by Ally Carter
“It is a tidy solution,” the PM says.
“You’re both crazy.”
“Grace, wait!” PM Petrovic calls out to me before I can leave. Or fight. Or … jump. The wind is in my face now, slapping me awake.
“Ann married the prince to put Amelia’s heir upon the throne. Now it is up to you to do the same.”
I know that she’s not joking—Prime Minister Petrovic doesn’t tease. But the earnest expressions that greet me don’t belong here. Someone’s playing a joke. Even if it is God.
“Please, Grace,” Ann says. “Let us end it.”
I look at the PM. “It would be best for everyone. For you. For your brother. For whatever children either of you might have,” she says.
“And the line in the constitution about what would happen if Amelia or her heirs were to show up? We’re supposed to forget about that, are we? If I’m right, your job would go away, wouldn’t it?” I ask the PM.
“Do you want anarchy?” she asks. It’s almost like a dare.
“I want a nap, Ms. Petrovic. I want a shower and the chance to wake up in the morning not terrified that someone’s gonna try to kill me. Again.”
She nods. “This plan gives you that, Grace. We can draw up papers. Your brother can abdicate the throne. And within a few years the succession will be secure. Amelia’s bloodline will be merged with the current royal family, and this will never be a problem again.”
“Okay. Fine. Then draw the papers up for me. Let me abdicate, too!”
“No.” PM Petrovic shakes her head. “As you said, there may be other heirs. There no doubt are other heirs. This needs to end, Grace. You need to end it. Put Amelia’s bloodline back where it belongs.”
“Bloodlines! You’re talking to me about bloodlines! As if I’m … livestock. How can you both stand there and talk about breeding me as if that’s all I’m good for?”
Ann actually smirks—she smiles—but there’s no joy in it. “Welcome to life as a princess.”
They’re serious, I realize. They’re crazy, but they are also 100 percent serious. And I should be, too.
Two hundred years ago rebels threw open the palace gates and massacred a family and changed the kingdom. The world. Somehow, that’s brought me here, two centuries later. I think about the king and queen whose bodies hung from the palace windows, a cautionary tale. And then I think about my mother, about my brother’s friend. And Grandpa.
Centuries have passed, and people are still dying.
But if these two women are to be believed, I may be the only one who can stop it.
I should feel high on power, but I just feel sick with grief. For the people who are already gone and for whatever future I might have had right up until this moment.
“If I take your deal, it will be a trade,” I say. “I’ll move into the palace just as soon as my grandfather leaves. Not before.”
The PM and Ann share a look. Then the PM smiles. “That is acceptable.”
“You are a monster,” I tell her, but she isn’t insulted. Not even a little bit.
“I’m the monster who just guaranteed that you and your children and your children’s children will never have to worry about this bomb going off ever again.”
She seems so proud of herself as she and Ann turn to leave.
I hate them. I hate them so much.
Mostly because they’re right.
I wake up early. Well, that’s assuming I sleep at all. Which I don’t. Not really. I know the marines are outside 24-7, keeping watch and standing guard. But my ghosts are already inside the embassy. My mother’s bed creaks beneath my weight. Shadows dance across my walls. The tree outside my window is gone now, chopped down and hauled away, partially to keep people from crawling in, partially to keep me from crawling out. And I know it doesn’t matter. There’s no place left for me to run even if I tried.
I don’t have a panic attack. Dr. Rainier should be proud of me. I just sit in the middle of my mother’s canopy bed, my arms wrapped around my legs. Rocking. But I don’t scream and I don’t cry. I wait quietly for morning, for the nightmare to be over. But some nightmares never end.
The sun isn’t up yet, but the sky’s getting brighter when I grab some clean clothes and pull my hair into a ponytail.
The embassy’s still asleep.
The lights are off and the phones are silent.
But I know I’m not alone.
There’s one room downstairs with the door cracked. A little light seeps out into the hall, and I’m quiet as a mouse as I creep close and look inside.
