“If Dad were here, he would encourage you to go for it,” Beatrice murmured, and was rewarded with the ghost of a smile.
The two of them sat there together in a quiet, peaceful silence.
Beatrice knew she would never stop missing her dad. Grief like this was messy and brutal and it hurt, so much; yet, being here with Sam, Beatrice felt…maybe not better, but stronger.
It didn’t really surprise her that she and Sam had broken their silence at their father’s grave—as if he were here too, quietly nudging them to find their way back to each other.
“Everything is changing,” Sam mused aloud. “I feel like the entire world turned upside down this year, and I don’t know what to do.”
Beatrice reached for her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “We’re not changing, okay?” she said fiercely. “No more fighting between us. From here on out, we’ll always have each other. I promise.”
Samantha gave the gravel a sullen kick, sending the stones flying in all directions. The stables were on the opposite side of the grounds from Washington Palace, far enough that tourists usually shuttled back and forth in royal blue trolleys, but Sam had ignored the footman’s offer to drive her over. It was a gorgeous day, and she’d thought she could use the walk.
She was so relieved to have cleared the air with Beatrice. But even being reconciled with her sister—they’d spent the weekend together, catching up on all the months they’d lost—wasn’t enough to distract her from thoughts of Marshall.
Sam hadn’t seen him since last week’s trip to Orange. When he’d texted, she’d replied with vague, one-word answers. Sam knew that Beatrice had said to go for it, but Beatrice hadn’t seen the way Marshall and Kelsey were tangled together on the dance floor.
It had all played out exactly as Sam had predicted. Seeing Marshall with a princess had made Kelsey decide that she wanted him back.
For once, Sam took no joy in being proven right.
When she reached the stables, Sam hurried through the exhibition hall—filled with replicas of old carriages, coachmen’s uniforms, even a wooden pony that children could practice saddling—and into the riding ring, which was surrounded by a row of spectators’ seats. It smelled of leather and dust and, underneath, the animal musk of horses.
The first thing Sam noticed was the golden state coach, spread out in the middle of the arena in all its blinding glory.
Eight bay geldings stood harnessed before it, enormous white plumes fixed to their foreheads. A postilion in crimson livery was talking to Sam’s mother, who was reviewing something, probably the parade route, with Robert Standish. Teddy had wandered behind them to approach one of the horses in the carriage lineup.
He held out a sugar cube, and the horse eagerly licked it from the palm of his hand. It nipped at his clothes in search of more treats, but Teddy just laughed. Sam watched as he greeted each of the horses with low, soothing noises, stroking their necks so that their ears pricked forward in lazy delight.
This, she realized, was what Teddy did best. There was a steadiness to him, an intent fixity of purpose that calmed everyone around him. He was the sort of person you wanted to lean on in a crisis. He’ll be a good king consort, she decided.
He looked up at her and smiled, the familiar, dimpled smile that used to make her go weak at the knees. Except now when she saw it, Sam felt nothing at all.
She jumped down into the ring, and a puff of light brown dust rose from beneath her sneakers.
At Sam’s arrival, Robert looked at his watch and heaved a sigh. “Apparently Her Majesty is running late. So, Your Royal Highness, you’ll have to fill in for your sister. Why don’t you and His Lordship get into the state coach.”
Teddy started forward, but Sam stayed where she was. “Get into the coach? Why?”
“The coachmen will take you around the grounds a few times, to simulate Beatrice and Teddy’s procession through the capital. We just want to make sure everything is in good working order,” he explained. “This is the first time the carriage has been used in twelve years.”
It hadn’t been used, Sam realized, since her father’s coronation.
She didn’t bother pointing out that this carriage was so heavy, the weight of one young woman wouldn’t make a difference. Robert clearly wanted a dress rehearsal, and right now she lacked the patience to argue with him.
Sam and Teddy started forward. The carriage was enormous, made of leather and wood but gilded all over so that, from a distance, it looked like solid gold. Sculptures were carved into the sides: a chorus of gods trumpeting in victory, eagles with their wings unfolded.
“No worries, Eaton, I’ll go with Sam,” said a voice behind her, as Marshall stepped forward to open the carriage door.
He was wearing jeans and a crew-neck shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. Sam’s heart lurched at how nonchalantly gorgeous he looked.
“Hey, Marshall. I didn’t know you were coming,” she said, with admirable disinterest.
“I thought I’d stop by. When the footman said you were at the stables, I caught a ride on one of the tourist carts. I learned so much,” he went on, eyes twinkling. “Did you know that your house has two thousand one hundred and eighty-eight windows, but only three of them still have the original glass?”
Normally Sam would have snorted in amusement at hearing the palace called a house. But her mind had whirled cruelly back to last weekend, and she said nothing.
“Lord Davis!” Robert exclaimed. “Do you ride?”
“Yeah, I went to junior polo camp with all the other fancy lads,” Marshall said sardonically.
The chamberlain nodded. “Excellent. I was wondering if you’d like to ride in the wedding procession, as part of Her Majesty’s advance guard? Traditionally it’s composed of six young noblemen, and—”
“Whatever, I’ll do it.” Marshall turned to Samantha, gesturing that he could help her up. “Shall we?”
