For a few minutes they were both silent, watching Franklin sprint up and down the beach, his tail wagging furiously. Each time he ventured into the water, he would let out a little yelp of delight before retreating.
“He’s gotten so big,” Beatrice mused aloud. Putting off the topic she’d come here to discuss.
Teddy nodded. “Puppies grow up too fast. Blink and you miss it.”
Everything was happening too fast. When she was younger, Beatrice had thought time moved so slowly, that a year was an eternity to wait for something. Now it felt like physics had twisted and time had accelerated, and she wasn’t sure how to keep up.
She used to be so certain of everything, but now she felt certain of nothing. If only she could rewind the clock to before her father died: when everything had been so clear-cut and simple, when everything made sense.
The ocean rippled before her, its surface a molten silver. As always, the sight of it calmed her a little. Beatrice loved how small it made her feel, that the sheer size of it dwarfed everything, even America itself.
“I lost a showdown with Congress yesterday. Or, really, with Robert,” she said at last.
Teddy didn’t interrupt. He just shifted a little closer, letting Beatrice explain the whole disastrous encounter.
“I keep wondering what my dad would say about all this,” she finished, shame and resentment warring in her chest. “Would he have understood why I did it…or would he say that I’ve been foolish, jeopardizing the balance of power? That I acted out of pride and put the entire monarchy at risk?”
When he spoke, Teddy’s voice was thoughtful and steady. “Bee—I can’t speak for your dad. But I, for one, am proud of you.”
“Even though I violated the terms of the Constitution?”
“I thought Congress violated the Constitution by failing to invite you,” he countered.
Beatrice looked down, tracing a few swirls on the damp sand. “I’d have to check…”
“I doubt it,” Teddy challenged, giving her shoulder a playful nudge. “Come on, nerd out for me. You know you want to.”
He was fighting back a smile, but his dimple gave him away. Seeing his expression, Beatrice couldn’t help smiling, too.
“Article three, section twenty-eight,” she recited. “ ‘It is a duty of the King to convene and dissolve a Congress. In the absence of a Crowned King, Congress shall ask the Heir Apparent to preside over its opening and closing: the Legislative Body deriving its authority from the people, but its Action and Competency from the Crown—’ ”
She was cut off mid-sentence when Teddy leaned over and dropped a quick kiss on her lips.
“Sorry,” he told her. “I just, um…”
“Have a thing for girls reciting the Constitution?”
“I was going to say smart girls, but yours works too.” He laughed, then grew more serious. “Bee, you know you just answered your own question. Congress acted out of line, too.”
By now the sky had lightened, the surf curling back from their feet as the tide lowered. The breeze tousled Beatrice’s hair. She leaned back on her palms, watching Franklin race through the waves.
Her entire life, she’d been taught to respect the Constitution, to obey the Crown, to venerate tradition.
But now she was the Crown, and truth be told, Beatrice was getting kind of sick of tradition.
The future didn’t belong to people like Robert anymore. It belonged to her and Teddy, to Samantha and Jeff. To their entire generation of people, who were all dreaming and fighting and doing their best to make the world a better place.
She was still clutching at the sand: scooping great handfuls of it and letting it fall through her fingers like the sand of an hourglass. Teddy reached over, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said bluntly.
“Bee, you’re doing a job that only eleven people have done before. There aren’t going to be any easy answers,” Teddy pointed out. “You should trust your instincts. And stop listening to the people who try to tear you down, because you’re going to be one hell of a queen.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. You already are.”
Beatrice couldn’t take it anymore. She turned and pulled his face to hers, dragging her hands through his blond curls, kissing him with everything that was aching and unsettled in her.
When they finally broke apart, she saw that the sun had lifted above the horizon, streaking the sky with color. Beatrice took a breath, inhaling the mingled scents of coffee and sea salt and brine.
Franklin came racing out of the surf. He gave his entire body a shake from nose to tail, spraying water over them both, before plopping his wet head in Beatrice’s lap.
She shifted closer to Teddy, leaning her head onto his shoulder, and scratched idly at Franklin’s ears.
Together, the three of them watched the sun climb higher in the sky—setting the ocean on fire, creating the world anew.
“I’m so sorry for what happened,” Daphne pleaded. “I never meant to hurt you!”
Himari took a step forward. There was no trace of the stubborn, proud girl who’d been Daphne’s best friend. Her eyes were pools of darkness, her features as impassive as if they’d been carved from stone.
“Daphne, you are a terrible person. Now you’re getting what you deserve.” She placed her hands on Daphne’s shoulders and pushed.
Daphne realized, then, that she was at the top of the palace’s curving staircase.
Her feet flew out from beneath her, and her shoulder hit the next stair with a crack that resounded through her bones. Yet somehow her body kept falling, tumbling ever faster down the staircase. She cried out in agony—
Daphne sat bolt upright, clutching her sheets to her chest, gasping for air. Her hair was a fiery tangle around her shoulders. Reflexively she reached for the phone on her bedside table.
And there was the text Himari had sent last night, the one Daphne hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.
