thank you for your candor, Chief Simpson. Going forward, I expect daily briefings from you directly about any advancements in these investigations, as well as any others that affect me or the crown. No matter how minor they might seem."
"Of course, Your Majesty." He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Would you prefer written reports or personal briefings?"
"Personal, when possible," I replied. "I find face-to-face communication leaves less room for... misinterpretation."
The subtle emphasis wasn't lost on him, his lips twitching in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "As you wish, Your Majesty. I'll make arrangements to incorporate these briefings into my daily schedule."
"Thank you." I straightened in my chair, signaling the conclusion of our meeting. "I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow."
Simpson rose, bowing formally before making his exit. When the door closed behind him, I released a long, slow breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. The information he'd shared swirled in my mind—three hundred extremists, financial connections to Benjamin, five boxes promising violence against my unborn daughters. The magnitude of the threat felt overwhelming, yet paradoxically, knowing the specifics brought a certain calm. Named fears were always less terrifying than shapeless ones.
I finally reached for a chocolate biscuit, the sweet taste doing little to dispel the bitterness that lingered from Theo's deception. But beneath that bitterness, something else had taken root—a fierce determination that burned brighter with each kick from my daughters.
Artemis sensed it, her golden presence settling into watchful readiness within me. We protect pups, she affirmed. No more hiding. No more lies.
"No more," I agreed quietly, resting my hand on my stomach where our daughters continued their restless movement. "Whatever comes next, we face it on our terms. No one else's."
The twins kicked in unison, as if sealing our pact with tiny, perfect fists.