“It is my birth certificate,” I breathed. “It details the birth of a baby girl in Ireland on 21 June 1862—my birthdate. The mother is Lily Ashbourne.” I stopped speaking abruptly, the words stuck in my throat. “And the father?” Stoker asked. I could not speak. I handed him the paper. “Yes, here is the date and the mother, just as you said, and the father—” He looked at me, nearly dropping the paper. “This cannot be.” I swallowed hard. “But it is.” “‘Mother, Lily Ashbourne,’” he read slowly. I held up a hand. “Don’t,” I commanded, my voice sharp. But he did not stop. “‘Father, His Royal
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