Last night, in a fit of anxiety—after weeks of calling and texting Himari, with no response—Daphne had gone to the Marikos’ house. But Himari had refused to see her. Instead Himari had sent her first text in weeks. Don’t come here again.
Please, Daphne had hurried to reply, can we talk?
I have nothing to say to you. You’re a terrible person, and soon enough you’ll get what you deserve.
It was a real text. Not just part of Daphne’s nightmare.
She fell back onto her duvet and closed her eyes. Her body was still shaking with the panicked adrenaline rush of the dream.
Daphne wasn’t safe. She’d made so much progress with Jefferson these past few weeks. But if Himari followed through on her threat, it could all come crashing down.
Her former best friend was going to destroy her, unless Daphne found a way to destroy her first.
She glanced back at her phone, wishing she could text Ethan. She could use his sharp, sarcastic mind right now. But she and Ethan hadn’t spoken since their confrontation outside school a few weeks ago. So many times Daphne had started to call him—he was the only person she could talk to about any of this—but some stubborn impulse held her back. She told herself that she didn’t need Ethan, that she could handle everything alone, just like always.
Except…she couldn’t, not this time. There was no way she could go up against Himari again without help. Daphne needed an ally, and not just any ally. Someone strong. Someone so powerful that even Himari would be forced to back down.
Suddenly, a memory crashed into Daphne’s mind, of something Samantha had said in their first training session. Beatrice is pretending most of all! She doesn’t even love Teddy; she loves—
And Samantha had broken off, to rapidly change tack.
Daphne’s breath caught. Did Sama
ntha mean what Daphne thought she meant—that Beatrice was involved with someone else, someone who was not Teddy Eaton?
Whoever it was, it must be someone highly off-limits: a commoner, perhaps, or someone who worked for the royal family. Otherwise, why wasn’t the queen engaged to that person instead of Teddy?
Daphne reached for her phone again, and typed a quick email to Lord Robert Standish, requesting an appointment with Her Majesty. She held her breath and pressed Send.
If she was right, Daphne had just stumbled across the most valuable secret she’d uncovered in a lifetime of scheming. And she knew just what to do with it.
If she was wrong, then she would lose everything.
* * *
When Daphne arrived at the palace for her meeting with Beatrice, the footman directed her not to the queen’s office, but to her personal suite. Daphne tried to conceal her surprise. Despite all her years of knowing the royal family, all the countless times she’d been in the prince’s bedroom, she’d never actually set foot in here. But then, she and Beatrice had never exactly been close.
As Daphne stepped through the door, she gasped.
The furniture had been pushed aside so that the queen could stand at the center of the room in her wedding gown. A portable mirror was unfolded before her; a seamstress crouched at her feet, making a series of minute stitches on the delicate hem.
The gown was timeless and elegant and so very Beatrice. It had long sleeves, with a narrow V-neck and dropped waist that disguised the queen’s small chest. But the real showstopper was the enormous full skirt, its ivory silk faille overlaid with delicate embroidery.
Beatrice was standing there with impossible stillness, almost as if she wasn’t breathing. Daphne remembered hearing that the late king used to make her do her homework standing up, so that she would grow accustomed to long hours of being on her feet. So much of being the monarch was a job done while standing—attending receptions, meeting people at a walkabout, conducting long ceremonies—that he’d thought it was never too young to start practicing.
“Robert wants you to sign an NDA, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. So please don’t post anything about the dress,” Beatrice said, a smile playing around her lips. Daphne wondered, startled, if the queen was teasing her.
“Of course I won’t say anything. You can trust me,” she said, though the words felt false in her mouth. “It really is beautiful. The embroidery…”
“If you look closely, you’ll see a flower for every state. Roses and thistles, poppies and bluebonnets, and, of course, cherry blossoms,” the queen explained.
Daphne ventured a step closer, and saw that each of the flowers had been painstakingly picked out in diamantés and seed pearls, adding an ethereal shimmer to the gown.
The seamstress finally looked up, and Daphne realized that she wasn’t a seamstress at all, but Wendy Tsu—the most famous designer of bridal gowns in probably the entire world. Who, apparently, was lifting the hem of Beatrice’s wedding gown herself.
“That embroidery took my team over three thousand hours of labor,” the designer stated, with no small amount of pride.
Daphne wondered whether her gown would be this intricate, when—or rather, if—she married Jefferson.
“Your Majesty,” she began. “There’s something I was hoping to ask you. In private, if you don’t mind.”
She saw Beatrice exchange a look with Wendy. The designer, whose needle had been flying in and out of the fabric with near-impossible speed, stabbed it through the hem to mark her place. She retreated with a quick curtsy, shutting the door behind her.
“What can I do for you?” Beatrice offered, in a curious but good-natured tone.
“I wanted to ask a favor,” Daphne said carefully. “I saw that there’s a recent opening for an ambassador to the Japanese Imperial Court at Kyoto. I was hoping you would appoint Kenji and Aika Mariko, the Earl and Countess of Hana.”
