Part 2: The baby screamed until the palace waitress held him, but when he pulled her locket to reveal the dead princess's face, the entire royal wedding plunged into pure terror.

The concrete tunnel was cold and smelled of damp earth and rust.

Margaret led the way with a tactical flashlight she had snatched from the passage wall, while I hurried behind, holding Oliver so tight he could barely move. The sound of rapid gunfire echoed down the concrete shaft, reverberating like muffled thunder.

Oliver began to cry, his little hands shaking as he gripped my blouse.

"Shh, baby, I'm here. I’m right here," I whispered, pressing kisses to his forehead, tears stinging my eyes. Every maternal instinct I didn't know I possessed surged through my veins. I didn't care about the crown, the titles, or the billions of dollars tied to the Whitmore name.

All I cared about was getting this little boy and my mother to safety.

"The bunker is another two hundred yards," Margaret panted, her older frame struggling with the brisk pace. "Once the blast doors seal, even an artillery strike can't penetrate."

Suddenly, the beam of Margaret’s flashlight flickered across a figure standing at the junction ahead.

A figure in a torn, dirt-streaked white wedding gown.

Victoria.

She had escaped during the breach. Her pristine bridal veil was gone, her hair was wild, and in her trembling right hand, she held a black semi-automatic pistol.

"Did you really think you could take my life from me?" Victoria snarled, stepping into the center of the narrow tunnel, blocking our path.

Margaret immediately threw her arms wide, blocking Oliver and me. "Victoria, put the gun down! It’s over! The police know everything!"

"Nothing is over until I say it is!" Victoria shrieked, her face contorted in madness. "I was supposed to be Queen! I gave up my youth for that stiff, grieving fool! I waited for Eleanor to rot, and just when the crown was placed in my hands, a beggar from America walks in and takes it?"

"Eleanor was my sister!" I yelled, stepping out from behind Margaret, holding Oliver firmly against my back with one arm. "You poisoned her like a coward!"

"And I should have hunted you down twenty years ago!" Victoria screamed, raising the barrel of the gun, pointing it straight at my forehead.