The next day, Ella sat on the couch in her room, feeling like she was surrounded by a pack of wolves. Her stepmother wouldn’t stop circling the room, pacing and muttering and planning, and Daphne was hunting through all the luggage piece by piece for one of her macrobiotic candy bars. She always got snacky when something exciting was happening.

That was what Ella was now: a sideshow. She wasn’t sure whether her family saw her newly-public romance with the king as a fascinating fairytale or a fascinating trainwreck, but one thing was sure—they wanted every single detail of Ella’s night at the ball.

“I swear, it’s not that big a deal, guys,” she pleaded for the umpteenth time.

Anna rolled her eyes from her spot in the corner without looking up from her medical journal.

Her stepmother pivoted, shooting Ella a look of consternation. “We would know exactly what size of a deal it was if you would just tell us everything.”

Ella had zero intention of doing that. Last night had been magical and mind-blowing and very private, and the part of it that had been public—the four, or was it five, dances she’d shared with the king—everyone already knew about. There was no need for her to rehash her love life for her stepmother, who would only be inspired to use every last drop of influence she had to force a royal marriage. Ella could tell the woman was already wondering if she’d been backing the wrong horse, thrusting Anna and Daphne into the king’s attention rather than Ella.

And that was not what Ella wanted. She already had more of Phillip’s attention than she could handle. What she needed was some quiet time, to try to discern her dreams from her goals and figure out what she wanted. She had a suspicion Phillip considered last night the start of a public courtship, but she wasn’t so sure she was ready for that yet. And if she wasn’t, she needed to figure it out fast so she could let him down easy before he announced it to the entire kingdom.

Ella put a hand to her temple. “Look, I’m really tired,” she tried. “I think I’m just going to relax and write a letter.”

Her stepmother’s mouth fell open and she jabbed a triumphant finger at Ella. “I knew you weren’t writing some friend in the States! It was the king, wasn’t it?”

She groaned, but before she could respond, a knock sounded at the door. Ella prayed it was some urgent meeting that would get her away from her family. If not, she planned to beg whoever was at the door to concoct one.

It was Drake. “Letter for you, ma’am,” he said, and she could swear his dour face almost cracked a smile. She snatched the letter from him and shut the door. “You’re welcome,” his muffled voice said from the other side, and yes—there was definitely a smile in it. Ugh, did everyone know about her and the king?

She tore the letter open. Her family crowded around to read it, but she backed into a corner and gave them all the stink-eye until they gave her at least a few feet of privacy. She ducked her head and read.

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Ella folded the letter, head spinning, and peered up at the room around her like she’d forgotten it existed. The things, the marvelous, impossible things he’d written in his letter echoed in her head.

Her stepmother pursed her lips, taking in the dazed expression on Ella’s face, and nodded. “You love him,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

“I…yeah,” Ella said after a moment, unable and unwilling to lie to them—or to herself, not any longer. She was in love with Phillip. And what was she going to do about that?

Her stepmother walked forward, took Ella’s free hand and folded both of her own over it in a rare maternal gesture. Ella blinked at her. “Don’t hold yourself back from him,” the woman advised with a wistful smile. “It’s obvious to me now that you two were made for each other. If you love him, you should be with him. Life is so short—spend as much of it as you can with the people you love.”

She said it so easily, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. And…maybe it was. Now that their relationship was in the open, now that her family knew about them, Ella was surprised to realize that the fluttering in her stomach was excitement, not fear. She wanted to be with him for real. She wanted the world to know she belonged to him.

She found a piece of paper and a pen, and sat down to tell him so.

Phillip felt like whistling as he made his way to the last appointment of the day. One more duty, and then he was headed straight to Ella’s room. It was a good thing, too, because after the flurry of letters all day today and yesterday—each dirtier than the last—he wasn’t going to make it long if he didn’t get her naked as quickly as possible.

He grinned. She loved him. She’d said so herself, plain as ink on the page. And tonight, after they’d had some private time together to reconnect, he would send all the other girls away and announce to his country that the two of them were courting.

And then, in a few more weeks once Ella had had some time to settle in, he’d pop the question. He wasn’t sure yet whether he’d use the royal engagement ring or not. He’d always considered it to be terrible luck, but it did lend an extra touch of romance, of finality. Maybe he could pull Anna aside, ask her what she thought her stepsister might prefer.

