She glanced over at Teddy, who was shifting his weight as if he might walk away. But Sam didn’t want him to go, not yet.
“We can head over to the throne room if you want. The ceremony is starting soon,” she offered.
Teddy held out his arm in a show of careless chivalry. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”
“My friends call me Sam.” She looped her arm through his, still holding the half-empty beer in the other hand.
The sounds of the party chased after them, laughter and music echoing through the old, high-ceilinged rooms. A constant flow of traffic—footmen dressed in tails, PR people and camera crews—buzzed back and forth along the hall.
Teddy paused in the doorway to the throne room, to stare up at the domed ceiling that soared above them. It was painted with the famous mural of King George I crossing the sky in a flying chariot.
“Charles Wilson Peale did that one,” Sam murmured, ignoring the confused glances from the support staff who were stationed inside. Caleb was already in there—Sam tried not to make eye contact with him—standing next to Beatrice’s security detail, a tall, fierce-looking young man in the uniform of the Revere Guard.
“As in the Peale family from Pennsylvania?” Teddy asked.
Sam shrugged. She much preferred Charles Wilson to his modern descendants. She was pretty sure the Peale girls had started that rumor that she was sent to rehab in tenth grade—and that was just because she’d danced with one of their ex-boyfriends at a party.
“He was a lieutenant in the Revolutionary War. He painted the pillars, too.” Sam nodded at the corners of the room, where four columns soared upward. “They’re supposed to represent the four pillars of American virtue: truth, justice, honor, and family. The weird one with all the bales of hay and piglets is family, in case you didn’t get it.”
Teddy’s eyes twinkled. “How do you know so much history?”
“I used to sneak away from my nanny and hide in the middle of palace tours,” Sam confessed. “Sometimes people didn’t even see me there. Or if they did, I would whisper that I was playing hide-and-seek against my brother, and could they please help me hide? They usually did. My nanny searched all over the palace, but she never thought to look for me in the middle of a crowd.”
Teddy shook his head wonderingly. “I think you’re too clever for your own good.”
Trumpets sounded from the other end of the hall, indicating that the ceremony would begin in fifteen minutes. The noise was followed by an answering thunder of footsteps as hundreds of people began the slow procession toward the throne room.
Sam’s heart skipped. Etiquette, as well as common sense, dictated that she should lead Teddy to his seat—but she didn’t want to. She wasn’t done with him. She wanted his warm golden energy to be focused on her for just a moment longer.
She grabbed Teddy’s hand and dragged him down the hall, then threw open a nondescript door and pulled it closed behind them.
The cloakroom smelled of fur and cedarwood and Samantha’s Vol de Nuit perfume. A thin light crept in through the doorframe.
Sam was still clutching her beer bottle. She lifted it to her lips, well aware of the juxtaposition she posed: wearing a couture gown and priceless Crown Jewels, chugging a beer. Teddy raised one eyebrow, evidently amused, but he didn’t try to leave.
She set the empty bottle on the floor and turned to face him, the sequined fabric of her dress contorting around her.
“You might be aware that I outrank you,” she whispered, teasing.
“It’s been mentioned once or twice.”
She reached her hands up to his shoulders to pull at the stray end of his bow tie, which fell uselessly to the floor. “I outrank you,” Sam repeated, “and as your princess, I command that you kiss me.”
Teddy hesitated, and for a moment Sam worried that she had misread him. But then his face relaxed into a smile.
“I don’t think monarchs get to make autocratic demands like that anymore,” he said softly.
“I’m not a monarch,” she reminded him. “So, do you refuse?”
“In this instance, I’m happy to oblige. But don’t assume this means I’m going to obey all your commands.”
“Fine with me.” Sam grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him forward.
Teddy’s mouth was warm on hers. He kissed her back eagerly, almost hungrily. Samantha closed her eyes and leaned back into the darkness, falling onto someone’s mink. Her blood bubbled, as light and fizzy as champagne.
On the other side of the door, she heard the bleating pack of courtiers marching toward the throne room. As if by unspoken agreement, she and Teddy held themselves absolutely still, falling ever deeper into the kiss.
It didn’t matter whether Samantha showed up to the ceremony. No one would notice if she wasn’t there. She was only the Sparrow, after all.
BEATRICE
Beatrice kept her eyes shut, reminding herself to breathe.
Once, during the fitting for the flower-girl dress she’d worn at her uncle’s wedding, she had fidgeted so much that her mom had snapped at her not to move a single muscle. So she hadn’t—not even her lungs. Seven-year-old Beatrice had held her breath with such determination that she actually passed out.
“Would you look up, Your Royal Highness?” the makeup artist murmured. Beatrice reluctantly lifted her gaze, trying to ignore the eyeliner pencil prodding at her lower lid. It had been easier to keep her anxiety at bay when her eyes were closed.