American Royals

That was probably the only mark she ever would make on history. No one ever remembered the younger sisters of kings or queens, except as a footnote to their older siblings’ biographies.

The sun had risen higher in the sky. Its watery light illuminated her father’s features, underscoring the lines of weariness etched across his brow. Sam realized, suddenly, how old he looked. When had his hair gone entirely gray?

“Samantha,” he said at last, as they turned around the great reflecting pool, “what happened last night? First you showed up late to the Queen’s Ball; then you completely missed the knighthood ceremony.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam wanted to get this over with as fast as possible, but her father shook his head.

“I don’t want you to blurt out a token apology,” he admonished. “I want to talk to you.”

The protection officers sped up a little to give them space, though they probably heard everything anyway.

“Your sister has been thinking about her future,” the king went on, in a strange tone. Sam wondered what he meant by that. Was Beatrice starting a new government initiative? “I was hoping that you would too. I haven’t seen much direction from you.”

“I just graduated high school!”

“Samantha, you graduated in June. It’s December,” her father pointed out. “When I agreed to let you and Jeff take a gap year before college, I hoped that you might use this time constructively: for reflection, or to learn something new. But all you did was jet from one place to the other.”

“You approved the itinerary,” she said defensively. She had a feeling that Jeff wasn’t about to hear what a disappointment he had been.

Sam wished she could explain how she’d felt throughout that trip—that she was searching for an indefinable something, and no matter where she went, she never managed to find it. Maybe she never would. But then, how could she be expected to find it if she didn’t even know what she was looking for?

Her father nodded, conceding the point. “I did approve it. But now that you’re back, it’s time for us to discuss what comes next. You can’t spend the rest of your life ditching your bodyguards, sneaking off to ride ATVs. You haven’t even decided where you’re going to school next year.”

Sam had halfheartedly sent in a bunch of college applications last spring. To no one’s shock, all the schools had accepted her. She knew that everyone expected her to go to college, but for what? It wasn’t as if she could ever get a normal people job, even if she’d wanted one.

Perhaps she and Jeff would just be professional wastrels, a drain on the economy for the rest of their lives. The modern incarnations of a pair of medieval court jesters. At least, that was what they always told each other: that they had a constitutional responsibility to stir up trouble, if only to make up for how excruciatingly good Beatrice was.

“I get it,” she told her dad. “I’ll accept one of the college offers.”

The king let out a frustrated breath. “Sam, this isn’t just about college. It’s about your behavior. I know it’s not easy, being unable to do so many things that other teenagers take for granted. I was your age too, once. I understand what you’re going through.”

“I don’t know if you do,” Sam insisted. Her father couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to be the spare. He had been the heir, the one who could do no wrong, the one everyone fussed and exclaimed over. The one whose face was printed on money, and stamps, and coffee mugs.

“You’re right. It’s harder for your generation, with all those gossip sites and social media things,” her father replied, misunderstanding. “This life—being a Washington—is a life of privilege and opportunity, but also a life of unusual constraints. My hope for you has always been that you’ll focus on the open doors, instead of the ones that are closed to you.”

His breath was coming more heavily; he slowed to a walk. Sweat beaded his brow.

“I know it isn’t easy,” he went on. “You’re young, you’re bound to make mistakes, and it isn’t fair that you have to make them in front of the entire world. But, Sam, please try to give this some thought.”

She still didn’t understand. “Give what some thought?”

“What you want to do until you start college next fall. You could get an internship somewhere—a design firm, perhaps, or with an event planner? Or you could volunteer, find a charity to focus on.”

“Can’t I keep traveling?”

“You could go on a royal tour, just you and Jeff.”

Samantha snorted. She hated getting dragged on the royal tours—parading down the streets of various small towns while the crowds shouted, “Look this way, Beatrice!” and “I love you, Jeff!”

They turned on to the last mile back toward the palace. The city was stirring to life, people lining up at the coffee cart on the corner. Sam’s shadow danced long and distorted on the gravel trail before her.

“You’re so fiercely stubborn,” her father went on, though the way he said it made it sound curiously like a compliment. “Whatever you do, I know it will be great. You just have to channel all that tremendous energy into something positive. You remind me of your aunt Margaret,” he added, smiling. “You act like her too. You’re all Washington, you know.”