She felt an odd, lonely pang at the thought of sending Himari so far away. It wasn’t fair that Himari should wake up from her coma, only for Daphne to lose her all over again.
But what other choice did she have?
“I’m sure the Marikos would be wonderful representatives,” Beatrice agreed. “But Leanna Santos has asked me for that position, and I mean to give it to her.”
“Please,” Daphne said haltingly, her stomach plummeting.
“It was nice of you to lobby me on your friends’ behalf. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Daphne braced herself. Here she was, about to play her very last card. To throw everything she had into what might be the most reckless gamble of her life.
“If you don’t do it, I’ll tell everyone about your secret relationship.”
The queen went gravely still, and Daphne knew her words had found their mark.
“Are you blackmailing me?” Beatrice asked, her voice dangerously cold.
“I’m trying to reach an understanding with you. I promise, if you appoint the Marikos, I’ll never breathe another word on the subject. But if you won’t help…” Daphne let the moment of ominous silence drag out, then went on. “How do you think Teddy would feel, knowing you’d been with someone so completely unsuitable? Not to mention the media?”
Daphne had rehearsed her words ahead of time. She hoped, desperately, that Beatrice couldn’t tell how little she actually knew—that, in fact, she had no idea whom the queen had been secretly involved with.
“How. Dare. You.” Beatrice’s face was illuminated with a regal fury that Daphne had never seen before.
Some deep-rooted instinct prompted her to sink into a deep curtsy, and stay there. She kept her head bowed, trying frantically to plan her next move.
Finally Beatrice spoke into the silence. “I’ll appoint the Marikos, as you request.”
She hadn’t given permission to rise, so Daphne remained in the curtsy. “Thank you,” she murmured, almost swaying from sheer relief.
“Oh, get up.” Beatrice’s voice was laced with anger and disappointment.
Slowly Daphne rose, swallowing the bitter taste of fear. It struck her in that moment that she would never be a real royal, not the way Beatrice was.
She’d spent too many years scheming and snatching up privilege. Even if everything went according to plan—if she got rid of Himari, and got Jefferson back, and eventually married him—she would never be as regal as Beatrice.
“Daphne, this is the one and only time I will let you hold this information over my head,” Beatrice said tersely. “If you ever again mention what you think you know, to me or to anyone else—if you ever try to blackmail another favor from me—you won’t find me so forgiving.”
“I understand. And thank you. For your mercy.”
“You took an enormous risk today,” Beatrice went on, her eyes still locked on Daphne’s. “And I can’t really understand why. I thought Himari was your friend.”
“I…she was,” Daphne whispered.
There was a brush of something softer in the queen’s expression, and Daphne wondered if Beatrice had somehow guessed what she was going through. If she knew what it was like, to be famous and publicly adored and yet keep no counsel but her own.
Beatrice reached for a silver bell on a side table, and rang it. Moments later Wendy rushed back into the room, followed by Robert Standish.
When she saw Robert, the queen stiffened. Probably she blamed him for letting Daphne come over and bully her into something she didn’t want to do. After all, he was the one who’d granted Daphne this appointment.
“Robert,” Beatrice said, gritting her teeth into a smile, “please escort Daphne to the front doors. And do make sure she signs an NDA on her way out.”
Daphne nodded and backed out into the hall. She understood what Beatrice was saying: that Daphne had forfeited her trust.
She and Beat
rice might never have been close, but until today Beatrice had tolerated her, maybe even approved of her. Now Beatrice would never look at her the same way again.
It was a very high price to pay. But Daphne had no choice except to pay it.
Marshall shifted closer to Samantha in the Los Angeles sunshine. “When I said to wear orange, I didn’t realize you were going to choose fluorescent tangerine,” he whispered.
Sam rolled her eyes. “For your information, I like this dress.”
“You look like a Skittle.” Marshall’s mouth twitched. “The cutest Skittle in the pack, obviously.”
They were standing before the Ducal Pavilion, the white-pillared building that served as the administrative center of the Duchy of Orange, while Marshall’s grandfather delivered his welcome speech. From what Sam could tell, he and Beatrice were going to reenact the moment when Orange officially acceded to the union.
“What’s your grandfather wearing?” she murmured, nodding at the duke’s black fur cloak, which looked far too heavy for this kind of heat.
“Oh, that’s the bear cloak that the Dukes of Orange wore back when they were kings. Apparently my ancestors thought a grizzly-bear pelt was more badass than a crown,” he added wryly. “Normally that thing lives in the museum, but they take it out for special occasions.”
“It’s way better than a crown,” Sam agreed. “I wonder if the Ramirezes have anything this cool.” As the Dukes of Texas, they were the only other family who had once been kings, but had accepted a demotion to dukedom so that their territory could join the United States.
“I’m sure they have Royal Rattlesnake Boots or something. I mean, it’s Texas,” Marshall replied. Sam bit back a laugh, aware that a few people, including Teddy, had glanced their way.
They fell silent as Beatrice started up the steps of the pavilion. Like everyone in the crowd, she was wearing orange, though her dress wasn’t quite as loud as her sister’s.
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