Maybe the room had been designed this way on purpose, to keep people from watching the sun move through the sky: so they wouldn’t note the passage of time and get even more anxious than they already were. As good an explanation as any, since there was no clock in here either.
She glanced at her phone to check the time. It was still in airplane mode; she’d switched it hours ago, when she couldn’t handle any more breaking-news alerts. Almost noon. Had it really been ten hours since they’d arrived here? It all felt surreal, in the sticky dark way of a bad dream.
Sam decided to flick her phone off airplane mode. Her screen immediately filled with notification bubbles, messages of support flooding in from everyone she knew. One of the texts was from Nina: I am so, so sorry about your dad. I wish I could be there at the hospital with you. Know that I am thinking about you nonstop. Love you.
Sam sent a single red heart emoji in reply. It was all she was capable of, right now.
She’d been in her bedroom when she heard Beatrice’s shouts from the opposite side of the palace: raw, panicked shouts that didn’t at all sound like they had come from her sister’s throat. Sam had stumbled down the stairs, still wearing her red trumpet gown, its skirts spilling around her bare feet like a pool of blood. She’d watched, powerless, as the EMTs loaded her father into the back of a medical van. The ribbons of his uniform fluttered each time the gurney rattled.
The queen stood alongside Samantha. The lights of the ambulance danced luridly over her features, only a slight tightening of her jaw betraying her emotions. Beatrice swayed a bit next to her, as if alcohol—or, more likely, shock—had made her unsteady on her feet.
They had watched, utterly mute, as the van left for the hospital. Its siren echoed around them, an angry streak of sound tearing through the streets.
Moments later they had rushed into a waiting car and followed, to gather here in this anonymous waiting room, where they’d spent the night doing exactly that. Waiting, and hoping.
The doctors had appeared every half hour with a non-update, letting them know that, once again, the king’s condition hadn’t changed. He was still on life support.
They weren’t letting anyone in to see him, not that he was awake anyway. But Sam couldn’t help thinking that it didn’t bode well. She was morbidly reminded of the French court, where members of the royal family were not allowed to visit relatives who were ill, because it was believed that if a king or queen witnessed death, the entire country would be cursed.
Sam shifted, causing her chair cushions to squeak in protest. No one even looked up. Jeff was in the seat next to her, his head hanging in his hands, Daphne on his other side. Sam felt too stunned to even question Daphne’s presence right now. She just kept hold of her mom’s hand, her mind whirling uselessly from one thought to another.
Queen Adelaide had barely spoken since they reached the hospital. Her hand was clasped around her daughter’s, so tight that the nails dug into Sam’s palm. Sam barely felt it.
In the corner knelt the Queen Mother, the white beads of her rosary clicking in her hands as she mouthed her litany of prayers. She hadn’t stirred in hours. If anyone could pray the king back to health, Sam knew, her grandmother could.
Beatrice sat slightly apart from everyone else, perched on the edge of her seat, looking as terrified and fragile as a porcelain doll. Teddy’s hand rested tentatively on her shoulder, though Beatrice seemed oblivious to the contact.
He kept glancing toward Sam, and their eyes would meet in a silent bolt of communication. She knew they were tempting fate, staring at each other across the room, but everyone else was too wrapped up in their own anguish to really notice. Sam wished more than anything that Teddy could sit next to her instead—that she could feel the reassuring warmth of him while everything else was falling apart.
But it had all happened so fast, he and Beatrice hadn’t announced they were calling off their engagement. Which meant that Teddy would have to keep playing the part of Beatrice’s fiancé a little while longer.
Sam tugged absently at the sleeves of her high-necked sweater, wondering which of the staff had picked this out. She and her siblings had been at the hospital only a few minutes, still wearing their ball gowns, when Robert had rushed over with a packed bag of “comfortable clothes.” Sam had been hoping for yoga pants and a sweatshirt, but then, appearances must always be maintained.
She’d pretended not to see the other outfits tucked at the bottom of the bag—a black dress and heels, in case they needed to leave the hospital in mourning.
“I need a minute,” she declared, and gently detangled her hand from her mom’s grip. She had to go somewhere, anywhere, if only to get out of that waiting room and its oppressive silence.
There was a break room down the hall. Someone had brought a delivery of food up here: muffins, bananas, a large bowl of berries. As if the royal family possibly wanted catering right now.
Sam wasn’t hungry, but she needed to do something with her hands. As long as she kept moving, she could scare away the dark thoughts—which were like shadows, multiplying and stretching in her mind. She busied herself making tea, heating hot water in a machine and choosing a tea bag without noticing the flavor.
When she heard footsteps, Sam turned around, half hoping Teddy had followed her. But it was her twin brother.
“You’d better not let Grandma see you with that,” Jeff joked, nodding at her mug. His heart clearly wasn’t in it, but Sam appreciated the effort all the same.