“HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP US!”

Tears track down my cheeks, smearing my makeup into rivulets. I don’t move to brush them away. My hands are on Linus’ chest, shaking him.

“WAKE UP! YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP!”

I leave bloody handprints on his white tuxedo shirt.

His wheezing grows fainter.

His eyes are going glassy.

The sight of him lying there — slack-jawed, vacant — spurs a scream from the depths of my soul. It rings out in the Great Hall, a piercing wail of distress that—

“Emilia!”

I thrash, still half-caught up in the dream, and feel my fist make contact with something hard.

“Ow! Fuck!”

My shrieks continue as the images play out before my eyes. Blood and death and horror.

“Emilia, wake up!” the gruff voice orders. Strong hands encircle my wrists, restraining my flailing limbs from doing any more damage. Half-asleep, I vaguely register my body being repositioned against something solid.

“Dammit Emilia.” There’s a break in his voice as it drops low. “You’re scaring me, love. Wake up.”

A whimper of distress catches in my throat as I finally come to. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a wild creature desperate for escape from its cage. My skin is flushed and sweaty, my breaths coming too fast to properly fill my lungs. There are two arms wrapped around me. With a muffled gasp, I realize I’m in Carter’s lap, my back pressed tight to his broad chest.

“Carter?” I sound like a lost little girl — a shell of my normal self.

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

I go limp, all the tension draining out of me in a rush. There are tears trickling down my cheeks, falling against my chest. When I lift my hand to wipe them away, I find my wrists still manacled in Carter’s strong grip.

He releases me instantly, hands falling to the bedspread. “You were thrashing. I thought you were going to hurt yourself…”

“Thank you,” I whisper, brushing my face with shaking fingers. “Again.”

He doesn’t respond.

I still haven’t moved off his lap. I know I should, but I haven’t quite found the strength yet. I’m exhausted from the night terror — emotionally, physically. And it feels so good to have his arms around me. To soak up his heat and his strength until the fresh horror churning through my mind has faded into vapor.

“I thought you were going to let me scream.”

Carter pauses for a long beat. “So did I.”

I don’t thank him for changing his mind, nor does he explain his reasons for doing so. Before I can talk myself out of it, I let my head fall back against the crook of his shoulder. My right hand lands flat on his chest, just above his heart. I can feel it thundering beneath my palm, a match for my own racing pulse. My eyes close as I attempt to calm my ragged breaths into something resembling a normal pace.

I might as well be lying against a statue, Carter is so still behind me. A man chiseled out of marble and steely resolve. I can feel the tension thrumming through every muscle in his body even as my own relaxes, sapped of all strength.

I’m almost certain he’s going to push me away. Leave me in the dark to fight off my demons alone. But then… after what feels like an eternity…. with a heavy sigh that rattles his whole chest, he sets one large hand on the crown of my head. I’m stunned when he begins to pet my hair, just like Mom used to do to comfort me as a child whenever I was sick or scared.

It’s almost funny — we haven’t spoken in weeks. In fact, I’m pretty certain he hates me for everything that’s happened between us. But with each rhythmic stroke of his hand, I feel a bit better.

I’m not sure how long we stay like that. Long enough for my breaths to slow. Long enough for my shakes to stop. Long enough for what little strength I have left to drain from my limbs.

Dreams start tugging at me again with heavy fingers, pulling me under. I’m half-asleep in his arms when I mumble his name, my voice barely audible.

“What is it, Emilia?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

His hand stills. I hear a sharp intake of air.

Before he has a chance to respond, before I can say something even more asinine… I blessedly tumble over the edge of consciousness. The last thing I hear as I surrender to sleep is a deep, rasping voice.

A single word.

One I’m not even certain is real or the splinter of a dream.

“Never.”

When I wake the following morning, I’m alone in my tangled sheets. I sit up, squinting around my room for traces of Carter but finding none.

Was he really here?

Or was he just a dream?

Wondering will only drive me mad. Scurrying out of bed, I walk to the bathroom, stripping off my cotton tank top and pajama shorts as I go. Under the rainfall shower, I lean my forehead against the tile wall with my eyes closed. No amount of hot water is enough to wash away the sensation of being in Carter’s arms. His hands in my hair. His voice in my head…

Never.

The memory sets of fireworks inside my nerve endings.

I shove thoughts of him away and focus on getting ready for my morning ride. It’s snowing lightly, so I dress in layers — thick cream colored leggings, knee-high leather boots, a fitted black jacket made with goose down. I’m halfway to the door when someone knocks on it.

Brows raised, I yank it open to find a nervous pageboy in a navy uniform loitering in the hallway. His mouth gapes open as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. I wait for him to say something, but he can’t seem to get out a single word.

“Can I help you?” I ask gently.

“Yes. Um. Your Highness…”

My brows arch.

He swallows hard. “The— the—”

“Hey. Relax, kid. There’s no rush.”

He sucks in a steadying breath. “The king— King Linus. He’s requested your immediate presence in his study.”

