“We’ll push back the wedding. That gives you and Teddy more time to get to know each other,” her dad went on, oblivious to Beatrice’s dismay. “We haven’t announced a date anyway. We’ll tell the planning committee that you need another six months, slow down the pace. Maybe you and Teddy could take a trip—spend quality time together, away from the all the public appearances. I know my illness has put everything on a compressed schedule,” he added, his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry that I made you feel rushed.”

Beatrice’s hands clenched frantically in her lap. “The timing isn’t the problem, Dad. A year from now, I won’t want to marry Teddy any more than I do tonight.”

Anger flashed in the king’s eyes. “Did he do something to hurt you?”

“Of course not,” she said impatiently. “Teddy is great, but—”

“Then what is it?”

“I’ve fallen in love with someone else!”

“Oh,” her father breathed, as if all he could manage right now was the single syllable. Beatrice didn’t dare reply.

“Who is it?” he asked at last, in a wooden kind of shock.

“Connor Markham.”

“Your Revere Guard?”

“I know he’s not from your preapproved list of options,” Beatrice hurried to say. “That he isn’t a nobleman. But, Dad—I love him.”

The wind whistled and howled at the windowpanes. The fire hissed, sparks flying up as logs resettled. Beatrice reached for her glass, to take another nervous sip of the bourbon. It glowed a deep amber in the light of the fire.

“I’m sorry, Beatrice. But no,” the king said at last.

“No?” she repeated. Was that really his response—to flat-out deny her request, as if she were a child asking to stay up past her bedtime?

“Surely you see that it’s out of the question.” Her father paused, giving Beatrice time to nod in agreement. When she didn’t, he forged ahead. “Beatrice, you can’t break off your wedding with Teddy Eaton—who comes from one of the very best families in the country, who is smart and honorable and kind—because you’re in love with your Guard.”

She tried not to wince at the way he said one of the very best families in the country, as if that were something the centuries-old titles actually measured and ranked. “Connor is all of that, too, Dad. Smart and honorable and kind.”

“Teddy graduated with honors from Yale. Your Guard never went to college, barely even managed to complete high school!”

“You’re the one who always says that there’s more than one kind of smart!” Beatrice gritted her teeth. “I know there isn’t historical precedent for this, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Her father didn’t answer right away. He clinked the ice in his glass, his eyes still fixed on the fire.

“Remember what your grandfather always used to say, about how the Crown divides you into two people: one public, the other private? That you are Beatrice the future queen and Beatrice the young woman, all at once?”

Beatrice twisted her engagement ring back and forth, sliding it off her finger and on again. She had a sudden urge to throw it across the room.

“I remember,” she answered.

“It will stay that way your whole life. It gets even worse when you’re a parent, and have a child who becomes heir to the throne.” At last the king looked up, directly into Beatrice’s eyes. The sheer grief in his expression knocked the air from her chest. “The parent in me is overjoyed that you’ve found love. Of course it doesn’t matter to me, as your father, who you are with—as long as that person treats you well and makes you happy.”

“But …,” she supplied, when her dad fell silent. She was shocked to see his eyes gleaming with tears.

“That other part of me, the part that answers to the Crown, knows how impossible it is. If you were anyone else in the country …” The king winced and put a hand over his chest, as if he were in pain. “But you have never been just anyone. Beatrice, you cannot be with that young man and be queen. You would have to give up everything for him.”

She felt herself bristle. “You used to tell me that nothing was impossible, that we could find a solution to anything if we thought carefully and creatively enough.”

“That was about political problems!”

“From what you’re telling me, this is a political problem! That law is two centuries old. Maybe it’s time we had a commoner on the throne!” She cast him a pleading gaze. “You’re the king, Dad. Surely there’s something you can do. Sign an executive order, or submit a new law to Congress. There has to be a way out.”

Her dad’s face was very grave as he spoke his next words: “Even if there was something I could do, I wouldn’t do it.”

“What?” Beatrice cleared her throat, fighting not to scream. “You seriously won’t help me marry for love?”

“Beatrice, I always wanted you to marry for love,” her father insisted. “I just hoped that you would fall in love … within certain guidelines. That’s why I invited those young men to the Queen’s Ball. They are much more suited for this type of life than Connor is.”

Within certain guidelines. Beatrice was ashamed to realize that it might have worked: that she might have talked herself into loving Teddy, eventually, if not for Connor. She shifted onto the edge of her seat, her voice scathing.