American Royals

“Hear me out,” Daphne said quickly. “We could slip a little something in Himari’s drink—not a lot, just a minimum dosage. If she does say anything, it will seem like drunken incoherent ramblings. Or she might just pass out on the couch before she gets the chance. Everyone will think she drank too much, too quickly. And she obviously won’t be in any condition to rat on us. We take some photos of her, just to be safe—to hold over her head in the future.”

“Daphne. Please tell me you’re joking.”

So Ethan wasn’t going to help her. Fine, then. Daphne would do this on her own. The same way she did everything else.

“Never mind. You’re right,” she agreed, too quickly to be fully convincing. “I’ll find another way.”

But of course, there was only ever one way for Daphne. Onward and upward, just like always.

That night at the palace, she slipped a few ground-up sleeping pills into Himari’s drink.

It was easy, really; no one knew that Himari and Daphne were feuding. All Daphne had to do was ask another girl to please hand this glass of wine to her friend.

Himari grew instantly, visibly drunker, her words louder and more pointed, and then a few minutes later she retreated to a sitting room. Daphne stood near the doorway with Jefferson, watching as Himari tilted her head back onto the expensive pillows of the couch, her eyes fluttering shut.

The party ebbed and flowed around Himari for several hours. Daphne saw Jefferson’s protection officer frowning at Himari’s sleeping form, but he never made a move to do anything, which Daphne found reassuring. He was medically trained—if Himari was in danger, wouldn’t he say something?

As the night wore on and people grew drunker, the passed-out girl became something of a meme. People posed for selfies with her, making a thumbs-up in front of Himari, whose mouth was open, a stream of drool falling onto the couch. Daphne wasn’t surprised. Himari had always been snobbish and inscrutable, and humiliation of the proud was one of mankind’s favorite sources of entertainment.

She knew from Ethan’s angry looks that he’d figured out what she’d done. But she did her best to keep him at a distance. She had enough to worry about right now without his self-righteous accusations.

Finally, later in the night, he found her alone.

“I can’t believe you,” Ethan whispered, jerking his head toward Himari.

Daphne shrugged. She knew this was an absurd plan, but what other choice did she have? Her reputation, her relationship, was on the line.

“She’s going to be fine. Her pride will be a little bruised, but she’ll survive that. I really am watching her,” Daphne added, in a plaintive voice. No matter what Himari had said, no matter that she’d thrown away their years of friendship like a pile of trash, Daphne would never truly hurt her.

Ethan cast Daphne a curious, inscrutable look.

“What are you going to do, tell on me?” she demanded, her chin tipped up in challenge.

“You know I wouldn’t.” He paused. “You’re terrifying, though.” The way he said it, it sounded oddly like a compliment.

“Terrifyingly brilliant,” Daphne amended.

A laugh rumbled deep in Ethan’s chest. For an instant, Daphne felt herself wondering what it would be like to feel that laughter—really feel it, her body tucked up against Ethan’s, skin to skin. “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he told her.

“I think you know better than to ever try.”

They had drifted wordlessly into the other room, toward the table of drinks, only to stall partway there. Daphne forced herself to ignore the flickering sensation that Ethan’s gaze kindled in her chest.

Neither of them saw Himari rise drowsily from the couch and head toward the back stairs, the ones off the downstairs hallway. Even in her drugged-out state, she was determined to go up to Jefferson’s bedroom, to tell him the truth about Daphne. And probably for other reasons.

It wasn’t until she heard the unearthly sound of Himari’s screams that Daphne realized the other girl had made it halfway up the stairs—and tumbled right back down.

Daphne shifted on the hospital chair, her grip still closed over her friend’s hand. She wished more than anything that things had gone differently. That she’d listened when Ethan had tried to talk her out of this ridiculous plan, that she’d forced Himari to negotiate—hell, that she had done what Ethan wanted in the first place, and told Jefferson the truth herself.

Losing her virginity to Ethan was bad enough, but drugging Himari was far, far worse. It didn’t matter that Daphne had only meant for her to pass out and sleep it off. It was her fault that Himari had fallen and hit her head—her fault that her friend had been in a coma for the last eight months.

No one could ever find out the truth of that night. Especially not Jefferson.

“I’m sorry,” Daphne whispered again, and let out a sigh.

What was done was done, and now that it had happened, Daphne felt more permanently fixed on her path than ever before. She had lost too much—hurt her friend, traded away the last tattered scraps of her conscience—to give up now. She needed to see this through. Too many sacrifices had been made along the way for her to go anywhere but ruthlessly forward.

Daphne glanced up sharply. There was a slight pressure on her hand.

A shiver trailed down her spine. Her eyes cut sharply to Himari’s face, but it was as blank and drawn as ever. Still, her fingers tightened around Daphne’s in a barely perceptible squeeze. Almost as if she wanted to reassure her friend that she was still in there.