“Gracie?” the voice is low and weak, but it’s the only sound, and it echoes in the stillness of the halls.
The room used to be the formal parlor. It’s where Megan and Ms. Chancellor wrestled me into my first puffy pink dress. But now there is a hospital bed near the window. The antique rugs have been rolled up and the floor is so sterile it shines. But it’s the man I can’t stop looking at.
He is smaller than I remember—frail. His white hair doesn’t shine like snow. His skin is the color of ashes.
But he is alive.
And he is home.
“Gracie, come here. Let me look at you.”
I ease toward the bed.
“Grandpa, I—” I start, but he shushes me and glances toward the corner.
There, curled up on one of the most uncomfortable couches in the embassy, is Eleanor Chancellor. There’s a crocheted blanket across her lap and her high heels lie discarded on the floor.
“You’ll wake the guards,” Grandpa says with a smile and a wink in Ms. Chancellor’s direction.
He tries to laugh. It makes me want to cry.
When I reach the bed, he takes my hand and pulls me closer. The Tennessee is thick in his voice when he says, “Oh, Gracie, what did you do?”
“I …”
“Tell me you didn’t agree to any craziness for the sake of this old man.”
“Jamie’s okay,” I say, because it feels like the only thing that matters. It seems like ages since I’ve seen my brother, but I know this in my gut. “Jamie’s okay now.” I run my hands through Grandpa’s hair, push it off of his cold forehead. “And you’re okay. And now everyone is going to be okay.”
“What about you, Gracie?” Grandpa asks.
I lean down and kiss his cheek.
When he drifts off to sleep, I don’t bother telling him the rest: that I forfeited the right to be okay three years ago.
Only the marines and the sky are awake as I head out onto Embassy Row.
The buildings are all dark. A few delivery vans and police cars pass, but I keep walking, head down, certain of where I have to go.
As I walk through the gates, the sun starts to crest the hills that circle the east side of Valancia. The light is the color of gold, and the whole city shines. My mom’s hometown looks so beautiful, here at the top of this hill. Now I understand why Dad and Jamie had to bring her back here—why this is where she was laid to rest.
Adria isn’t just where this story started; it’s also where it has to end.
“Hi, Mom.”
My mom isn’t here. This is just a slab of stone with her name on it, some remains that share my DNA. Caroline Blakely, beloved daughter, wife, mother. Her tombstone doesn’t say anything about her being a princess—that that’s the reason why she’s here.
No.
I’m the reason why she’s here.
I remember this, and just that quickly my breath goes away. I fall to my knees. The grass is damp with a heavy morning dew that seeps through my old jeans. Suddenly, I’m not on a hilltop in Adria; I’m on a dark street in the US, looking through a window, about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
“Grace, no!” my mother yells, and I close my eyes, refusing to see the scene that fills my mind.
My breath comes too hard. It’s like my lungs don’t work, and my body wants to draw in on itself. I’m aware only of the damp ground and the cold headstone and the utter emptiness that is lef
t when all your hope is gone.
But hope’s not gone. Not really. Jamie is alive. And I have the power to make sure he stays that way.
Slowly, breath fills my lungs. My heart slows. And the sun climbs higher, turning the city into gold.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say to that piece of stone. “I’m sorry I haven’t come before now. I guess it never felt like you were really here. And you aren’t, are you? It’s not over yet, but it could be. They say it will be—that this will end it. They’re probably lying. They’re probably going to kill me, too. But …” My voice cracks. My vision blurs.
“But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Then I’d be with you.”
I don’t cry. Crying is tears and grief coming out of you in equal measure. I’m too far gone for that. For me, grief is almost all that’s left, and it pours out of me, the anguished screams of someone who has finally hit rock bottom.
I don’t know how long I stay crumbled before my mother’s grave. She’s not there, but that doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters anymore.