He turned into the library and closed the door behind him, sitting down across from the reporter. The man had an officially-sealed envelope in his lap—his invitation to this interview. This was the last of the puff pieces Phillip would have to do for the next few days, and he couldn’t wait to get it over with.

The reporter smiled and shook hands, then launched into a volley of questions about the Summer House Party, his plans regarding Parliament, and his project to improve the country’s roads. Phillip answered politely but succinctly, barely able to keep himself still in his seat.

Finally, the interview was over and Phillip rose. “It was good to meet with you,” he said graciously, internally urging the man to get a move on so he could go to Ella.

But the reporter stayed seated. “If you don’t mind, I have one final question,” he said.

With a sigh, Phillip sat back down and waved his hand, granting permission.

The reporter handed him the envelope. “There must have been a mix-up,” he said, a small smile that Phillip didn’t like the looks of playing at the corner of his mouth. “I believe you intended this for someone else.”

Phillip looked down at the letter. It was made of thick, creamy stock, sealed with red wax imprinted with the royal seal from his ring. There could be no doubt it was from the King of Danovar. But Phillip had sent precious few letters today for there to have been a mix-up—just one to the reporter, and…

And half a dozen to Ella.

Slowly, he reached for the letter, dread curling low in his gut. No. It couldn’t be.

He pulled it open, slid the letter out. It was from Ella to him. He scanned it, praying it was one of their more innocent pieces of correspondence. It wasn’t.

He raised his eyes, his stomach turning over. “You opened this.”

The reporter pursed his lips. “A guard handed it to me. It wasn’t addressed to anyone, so I thought it was the official invitation with the time of our interview that I’d been expecting. I of course would never have opened a royally-sealed document intended for someone else otherwise.” He folded his hands and leaned closer. “But now that I have opened it, I have an exclusive on the biggest scoop of the year. King Phillip and his secret tryst.”

Phillip’s hand curled into a fist around the letter, crumpling it. Knowing this man had read Ella’s letter, invaded her privacy, seen things that were meant to stay between her and Phillip—it made him sick. It made him furious. “I could have you arrested,” he said in a low voice.

“I’ve already taken pictures, emailed them in a zipped folder to a friend. If I’m arrested, he opens it and releases them to the public.”

Phillip slumped in his seat. The threat had been half-hearted anyway. The press in his kingdom was free, and throwing a reporter in jail without any real charges went against everything he believed in. He just wished he could see another way out of this. “What do you want?” he asked.

The reporter sat back in his seat. “I want a scoop. I need a scoop, if I want to keep my job. But I respect you a lot, so I want to make you an offer.”

A thread of hope shone through, and Phillip grabbed it with both hands. “Go on.”

“In anticipation of this interview, I’ve done some digging over the last few weeks, and I’ve found evidence that a member of your staff—likely one in a high position—is a thief. One of the crown jewels went missing six or seven years ago and then reappeared just as suddenly. The royal family did their best to cover it up but they couldn’t erase all the records of such a high-profile theft, albeit a temporary one. So here’s the deal I want to offer you. I need a scoop, but I’ll let you decide which one. Expose these letters—and I mean all of them—or expose whoever the thief is that you’ve been protecting all this time.”

A headache pounded at Phillip’s temples. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be facing this choice. Allow the public at large to invade his and Ella’s privacy, or turn over a person who’d become one of his most loyal subjects to the public’s wrath.

He closed his eyes. If he looked at this reporter for another second, he’d punch him. “If I choose the letters,” he said, feeling sicker with every word, “I would need a guarantee that they wouldn’t be published until after the wedding.”

The wedding. A few minutes ago he’d been full of joy and hope for the future when he thought about his and Ella’s marriage, and now the word tasted like sourness and betrayal.

He cleared his throat. “I would also need a guarantee that they would be exposed in a romantic light, not as some kind of dirty secret. This woman is your future queen.” He opened his eyes and gave the man a hard stare, and the reporter quailed a bit and nodded, agreeing to both demands.

The reporter extended his hand. “We have an agreement then,” he said. Phillip nodded sharply but kept his hands on the arms of his chair, refusing to shake hands with the devil. After a moment the man straightened his suit and walked out, and Phillip was left by himself, staring at the wall and hoping he hadn’t just ruined his future.