Grace stumbles into her flat, feeling drained.

With both hands, she pushes the door closed stopping to rest her forehead on the cold wood. Only then does she truly feel the weight of the day. The tears start to escape her eyes one by one, slowly evolving into two continuous streams.

Is she overreacting? She isn't sure.

She had felt so alone, sitting there while Arthur's mother spoke to her like a child, like a criminal. The questions she asked, the way she asked them, tore at Grace's already abysmal self-esteem.

And Arthur just sat there and watched, as if a half-assed warning was a sufficient defence against the force of nature that was Alexandra, Duchess of Gloucester.

Grace doesn't think that she has a right to feel angry at Arthur, this was his mother, for god's sake, she couldn't blame him for not wanting to be harsh with her.

But she can't help but feel put out. Arthur had said it himself, he had promised to always make her feel loved, to feel like she was worthy of him. If so, then where was he when his mother was clawing at her resolve like a lion to a carcass? Grace doesn't need to be babied, she doesn't need him to reassure her every moment of the day, but no one can blame her for holding him to his promises. Today was a test of his word, and he had failed.

It makes her angry. Angry that he didn't keep his promise, and angrier that she needed him to at all. All you ever hear about are these strong women, strong black women, who little girls are supposed to aspire to be. But no one ever talks about the ones who are weak, who are delicate. The one's who have to muster up all of their courage just to stand up for themselves. Apparently, there's no strength in sensitivity.

Right now, however, Grace wants to cry. And cry she does. She doesn't feel like talking to anyone, not Elina, not Bex, and especially not Arthur.

She sighs, lifting her head away from the door and wiping the tears from her hot, blotchy face.

Sluggishly, she takes a few steps toward the kitchen, fixing herself a glass of tap water before hopping to rest on the counter. She sits for a while, just staring into space, taking sips from her glass sporadically.

Ten deep breaths. In. Out.

Grace can feel her heart rate slow back to a normal and hops off of her perch. Midway through rinsing her glass, there is a knock on the door.

She feels as though her arms are going to fall to the floor with how much her shoulders sag.

With a huff of breath, she spins around and makes her way to the door.

"Hello, Grace," the woman before her says, a wry smile on her face, "I think we should have a private chat."

Grace's face drops, leaving her feeling like a basset hound. She gulps and nods, stepping aside, allowing the woman to come inside.

"Alexandra..." Grace says, not even bothering to school her tone, "Pleasure."

"I highly doubt that, Sweetheart, after the way our last conversation went."

She's not wrong, Grace thinks with a scoff, sitting down on her cheap sofa.

"So, uh, what did you want to talk about?"

Duchess Alexandra smiles softly, removing her coat and resting it on the back of the armchair in the corner of the room before settling down onto the seat.

"Firstly, I want to apologise." The woman starts, a sincere look in her eyes, "I know I acted a little bit hostile in Arthur's flat."

Grace stares at her, letting one eyebrow cock upwards. She shifts in her seat, a little bit uncomfortable and unsure how to respond.

"Right..." she says, mulling over her thoughts, "So why did you?"

"I wanted to see how you'd react."

"You were testing me."

"Yes." The duchess tells her, eyes hard and challenging.

Grace sighs deeply, she doesn't expect a positive answer but decides to ask regardless, her voice quiet, "Did I pass?"

"No."

Okay. There it was. Confirmation that the woman who gave birth to the love of her life does not like her.

"I like you, Grace."

Oh.

What?

Alexandra continues, "I think you're a respectable young woman, intelligent, well-spoken. But you aren't cut out for this."

"Because I'm lower-class? Black?" Grace guesses, a little irrational and blunt, but in the context of the royal family, it doesn't seem like an unwarranted conclusion.

"Because you're sensitive."

That struck a chord with Grace. They two of them just sit there, looking at each other in contemplative silence.

"This job, being in this family, is difficult. You need to have thick skin. As you so eloquently pointed out, you're black. That's going to be your thing."

"My thing?"

"The thing that they'll use against you. Anyone who marries into the royal family has one. For me, it was my father. He went to prison for embezzlement."

