A few years ago, when I realized how badly my sleep was being disturbed by my habit of checking my phone every time I got a notification, I stopped taking any devices to bed. Nothing was so important that it couldn’t wait until the next morning, so I began leaving my phone and laptop downstairs.

Today I regret not having a phone the instant my eyes open. Like a giddy teenager, I want to check my messages and revel in every single mention of my arrival at the palace with Maximilian. Instead I lift my hand and study the ring that proves I didn’t dream it all. He really did ask me to marry him. And our time together was better than anything I’d ever imagined. The only disappointment was the expected one—that after entering the reception, we had no more moments alone.

Oh, but the moments we did have… I smile and languidly stretch, my body warming at the memory of his touch and his kiss.

Then I bounce out of bed and practically skip down the stairs.

In the kitchen, I’m startled to find James and Liz already awake—then realize that my brother’s body is probably operating on militia time, and he’d never let Liz sleep in later than him. They’re seated at the breakfast table, the early morning sun streaming in through the window and turning their auburn hair to a bright copper. Currently their heads are bent over a computer tablet, but the moment I walk into the twins’ line of sight, Liz flips the device facedown on the table. They share a guilty, fleeting glance, then turn to me with too-bright smiles that say they’re up to something.

Whatever they’re planning, I don’t care. I ignore them both and float over to the coffee machine.

After a long beat of silence, James clears his throat. “So, Vic…I don’t have to report back to the base until this evening. Are you busy today?”

“I am.” A pang of regret strikes me. If I’d known earlier that James would be home this weekend, I’d have kept my schedule free. “I have brunch with Sophia Bucklin in an hour. And then the job placement fair will take up most of the afternoon.”

“I’ll go with you, then.”

Something’s definitely up. I skeptically arch my brow in his direction. “To brunch with Sophia?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll happily sit there and while we plan a fundraiser for the Kaprian Toy Poodle Society?” It’s actually for the humane society, but I wonder how far he’ll go.

A gleam of desperation shines through his eyes but he resolutely nods. “Yes. I like Sophia. She’s a nice old lady.”

No, she’s not. And she’ll try to hook him up with every one of her granddaughters…again. Sometimes I think Sophia is the reason that James volunteered for the militia in the first place. He was trying to escape her matchmaking attempts.

“And I’ll stay home and spend a lazy day reading.” Abruptly standing, Liz clutches the tablet to her chest. “I’m going to find a new book to download right now.”

No. They’ve just gone too far. Liz can barely spend a minute with a book before searching for something else to do. She would never spend an entire day reading.

Suddenly dread weighs heavily in my gut. They aren’t planning something. They’re hiding something.

My narrowed gaze lands on the tablet. “What don’t you want me to see?”

“Nothing!” Liz chirps. “I just need to catch up on my—”

“Elizabeth.” I use the same tone that I often had to use after our father died and the twins’ parenting fell onto my shoulders. Then I gentle my voice and add, “We knew this would happen. This is what I was talking about last night.”

I told them all about the betrothal on the ride home, and about the changes that would take place—changes that presented themselves almost immediately, when we were introduced to my security team.

But a security team is only the beginning, and we spoke about that, too. When I arrived at the reception with Maximilian, the gossip sheets must have begun scrambling for information about me. They wouldn’t have had time to conduct interviews with my relatives and friends. So instead they’ll desperately scour the internet for content.

I already know what they’ll find. One silly photo taken during a ski trip, another picture that’s mildly indecent, plenty of information about my father, and references to events that I’ve publicized and attended—which includes my connections to almost every social organization and charity in Kapria. If Maximilian had my background investigated as thoroughly as a future queen can expect hers to be, however, there’s nothing they can dredge up that Maximilian wouldn’t have already seen.

And I didn’t make a single misstep last night, so there won’t be any surprises this morning. In the future, I expect to see plenty of sensational headlines—most of them based on a kernel of truth and then blown out of proportion.

But that’s not new to either Liz or James. As Wilhelm Dietrich’s children, we’ve all ended up in European tabloids and on gossip sites—usually on slow news days, because even Liz at her wildest doesn’t approach ‘scandalous.’ I’m not exposing them to a spotlight that wasn’t already there and that they weren’t already familiar with. That spotlight will simply be brighter for a while.

I join them at the breakfast table, set down my coffee, and hold out my hand for the tablet. “Let me see.”

Looking uneasy, James tries to dissuade me. “Vic, you really don’t—”

“I’ll see it one way or another. You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

They share a glance. On a heavy sigh, Liz gives it over and plops back into her chair.

I wake the device and it opens to the article they had been reading. And yes, there are my greatest hits: my butt sticking up out of the snow, my exit from a limo all but flashing the good china. I scroll up to the headline, where they’ve posted a picture of Maximilian and me from last night. In my memory, I never took my gaze from him the entire time, but they caught us at a moment when I was looking off to the side as if distracted, which makes my bright smile appear patently fake—and Maximilian with his jaw clenched and eyes hard. As if he was pissed off but holding in his anger.

I don’t remember him ever looking like that. But then, I was apparently looking in another direction. I think this might have been taken when I noticed the Swedish ambassador coming toward us, but I’m not certain.

