For two days, I wait in anxious limbo, Claire at my side.

She hardly leaves my suite, and neither do I. We both take up posts at either end of the sofa, watching the constant news coverage about Prince Marcus’s death. The story runs ad nauseum on Saintland’s news channel and is even covered by the networks in neighboring countries. It turns out that Saintland is a bigger player in European politics than I realized.

Not that I knew much about European politics before coming to Saintland.

Not that I know anything about them now.

But the news anchors all have their opinions, and again and again they discuss the only details that have so far been released to the Press.

The Crown Prince Marcus Henry Caldwell was found dead in his rooms at Sainthall Palace.

No foul play is suspected.

Prince Marcus was discovered at about 7:30 a.m. by James Hamilton, his head personal assistant.

He was unresponsive when first responders arrived.

Autopsy results have not yet been released.

Time seems to drag while I wait for word from Alec. He sends me two text messages, both are apologies for not being able to get away, unable to get back to me, and each time I assure him that he is exactly where he needs to be.

Unease settles in the pit of my stomach, and it stays there.

I’m useless.

It’s hard to comprehend the gravity of the situation, not being from Saintland, but I watch Claire’s reaction to each piece of news as it’s reported. I want to know how the country is reacting. Claire hides nothing, shaking her head, sighing, and putting her hand over her mouth as tidbits dribble out from behind the palace walls.

She watches with rapt attention on the second afternoon when it’s announced that plans are underway to conduct a ceremony naming Alec as the next crown prince of Saintland.

“What does that mean?” I ask her, watching the news anchor’s mouth move up and down as she summarizes the news. I’d assumed all this time that “crown prince” was simply a glorified word for “prince.”

Claire doesn’t shift her eyes away from the screen. “The crown prince is the one directly in line for the throne. It means…” She trails off, chews at her lip, considers. “Prince Alexander is the obvious choice to move into that position, but there is a provision in our constitution for the king to name a successor from outside his family if he has no children…or if he finds the potential heirs unsatisfactory.”

My mouth hangs open. “So his father could have chosen someone other than Alec—Prince Alexander?”

“Yes, he could have. It would have been a very unusual decision, but I thought…” Again, her voice falls away.

“You thought what?” I ask pryingly.

She finally looks away from the screen and her eyes search my face.

“I don’t want to offend you, Jessica. I know you and Prince Alexander have a very—.” She searches for the words. “—Close relationship.”

I give her a little smile. “We do. I still won’t be offended by whatever it is you were planning to say.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Claire takes in a deep breath. “I wondered if the fight between the two princes indicated a real divide among the royal family. The king is not known to be a vindictive man, but his eldest son died not long after the Princes Marcus and Alexander nearly came to blows. Those pictures were plastered all over the media. If there’s any truth to the reports circulating about those picture, they were fighting over your presence here.”

“And you thought the king might choose someone else to be the crown prince because his image in the press was too volatile after that fight with Marcus. If he chose someone else, he could have avoided any further tension with Alec about me.”

“Yes.”

Claire bites her lip, looking apologetic. I turn my attention back to the television, thinking.

“Don’t be sorry about that, Claire. I knew working through their differences wouldn’t be easy.”

She flutters her hands in the air. “But the king didn’t choose someone else. Prince Alexander is going to be named the crown prince, so they must have been able to work through whatever was wrong, even if it was tension over Prince Alexander’s image.”

“I guess a shock like this puts things into perspective,” I say.

She looks down at her tablet, swipes absently through a couple of news items. Her answer comes out as a whisper. “It would have to.”

* * *

On the third morning, Claire and I are watching a movie—there’s only so much news coverage a person can watch—when there’s a knock on the door. Claire answers it, and when I see who is with her when she returns, I leap up from the couch and rush across the room.

It’s Alec, his eyes red with a slump to his shoulders that I know he works hard not to let show on camera. I throw my arms around his neck, and pulling him towards me, press my face into the side of his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to him, embracing him tightly, the words falling far short of the sorrow I feel for him in my heart.

Claire discreetly slips out the door, leaving us alone.

Alec’s grip on me tightens. We stand in silence for a moment, and then he speaks. “It’s awful, Jessica,” he says solemnly.

I have no answer, so I press my lips tenderly against his cheek and then hug him again.

“Will you do something for me?” he asks, pulling back and meeting my eyes.

“Of course,” I say. “Anything.”

My heart thuds in my chest. I’ve already accepted that he might want to take a break from our relationship while he sorts things out. He might ask me to go back to the United States until things are more stable …or perhaps he’ll even suggest we break up, never to see one another again. At least, I thought I had accepted this could potentially happen, but in the moment it takes him to start speaking again, my throat tightens as my heart braces itself for rejection.

“Come to the funeral with me,” he murmurs in a soft voice.

Relief floods through me, and it’s followed by a wave of apprehension. “Oh, Alec, are you sure? If it’s better, I can go back to New York and give you time alone with your family.”

With one hand he lifts my chin so that I can’t look anywhere but directly into his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he says, his voice tight with grief. “Don’t say that, please. I want you, and no one else, by my side. If you’re not comfortable with it, you can say no, but the last thing I want is for you to leave.”

“Okay,” I say, the word coming out as a whisper. Swallowing hard, I find my voice again. “Okay. Yes. I’ll go with you. When is it?”

“In three hours.”

“So soon? But that’s not enough—.”

Even as I begin to protest, Alec disengages himself from my arms and heads back to the door. Opening it, he sticks his head out into the hall and gestures to someone down the hall.

A moment later, my team—Claire in the lead—comes streaming in.

They pull in racks of black clothes behind them.

“There’s time,” he says.

I step back to let them enter the room, my heart beating fast.

This is going to be the most important event in my life. One of the saddest occasions in Alec’s family’s life will also be my official royal debut.