“I’m doing it for Jamie,” I say after a while. “And for you. And for Amelia, too, I guess. Someone has to do it. And I have to pay for what I’ve done. Dad and Grandpa would never let me go to jail, but I have to pay. I deserve to pay, so … I’m going to the palace instead. I’m going to be a princess. At least that’s what they tell me.”
It’s almost time now. I can feel it in my bones. So I put my hand on the cold stone and push myself upright. My eyes are no doubt puffy, my face red. There’s no hiding that something’s wrong. Or, more like, nothing’s right.
Embassy Row is waking up when I reach the city’s wall. There are more guards on the street, some locals heading into work. Part of me half expects to see Jamie coming around the corner, sweaty and breathing hard after running ten miles around the city. Then I have to remind myself that my brother is running. And I’ve just made a deal with the devil so that he can stop.
“Gracie!” Alexei isn’t chasing after me. He’s standing, staring. And I have to will myself not to turn around and run away. I have to remind myself that he’d run faster.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as soon as he can see my eyes. They’re still puffy and red, I’m sure. And I realize that Alexei probably hasn’t seen me cry that often. For too long I was out of tears.
“Gracie, what has happened?”
“I went for a walk,” I say. I want to push past him, head for the US and our walls, but Alexei is so big and strong. He has too much gravity, and right now I’m too weak to pull away.
“Gracie, what did you do?”
He’s not talking about three years ago. If he hasn’t learned the truth already, he surely doesn’t want to hear it now. Maybe he sees it on my face. Or maybe he just knows me too well. But Alexei isn’t fooled for one single second.
“What happened yesterday? What happened on the wall?” he asks.
“The princess and the Society had a proposal. It’s the best for everyone, so I took it.” I force a smile. “It’s over, Alexei. Now everything can go back to normal.”
“What kind of normal?” He prowls toward me. I’m afraid that he might pounce.
“They’re going to stop chasing Jamie. They’re going to stop chasing me. It will be okay. I swear. It will be over.”
“Gracie—” He reaches for me, and I try to dodge, but he’s too fast. Or maybe I’ve been running for too long. He’s the only person I want to catch me.
Alexei’s hands are warm, his fingers gentle as they brush my hair out of my eyes and tip my head back to look up at him. He places a gentle kiss on the top of my head, then holds me close.
I can feel as much as hear him say, “Tell me, Gracie. Please.”
There’s a choice now. I’m like the sand on the beach, and I can either slip through Alexei’s fingers or turn to glass. Either way, I know I’ll never feel like this again, so I close my eyes and breathe him in. And then what I have to do hits me. Like lightning. I’m practically brittle as I pull away.
“I’m going to move into the palace.”
It’s like Alexei hasn’t heard me, like someone put this moment on pause. But then my words sink in.
“No,” he says. “You’re not.”
I shrug and try to laugh. “It’s the palace, Alexei. Why wouldn’t I want to live there?”
“What did they say to you yesterday?”
“It was like Ms. Chancellor said. They had a plan, and it’s a good one. I’m going to do it.”
“What plan?”
“Well, see, to start with, I’m going to move into the palace and then … in a few years … I’m going to marry the prince. It’s all been decided.”
Alexei looks like maybe I’ve hit him. Like maybe he wants me to.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s really genius when you think about it. They know Jamie is the rightful heir—the oldest kid of the oldest kid and so on. So they could kill us. But there are probably other heirs, you know, and they probably can’t kill us all, so—”
“What are you talking about?”
I look at him and bat my eyes, shake my head like the pretty girls in movies always do. “I’m going to marry the prince, and then our oldest child—Amelia’s rightful heir—will be on the throne eventually. Our own little coup, and the country never has to know. Everything is back the way it should be and the region remains stable and … everyone is happy.”
I smile, but Alexei scowls. It’s like a part of him is starting to believe me. “Are you happy, Gracie?”