Sam brushed past his outstretched hand and vaulted into the carriage alone.
The interior was very small; they had to sit facing each other, so close that they were almost bumping knees. Sam blinked, adjusting to the sudden dimness.
Neither of them spoke as, with agonizing slowness, the carriage jerked forward.
She felt Marshall’s dark eyes on hers, questioning. After a few more beats of silence, he jerked on a leather strap hanging from the carriage’s ceiling. “What’s this?”
“An old hat cord.” At his look, she explained. “It was for men to hang their top hat on, in case they were so tall it didn’t fit.”
“Of course, a hat cord.” Marshall wrapped his wrist around it and tugged himself forward, doing a pull-up. She ignored him.
The horses’ steps dwindled to a halt. Sam peered out the window; they had just stepped out of the arena. Queen Adelaide was complaining that she didn’t like the look of one of the horses: in the sunshine, its color was too light to match the others. A stable hand sprinted forward to switch it out.
“Your mom is benching one of the horses and putting in an alternate,” Marshall pointed out. “Poor guy. His career ended before it even began.”
When Sam said nothing, he lifted an eyebrow in concern. “Sam, are you okay?”
It wasn’t fair of him to act like he cared. He wasn’t her real boyfriend.
“I’m fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
He held out a hand, gesturing to her closed-off attitude. “This doesn’t seem fine. What’s going on?”
Sam wanted to grab him, kiss him, hurt him, everything at once. She wanted him to want her back—and since that wasn’t going to happen, she wanted to leave him before he got the chance to leave her first.
“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” she said, though every word cost her. “We should put an end to this, now that we’ve both gotten what we wanted out of the whole
charade.”
She thought she saw Marshall tense at her words, but she couldn’t be sure. “Have we?”
“Kelsey was all over you last weekend. She clearly wants you back.” Sam shrugged, as if Marshall’s romantic dramas didn’t much interest her. “Isn’t it time we ended this farce of a relationship, so we can get together with the people we actually want to date?”
He stared at her for so long that her gaze wavered. She looked over at the door handle, wishing she could throw it open and run.
“Sure,” Marshall said at last. “We can break up.”
“Great.”
The silence that settled between them was denser than before. The carriage rumbled clumsily around a turn, and they were both rocked unceremoniously against the far wall. Sam blinked and sat up straight, trying to recover her dignity.
“So? Go ahead,” Marshall told her.
Sam blinked up at him. “What?”
“You want it to be public, right?” There was a cold glitter in his eyes as he jerked his chin toward the window. “If we’re going to break up, you should do it now. I’d recommend shouting, so Robert and your mom will hear.”
Sam dug her nails into the fabric of the seat cushion. “There’s no need to fake a breakup,” she snapped. “I’ll just tell Robert to make a press announcement tomorrow.”
“Come on, Sam, you love performing. End this farce of a relationship the way you started it. You owe me that much, at least.” Marshall was still speaking in his normal cool drawl, but beneath the words Sam detected a note of something else, fighting its way to the surface. “Then you can go to the wedding with your new boyfriend, or old boyfriend, or whoever the hell he is.”
“I’m not going with him,” Sam heard herself say. “He’s—he’s with someone else.”
Marshall scoffed. “In that case, I’m surprised you want to call this off.”
“Trust me, it’s for the best.”
“Come on, Sam.” Now Marshall sounded almost cruel. “You wanted to make him jealous; let’s really make him jealous. That’s all I’m good for, right? We can go to some more parties, take a new round of photos—really sexy ones this time, and—”
“Look, I don’t want him anymore, okay?” Sam cried out. “I don’t care about making him jealous!”
Marshall was very quiet as he asked, “What changed?”
Tell him how you feel, Beatrice had said. So Sam braced herself and did exactly that.
“I met you.”
When she dared a glance up, she saw that Marshall had gone utterly still.
“Samantha,” he said at last. Normally Sam hated her full name, but she loved it on his lips, loved the note of thrilling, territorial possessiveness underneath. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that it killed me, seeing you with Kelsey last weekend. I don’t want to use you to get someone else. You’re the one I want.” Her words tumbled hastily over one another. “I can’t keep acting like this means nothing to me, not when I—”
Marshall stood up in the moving carriage, bracing his hands on the wall behind Sam, and closed his mouth over hers.
Sam arched her back and leaned up into him, looping her hands around his neck as she pulled him down toward her. An eager hunger flared in her core. Marshall’s hands slid lower, to cradle her spine—
“Ouch!”
The carriage had hit a bump, slamming his head into the ceiling.
“Are you okay?” Sam cried out.
He slid back onto the opposite bench, rubbing at his skull. “Guess I should’ve been warned by the hat cord,” he said, grimacing.
Sam’s heartbeat was still uneven, the echo of an adrenaline rush pounding through her veins. She tucked her mussed hair behind her ears. “You know, I always figured my ancestors got up to some scandalous behavior in this carriage, but now I’m not so sure.”
Marshall made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a wince. “It’s too cramped for scandal. Your ancestors all sat here, staring longingly and broodingly at each other.” His expression softened, grew more serious. “Which, apparently, I’m about to do.”