My stomach drops. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” He squirms, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world except standing here.

That makes two of us.

“Thank you,” I tell him, sighing unhappily. “You can go now.”

He takes off like a shot down the hallway. Frankly, I’d like to follow him. I’m not sure what Linus wants from me, but it must be serious. My father and I aren’t exactly on ‘casual hang out’ terms.

I’ve seen him only twice since the assassination attempt — once at the hospital and once the day he returned to the palace — and both times we were surrounded by a fleet of doctors, assistants, and armed guards. Not exactly an ideal scenario for father-daughter bonding.

He’s been holed up in his private chambers in the South Wing ever since, not accepting visitors — with the exception of his personal physician and, of course, Simms, who keeps him apprised of all royal affairs.

I know I shouldn’t take it personally. The man was nearly killed, after all. He’s entitled to a bit of time to recover in solitude. Plus, it’s not like we were all that close beforehand. (In my defense, it’s hard to be close to someone who coerces you into taking on the role of Crown Princess by threatening to sell your childhood home unless you comply.)

Good times.

My boots rap sharply on the marble floors as I walk from my suite, around a corner, and down a massive stone staircase. I don’t spare a glance at the pair of guards shadowing me, but I know they’re there.

They’re always there.

I really need to start interviewing personnel for my Princess Guard. If I’m going to be trailed every moment of the day, it needs to be by people I trust. The only problem is…

These days, I don’t trust anyone.

As I pass through the Great Hall, I avoid looking at the massive throne that sits on the far side of the room on a raised platform, its ornate surface gilded with an obscene amount of gold. Passing beneath a massive archway, I turn toward the ancient part of the castle — the South Wing.

The stones here are older, their construction somewhat cruder. The floor beneath my feet has been worn smooth by thousands of feet over thousands of years. Narrow slotted windows, built to withstand medieval arrow fire, pepper the walls at uneven intervals. It’s not hard to imagine rounding a corner and bumping straight into a corset-wearing courtier from days of yore.

I’ve only been here once before, the day Linus came home, and I didn’t have much chance to look around with Simms on one side and Lady Morrell on the other. Curiosity stirs in my veins as I wind through hallway after hallway, admiring the ornate gas lamps that light my way, peeking subtly through open doors.

Fully aware of the guards at my back, I try not to be too obvious about my snooping as I bypass the King’s private library, what appears to be a billiards room, and a parlor full of ancient weaponry. Eventually, I find myself standing in front of two heavy oak doors at the very end of the corridor. The doorknobs are shaped like lion heads, as is the ornate knocker embedded in the wood.

I lift a hand and rap the knocker against its plate. The door opens almost instantly, a white-gloved servant pulling it wide to grant me entrance into my father’s sanctum. I step over the threshold and take in the room. It’s a gorgeous study — floor to ceiling bookshelves, massive windows overlooking the wooded grounds, a huge desk dominating the space.

To my surprise, Linus isn’t sitting behind it. He’s seated in a maroon wingback chair by the roaring fireplace, an afghan thrown over his knees, a thick stack of papers on his lap.

“Emilia! Come in, come in.”

I try to keep my face clear of shock as I walk toward him, but it’s difficult to contain my emotions. At seventy-three, he’s never been the picture of health… but now, sitting there by the fire, he looks so terribly frail. So vastly changed from the man I met mere months ago.

“I’d get up to greet you, but…” He trails off with a cough.

I sink into the chair across from his, unsure what to say.

His eyes drift toward the door. “Charles, you may leave us. Unless…” He glances back at me. “Would you like tea? Coffee?”

I shake my head.

“Then that will be all, Charles. Please ensure we are not disturbed.”

The door shuts with a resolute click, leaving us alone. For a minute, the only sound in the room is the crackling of wood logs in the fireplace.

I clear my throat roughly. “You’re looking well.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “And you’re a liar.”

“No, I…” I trail off. He knows I’m lying. There’s little point continuing the facade. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a weak old man, if you must know.”

I grimace.

“Don’t waste your worries on me, Emilia. My health has been ailing for a long time. Far before someone decided to spike my champagne with a dose of curare.”

“Still no leads on who might be responsible?”

He shakes his head. “The King’s Guard assure me they are actively seeking answers. But so far, they’ve come up empty.”

“Do they believe there’s any connection between the person who tried to kill you and the person who started the fire that killed King Leopold and Queen Abigail?”

“I think it would be foolish to dismiss the possibility.” He coughs again — a wet, wracking sound that makes his whole body convulse. I try not to flinch as I wait for him to continue. “If it is in fact the same person, I have no doubt they will strike again. The motivations are clear — to extinguish the Lancaster line, once and for all. And I must say… with my brother in the ground, Prince Henry still lying in a burn unit, and my own weakened state… they seem to have an alarming success rate.”

A chill goes through me.

“That’s why I called you here, Emilia.” His eyes narrow on mine. “I’ve spoken to Octavia—“

“Oh, goodie.”