It doesn’t matter anyway. This is what the tabloids do: choose an image that fits the story they want to tell, regardless of the actual context. And their headline tells me exactly what that story will be.

“That’ll get some clicks,” I say mildly and skim past the introduction which describes me arriving with Maximilian and sporting a giant diamond ring. I begin reading aloud when they finally get to the meat. “‘King Maximilian’s own cabinet of ministers has warned him away from the late billionaire’s daughter. “She’s a horrible choice,” Maximilian’s press secretary is reported as saying during a recent meeting to plan his upcoming wedding.’”

His press secretary? Surprised, I pause my reading to comment, “That’s interesting.”

“‘Interesting?’” James echoes. “It’s bullshit!”

Liz looks at me hopefully. “Do you think it’s fake?”

“No. What’s interesting is that I’m certain it’s true,” I say. “Even a rag like this can be sued. So usually they don’t offer direct quotes—they’ll just hint and suggest, using paraphrased statements from unnamed sources. But truth is an absolute defense and the people who run this site know how to cover their asses. They’ll be able to back up the press secretary’s quote.”

“Then who is this press secretary asshole?”

“Jeannette von Hintze,” I say automatically, silently reading on. I’ve never met her but I know of her. By all accounts, she rules her department with an iron fist. If this is a genuine leak and wasn’t deliberately released to generate more publicity, heads are likely going to roll. I just wonder who will get to the source first: Maximilian or Jeannette.

“Well, I hate her. And you’re not horrible,” Liz declares loyally.

I smile. “No, I’m not.”

But I can think of many political and financial reasons his advisors might want Maximilian to marry someone else. After all, Kapria’s already gotten everything it could from my family—and as I skim farther down the page, that history is detailed as well, along with the suggestion that my father’s donation made Maximilian feel obligated to marry me.

No, not just suggested. Said outright, too. “A source close to the king reveals that Maximilian cited ‘duty and obligation’ as his reasons for choosing Wilhelm Dietrich’s daughter.”

But no mention of the betrothal. A strange detail to neglect, except that maybe it doesn’t fit their narrative about me being a horrible choice, and would instead raise the question of why it took him twelve years to fulfill a promise. They have a ready-made answer to that, though. My gaze is drawn back up to Maximilian’s quote.

Duty and obligation.

A sour knot twists in my stomach but I push it—and the tablet—away, shaking my head. “It’s nothing,” I say calmly, cupping my palms around my coffee mug to warm my cold hands. “They needed something to publish and they didn’t have much. Soon they’ll dig up more, have a new narrative to run with, and this will be forgotten.”

“You’re sure?” Liz looks eager to believe it.

“I’m sure.” I haven’t—and I won’t—give the tabloids enough to keep that narrative going. I glance at James, who doesn’t look convinced. “You should run upstairs and get ready.”

He frowns. “Ready?”

“To have brunch with Sophia,” I remind him innocently.

His eyes screw shut and he utters the groan of a dying man. Slowly he begins sliding down in his seat, as if trying to disappear beneath the table.

I glance at Liz, who’s smirking at her twin’s predicament. “Since you don’t have to save me from the evil reporters and this article is all the reading you’ll probably do today, why don’t you save your brother by spending the day doing something together, instead?”

I don’t have to ask them twice. They scarf down a quick breakfast and abandon the table before I even finish my first cup of coffee. In the quiet they leave behind, I open up the tablet again, close out the article and begin my morning ritual of reading the local news. But my mind won’t focus and the knot in my stomach won’t unwind. Instead I keep seeing those words flash behind my eyes.

Duty and obligation.

I can’t figure out why they’re leaving me so unsettled. It’s nothing I didn’t already know. Maximilian is fulfilling a promise he made to me and to my father—that’s an obligation. As king, he needs to marry and produce an heir—that’s his duty.

And I knew that love wouldn’t be the basis of our marriage. Before yesterday, we had only met one time—on one of the worst days of my life. He hardly had an opportunity to fall in love.

That I fell in love with him…well, of course I did. I admired him even before our first meeting, and since then have learned as much about him as I could. Yet despite studying his character for years, still he surprised me last night. There’s so much about his private self that I don’t know and can’t possibly love yet.

So I didn’t expect love in this marriage. Unless I’m fooling myself. But rationally, I knew it wouldn’t be a reason he finally married me. And last night, he only spoke of promises and keeping them.

But when he kissed me, I couldn’t mistake his desire or the passion that burned between us. That’s not duty or obligation.

So why won’t this heavy lump of hurt and disappointment vanish from my chest and let me breathe easily again?

But I think I know. I expected duty and obligation. I expected speculation from the gossip sites and to have mud tossed in my direction, and that the people around us—staff, family, friends—might say the wrong thing to the wrong person. I also knew that with one little slip, the media would make me its punching bag, or twist my words to strike at Maximilian. So I was careful.

Maximilian must not have taken the same care while speaking about me. I worked so damn hard not to do or say anything that might one day blow back on him, and I didn’t give anyone much to hit me with.

And so what they managed to get came from Maximilian, instead.