She bit her lip, suddenly hesitant. “Marshall, are we…”
Afternoon light slanted in through the window, dappling half his face in shadow. “Sam, I’ve liked you for ages now. Probably since the day we met,” he told her.
“Then why did you keep telling me that Kelsey was texting you?”
“I was following your lead!” he exclaimed, exasperated. “After we kissed, you laughed and said that we put on a good show.”
“I only acted like that because you were looking at the crowd!” she protested. “I assumed you’d seen everyone watching, and that the reason you kissed me was because you wanted it to get back to Kelsey!”
Marshall leaned forward, taking her hand in his. Sam wondered if he could feel the leap of her pulse through her skin. “Trust me,” he told her. “I have only ever kissed you because I wanted to.”
“But last weekend in Orange—”
“I tried to avoid Kelsey. When she cornered me, though, I knew I had to dance with her for a song or two. Otherwise she would have made a scene,” he added, sounding darkly amused.
Sam was deaf to the slow rattle of the carriage wheels, the hum of voices outside; all she could hear was the ringing echo of Marshall’s words.
“So—you and I—we’re doing this for real?”
He grinned. “Sorry, did I skip ahead again? I have a tendency to do that. Hi, I’m Marshall Davis; would you like to go out with me? I’d give you my grizzly-bear pin to mark the occasion, but it’s at home.”
Sam laughed from sheer delight. “Yes,” she declared. “I will go out with you.”
And just like generations of her ancestors had probably done, she spent the rest of the drive stealing glances at her boyfriend, wishing this stupid carriage were a little more spacious.
Daphne’s bedroom looked out over the driveway, so she was always the first to know when they had visitors. Each time she heard a car pull up, she would dart a glance outside, hoping it was a paparazzo staking out their house—or, better yet, Jefferson. But when she lifted her curtain and saw the blue sports car, Daphne blinked.
Himari had come to see her.
Ever since the palace had announced the Marikos’ new position, Daphne had been half-hopeful, half-afraid that Himari would reach out. The royal wedding was next week, and everyone knew that Daphne was going as Jefferson’s date—Daphne had leaked it to Natasha herself, as a thank-you for her earlier help.
If Himari wanted to hurt Daphne, she would do it now, while Daphne was on top of the world.
She hurtled down the stairs. Whatever threat Himari had come to deliver, whatever fight she wanted to pick, Daphne couldn’t let her parents find out.
She made it to the front door just as her friend was about to ring the bell.
“Himari. What’s going on?” Daphne slipped outside, quickly pulling the door shut behind her.
Himari lifted an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to invite me in?”
“Not when I have no idea what you’re planning,” she said bluntly.
Himari shrugged and started toward the edge of the driveway. A cherry tree—one of a vast number in Herald Oaks, planted a hundred years ago in a burst of patriotism—spread its branches overhead, casting their faces in shade. A few stray blossoms had fallen onto the pavement around them.
“You might have seen last week’s announcement,” Himari began, alert for Daphne’s reaction. “Her Majesty appointed my parents as the new ambassadors to the Imperial Court at Kyoto.”
“Congratulations. They must be really excited.”
“We’re moving to Japan in two days.”
Himari turned to face her, arms crossed. “My parents are ecstatic, obviously. Everyone thought the
appointment would go to Leanna Santos. I don’t know how we managed to get it instead.” She hesitated, her dark eyes locked on Daphne’s. “I keep thinking you had something to do with it, except it makes no sense. Your specialty is hurting me, not fulfilling my parents’ wildest dreams.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Daphne said stiffly. But her heart wasn’t in the lie, and Himari clearly saw through it.
“So it was you. Color me impressed.” Himari lifted her hands and brought them together, once, twice, in a sarcastic mockery of a slow clap. “Well played, Daphne. You must really hate me, to make the queen send me thousands of miles away. How did you convince her?”
“I don’t hate you, okay? I only did it because you kept threatening me! Because you were going to blow my cover and ruin my life!”
A hint of pain, or maybe regret, flickered behind the immutable mask of Himari’s expression. “I threatened you? What are you talking about?”
“That text you sent, that I was going to get what I deserved!” Daphne drew in a shaky breath. “I thought you were planning something awful, some kind of massive revenge scheme that would destroy me forever.”
“Of course you would think that.” Himari rolled her eyes. “I guess I should be grateful that you did something nice this time, instead of pushing me down a staircase!”
“I never pushed you!”
A sharp, uncertain silence succeeded her words. Daphne glanced around the street. She heard the low hum of a lawn mower from a few blocks away, but here everything was still.
“I never pushed you,” she repeated, more quietly this time. “I did put a sleeping pill in your drink—only because I hoped you would drop your guard and do something stupid. You were threatening to tell Jefferson about me and Ethan, and I wanted some kind of leverage over you, like what you had on me. I never thought you would actually get hurt.”
“I know,” Himari said quietly. With those words, all the fight seemed to drain from her.
“I’m sorry,” Daphne said again. “I wish I had just talked to you. But, Himari, I was terrified of what you might do. You wanted to date Jefferson so desperately—”
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