Now it’s time to laugh and smile and tell him that every little girl dreams of growing up and marrying a prince and living in a palace.
But this is Alexei. He knows I never was a typical little girl.
“Princess Ann did it—when she was a girl. She and my mom and, I guess, your mom thought that Ann was the heir, so she married the prince. Now I’m going to marry the prince.”
“You don’t even know him!” Alexei’s shouting, but Embassy Row doesn’t care.
“We’re not getting married tomorrow. I’m just going to move into the palace for now. The official story will be that Ann was my godmother, so I’m living with her. And then the prince and I will get to know each other, and in time, I’m sure—”
“Do you think I care about time?” Alexei shouts, but I want to tell him that he should care. We’re running out of it, after all.
“Gracie, you don’t have to do this. Jamie would never want you to do this!”
He reaches for me again, but this time I manage to pull away. I’m too cold and too hard to cling to. Maybe Alexei realizes that if he were to squeeze me, I might break because he doesn’t reach for me again.
“Maybe I want this,” I tell him. “Did you consider that?”
For the first time, he seems to wonder if it might be true.
“Do you?”
“It’s my birthright,” I say with a shrug. “I was born to be a princess.”
Alexei laughs now. A cold, cruel sound. “You could have fooled me.”
I talk on. “Really, there’s no reason not to do it.”
I’ve done things—terrible things for which I will never, ever be forgiven. But this is the first time I’ve been intentionally cruel. I see the words hit him, and as big and strong and stoic as he is, he actually stumbles.
The sun is rising, and I can feel Alexei’s gaze on me, like he’s looking for some clue that I’ve been drugged or replaced. I’m not Gracie, Jamie’s kid sister. I’m not the crazy, reckless girl next door. I’m not the young woman he has been getting closer and closer to for weeks now.
I am a stranger.
And for the rest of our lives I’m going to have to stay that way.
“I can think of a reason.” Alexei’s arms are around me then, his lips pressing against mine. It’s not like the kisses that we’ve shared before. This is stronger, deeper. This is a kiss that is going to have to last us both a lifetime, because the thi
ng that we both know about this kiss is simple: It’s probably our last one.
“You’re a nice boy, Alexei,” I say when, at last, I pull away. “I’m sorry, but this is for the best. You’ll always be one of my very best friends, you know.”
“Friend?” Alexei says, and steps away.
“I’m sure we’ll see each other sometime. It’s not like this is good-bye.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is.”
He doesn’t follow me down Embassy Row. I’m alone when the limo pulls up in front of the US gates and the uniformed driver comes around the car and opens a door.
I look up at the residence, but there’s no use going inside. I can’t bear any more good-byes, I tell myself.
So I give one last wave at Alexei and climb into the dark backseat. The windows are black and bulletproof. It’s as good a place as any to shatter.
I’ve been to the palace three times.
Once, when I was new to Adria and stuffed into a pretty pink dress. That night, I danced and I curtsied and I tried to make my grandfather proud.
Once, when I was adrift and needed Princess Ann to explain my own mother to me, to make the past make sense.
And once more when my brother was dying and the crowds were descending and I was desperate for fences and walls, anything to hold the tide at bay even if for just a little while.
But that was before I knew the truth. About my mother and Amelia and Ann—about the terrible, twisted fate that another mob set in motion on another night.
It’s been two hundred years since the Society smuggled a baby girl through the palace gates.
Two centuries have past, but now it’s like Amelia is finally coming home. I’m taking her rightful place and reclaiming her birthright. No one seems to care that that means turning my back on my own.
The car is quiet and dark, so I close my eyes and savor the last sounds of silence that I might ever hear. I have no idea what to expect when the gates swing wide and we pull onto the grounds. We drive up to a portico on the far side of the palace, a place sheltered by tall walls and heavy trees. We’re in the heart of Valancia, but the rest of the world feels a million miles away when the limo stops and a man opens the door.