American Royals

The other boys had been so predictable, so one-note. None of them had really paid attention to Beatrice. They’d just postured and preened, dancing over the surface of their conversations without truly listening to her.

She might not feel butterflies with Teddy, but there was something genuine about him that struck her as a mark in his favor.

Beatrice tried to hide her nervousness. She’d never actually done this before, except in dialogue with her etiquette master—yes, Lord Shrewsborough had made her practice asking guys on dates, since most men would be too intimidated to ask her.

“Teddy …” She broke off, swallowed, and rallied her words. “Next weekend my family will be at the opening night of Midnight Crown, the new show in the East End. Do you want to come with me?”

He hesitated, causing Beatrice to wonder if she’d made a misstep, asking Teddy to see a musical, and with her entire family, no less. But then he relaxed into a smile.

“I’d love to,” he assured her.

Connor was conspicuously quiet as he walked Beatrice back to her suite at the end of the night.

She reached up to rub her temples, still sore from the tiara. If only she could kick off her shoes and skip through the halls barefoot like Samantha did, but even now, some deep-rooted sense of propriety refused to let her.

She glanced over at Connor. He was looking away, his jaw set firmly. It wasn’t like them to be this silent. Usually at the end of an event they were both brimming with stories, comparing notes about the people Beatrice had talked to, sharing a complicit laugh at someone’s expense. Tonight, though, he seemed determined to ignore her.

Finally Beatrice couldn’t stand it. “What’s going on?”

They were alone in the upstairs hallway, their footfalls muffled by the heavy scrolled carpet. Still Connor refused to look her way.

“Come on,” she insisted. “You’re the only person who’s really honest with me. What’s bothering you?”

“Honestly?” He finally turned that gaze on her, as clear and sharp as a hawk’s. “I can’t believe you agreed to go along with this. What’s your plan, exactly? To eliminate these guys one by one, and whoever’s left at the end gets the final rose?”

“I’m sorry, do you have a better idea?”

He made an angry, disbelieving sound. “I just don’t think you can summon a bunch of noblemen to meet you and expect to find happily ever after with one of them.”

“It doesn’t necessarily need to be happily ever after. At least not according to my parents,” Beatrice heard herself answer, with an uncharacteristic touch of bitterness. “Just happy enough ever after.”

They had reached her suite. Her sitting room was beautiful, if rather impersonal: full of antique furniture and enameled lamps, the pale blue walls hung with demure watercolors. Near the door to her bedroom, a serpentine desk was littered with invitations and official documents.

Connor followed her inside, closing the door and leaning against it with crossed arms. “Why are you doing this, Bee?” He sounded upset. Which wasn’t fair, given that this really had nothing to do with him.

She let out an angry breath. “What other choice do I have? You know how strange my life is. I can’t just go on dates like a normal girl.”

“And you think choosing some guy from an aristocratic lineup is your best bet?”

“Please, just … don’t,” she said helplessly. “I’m anxious enough as it is.”

“You said you wanted me to be honest.” Connor stuffed his hands into his pockets, his posture stiff and closed off. He was still leaning against the door, a few yards’ distance separating him from the princess. “And why are you feeling anxious? These guys are all here for your sake. You’re the one holding all the cards.”

“I’m terrified because I have no idea what I’m doing, okay? This is all new to me! I’ve never had a real boyfriend, never even—”

She stopped herself before she could finish that sentence, but Connor probably knew it anyway. These days, the entire country seemed to have an opinion on Beatrice’s virginity.

“I’ve never been in love,” she said at last. “Given the circumstances, I never really had a chance to.”

Then, for some reason she couldn’t explain, she let her eyes lift to Connor’s. “Have you?”

It was as personal a question as she had ever dared ask. Connor kept his gaze on hers. “I have.”

Beatrice was surprised at the resentment that twisted through her at his words. “Well then,” she said coldly, “I’m happy for you.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

She recoiled a step. Whatever he was talking about, whatever past love affair of his had gone wrong, she didn’t want to hear about it. “This is really none of your business. You may go.”

Never in all their time together had Beatrice dismissed him like that. She saw him flinch at her words, and opened her mouth to take them back—

A roar sounded through the palace. An explosion, maybe, or a blast.

Connor leapt forward, fast as a liquid shadow, before Beatrice had even fully registered the sound.

He pulled her back toward the wall, then whirled around, keeping her safely behind him. In the same fluid motion he slid a gun from its holster.