“Emilia. Please. I am not naive enough to believe that you and my wife will ever get along. However, I am hopeful that with enough time, you two will learn to respect each other. Albeit grudgingly.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”

“Despite what you might think, Octavia acts in what she believes is the best interest of this family. She’d do anything to protect the Lancaster legacy.”

“No matter who gets steamrolled in the process?” I shake my head. “The only member of this family she cares about is herself. The things she’s done — to me, to her own children… Don’t you see? She is despicable. A monster. And she wants me gone.”

“That’s simply not true.”

“Oh, okay.” I roll my eyes heavenward. “You’ve convinced me.”

Linus sighs. “She came to me because she’s concerned about you.”

I scoff. Loudly.

“She wanted me to know you feel unsafe with your current security detail. That you’ve insisted on your own unit of guards.”

“And I suppose you think that’s an absurd idea.”

“On the contrary. I support it completely.”

My brows go up. “You do?”

“Yes.” He smiles. “I want nothing more than for you to feel safe in this palace, Emilia. I know my coronation didn’t go quite as planned…”

A snort pops out. “You could say that.”

“But I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here. I want you to feel as though… well, as though this is your home.”

Home?

I almost laugh.

My home is a ramshackle two-story house on Peach Street in Hawthorne, with a fading, painted mailbox that says LENNOX in Mom’s sloping brushwork. My home is a lumpy twin mattress in a blue bedroom barely larger than a closet, with creaky floor boards and bad insulation. My home is one door down from the Harding family, in whose backyard I spent many afternoons sitting in a treehouse with a blond boy I used to call my best friend.

This cold stone castle will never be my home.

Linus must read the emotions on my face, because he sighs again. “I’d hoped you would not be entirely unhappy here. I can see I was wrong.”

Guilt sluices through me. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. Just… a bit lonely.”

“But I’m told you’ve been riding nearly every day with Hans. And you have your step-siblings for company. I thought you were getting along with Chloe and Carter?”

If you only knew…

“I do get along with them, but they’re busy with their own lives. Plus, I’ve finished my coursework for the semester. I suppose I’m feeling rather restless without it.” I chew my bottom lip. “You have to understand — I spent three and a half years working toward one goal. To become a psychologist. And now, I’m not doing anything of consequence. Nothing I do has any purpose or meaning.”

“That is simply untrue.” Linus reaches for the newspaper sitting on the end table beside him. Smiling softly, he extends it toward me. After a moment’s hesitation, I reach out and grab it. My eyes widen as I take in the bold headline across the front page.

THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS: HER ROYAL HIGHNESS EMILIA CHARMS CROWDS AT REMEMBRANCE DAY CEREMONIES

Beneath the headline, there’s a color photograph of me crouched on the street, reaching through the partition to set my tiara atop Annie’s head. Below the fold, another frame shows me standing at the podium, mid-speech. The look on my face is one I’ve never seen before — full of passion. Emblazoned with energy and undeniable excitement.

I barely recognize myself.

“So you see,” Linus murmurs. “Your actions do have meaning, to a great many people. You do have a purpose, Emilia. It simply may be different than the one you’d planned for yourself before.”

My heart clenches. I glance up at him, feeling more confused than ever. “But… this? Politics and princess duties? I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.”

“Precisely. That’s why they love you.”

Folding the paper, I flip it over so I’ll stop looking at the photos. “Love seems like a bit of a stretch.”

“I think you forget — you are poised to become one of the most influential queens in the world. Many people will admire you for that fact alone. But you could earn more than their admiration. You could easily earn their adoration as well.”

My head shakes, rejecting his words. “I highly doubt that.”

“Then take another look at that newspaper!” His voice is suddenly intent. “You are just starting out and you’ve already captured the hearts of the press, of the public. That proves you have the natural charisma of a true leader.”

“Look, I just don’t think I’m cut out to be anyone’s leader. I’m twenty years old! My life is a damn mess. No one should be looking to me to make decisions.”

“Emilia, even the best leaders doubt themselves. They question whether or not they’re the best person for the job, whether they’ll live up to expectation. That’s only natural. In time, you will learn to trust your own instincts — and your own abilities. You will become the person they believe you can be.”

I glance at the newspaper again, feeling undeniably uncomfortable as I scan the image. All those excited faces in the crowd, undeniably enamored with their new princess…

The People’s Princess.

“They’re giving you the benefit of the doubt,” Linus murmurs quietly. “Why is it so difficult for you to do the same?”

I shake my head, unable to speak. There’s a new lump in my throat made of anxiety and something else — something I don’t want to look at too closely, just yet.

“They believe in you.” Linus’ voice is even softer now. “Why can’t you believe in yourself?”

“I don’t know, okay?” The words are so thick I can barely get them out. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I suggest you figure it out.” He coughs again, sounding wretched. As though he’s drowning on the fluid in his lungs. “Sooner than later, my dear.”