Well... that was an unexpected admission.

"Lucky for me, James wasn't deemed important enough for me to be completely torn down." Alexandra frowns, looking over to the window, "But I'm afraid you won't have it so easy, considering Arthur's position."

"And you think I won't be able to handle it."

"I know you won't." She confirms, "You couldn't even handle questions from me. How are you meant to handle everyone in the country?"

She has a point, Grace thinks, it'll break me.

"Don't put yourself in the firing line, Grace. I'm saying this because, from what I've been told, you're a lovely young woman."

"From what you've been told?" Grace asks suddenly, furrowing her eyebrows, peering at the woman, "Who's told you stuff about me? Arthur?"

With a tilt of her head, Alexandra blinks, seeming a little taken aback, "I... I had my ways of finding out about you."

"Spies." Grace guesses, "You've been spying on me."

The other woman is silent, regarding her defensively.

"Yes." She says finally, straightening her back, "I have."

Grace isn't surprised, which, ironically, is surprising. Of course, the (sort of) Queen of England would hire someone to spy on her. She's sure any mother would do that to their son's girlfriend if they had the resources. What does bother Grace, is that she doesn't know who it was.

She hasn't noticed anyone acting strange. And she would notice if she had been followed. Nothing particularly interesting has happened to her recently, nothing unus-

"Rebecca." Grace blurts out, suddenly having an epiphany.

Alexandra, who previously had her honey brown eyes trained on the woman before her, suddenly couldn't meet her gaze. It's confirmation enough.

"So... my new friend is really a spy for the royal family?" Grace says, feeling numb.

"She's still your friend, Grace." Alexandra tells her, eyes meeting hers, "She told me so herself. I just needed her to tell me about you."

"This is so, so fucked." Grace curses, not even bothering that she's in the presence of the most influential woman in Britain. "What did she tell you about me?"

The duchess shrugs, "Likes, dislikes, where you like to eat... passions, political views. Stuff that I need to know about a potential daughter-in-law."

"And... You think I'm lovely?"

"Yes." Alexandra confirms, glancing at her nails, "Rebecca was very positive about you... And your friend, Elina. You're a good egg, Grace."

"Just not good enough for your son." Grace responds bitterly.

"I think you're perfect for my son... Just not for the King of England." The older woman sighs, "You're controversial, through no fault of your own. Normally it wouldn't matter, but as I said before, I don't think you'd be able to handle the backlash that controversy brings."

She then shifts slightly, her expression morphing into one of sympathy, "Which is why he needs to be with someone that the British public and media will have no reason to hate."

"You think they'll hate me?" Grace interrupts, crushed.

"I think you're unfamiliar, and unfortunately people hate what they don't know. Ignorance is killer, dear."

"So Arthur should be with a rich white woman?"

Alexandra looks uncomfortable, as if she were hoping she wouldn't be asked this directly. Tough, Grace thinks, you're gonna have to tell me straight up.

"Yes." The woman tells her, embarrassed, "And I know that's not fair."

"You're right, it isn't. It's bullshit."

"It is bullshit. Grace, I'm on your side."

"Are you?" Grace asks incredulous, "Because from where I'm standing, you're asking me to walk away from the man I love so that he can marry some barbie."

"I'm not asking you to walk away, I'm advising you to. If you think you can handle the onslaught, then by all means, go about your merry way." Alexandra's eyes go hard, "But when the hard questions start, and believe me they will be hard, don't say I didn't warn you."

"If I refuse to walk away?" Grace is bluffing now. Alexandra is saying all the things she thinks about on her own in the dead of the night. But hearing it from the duchess's own mouth flings her into fight of flight mode.

"Then I'll speak to Arthur. It'll crush him, seeing you undergo such scrutiny. Letting you go will be the kindest thing he could do, and I'm going to make sure he knows that."

"Who's to say he'll side with you?" Grace challenges.

"He's a mama's boy, dear. He always sides with me."

Grace doesn't know how to respond to that. From the way he acted at his flat, not defending her against his mother, she can tell that Alexandra is right... Arthur is a mama's boy.