I arrived at the lecture hall ten minutes early and was one of the first to take my seat. That way I wouldn’t have to deal with everyone staring at me and gossiping as I walked in.

My usual seat was still available; it was the perfect spot for me. About one third of the way up, so I was close enough to see and hear everything clearly while not being so close that I could practically count the professor’s nose hairs. The back rows had always been a no-go zone. I’d never been popular enough to sit at the back when I was younger, and that attitude had kind of stuck with me.

I opened my books, and kept my head down as everyone else walked in. I didn’t see the stares, but I could feel them. People were looking at me, and there was far more talk than normal for a class that started at nine in the morning.

Fortunately, if there was one group of people that didn’t give a shit about celebrity gossip, it was history professors.

“Settle down, everyone,” Professor Jackson yelled out. He stubbornly refused to use a microphone during class, but he seemed to enjoy the shouting. Professors like Jackson were one of the reasons I had come to England to study. He looked a bit like a stuffy Harvard professor with the elbow patches and mismatched pants and jacket, but the messy hair and erratic way of talking gave him that ‘Hogwarts professor’ vibe that only a non-native could really appreciate. The locals all just took it for granted.

“I hope you all used the break constructively,” Professor Jackson began. “At the very least, I hope you made it through the assigned reading.” That much I had done at least. It had taken me three times as long as it should have thanks to the distraction that was George and his penis. “I’ve started receiving some of your essays, but there are many more still due. Make sure you have them to me by the end of the week. Now we’re going to move on to the period following the execution of Charles I.”

It felt so good to be back to some degree of normality. I still couldn’t hear the word “prince” without thinking of George, but fortunately that word didn’t come up too often. It would in future classes, and I’d have to deal with it, but for now I was safe.

Professor Jackson had steadfastly refused to let laptops into the classroom, so we all scribbled notes on paper as he spoke. I preferred writing by hand anyway—you retained more information that way.

I’d always enjoyed these classes, but I didn’t want to just enjoy them any longer. I wanted to ace them. Hell, I needed to ace them. There was no way my grades would stay private. They’d be leaked so quickly The Sun would probably know them before I did. I couldn’t just coast along and try to get a 2:1, but settle for a 2:2. I had to aim for a first class degree.

Mind you, even if I did well, people would just assume the grade had been bought and paid for. I was in a no-win situation. Do well and no one would believe I’d earned it. Do badly and people would think I was stupid. Not to mention the added embarrassment of failing a class that centered on the English royal family. The irony would cause no end of amusement.

Fifteen minutes into the class, my eyelids started to feel heavy, and my head slumped forward, before snapping back as I fought off sleep. I’d packed a thermos of coffee, but I didn’t usually have to dip into that until around eleven. Not today.

I poured a cup, and felt awake before even taking a sip. I wasn’t the only one struggling to stay with it. My usually attentive classmates looked bored and sleepy. Heads were resting in hands, or slumped so low to the desk it was hard to tell if they were reading from the textbook of just taking a nap.

Professor Jackson deserved an attentive audience, but he was the one who insisted on teaching the first class of the morning. Rumor had it, he actually wanted the class to start at seven in the morning, so that his day would be completely finished by lunch and he could focus on his research. The university had vetoed that one; even clever students wanted to go and get drunk once in awhile.

Halfway through the lecture, something changed. There was movement and rustling behind me as people tried to subtly take phones out of pockets and bags. Professor Jackson had banned all use of phones, but those sat behind me obviously figured they could get away with it.

Once a few people had pulled out their phones, the rest of the room followed their lead. Only myself and those in front of me continued to pay any attention to the lecture. University was cheaper in England, but you still had to pay for it. I never ceased to be amazed at how little people cared about learning after spending thousands on their education.

Professor Jackson tried to carry on talking, but he couldn’t ignore the commotion that was spreading throughout the room. Students weren’t just using their phones; they were giggling and whispering excitedly.

I was about ready to turn to the girl behind me and ask what all the fuss was about when Ellie burst into the room loudly and out-of-breath.

“Sorry,” she muttered to a bemused looking Professor Jackson. “I need to speak to Sophia. Sophia Whittemore. It’s an emergency.”

“Fine,” Professor Jackson said, holding his hands up in defeat. “Leave quickly and quietly please, Mrs. Whittemore.”

I grabbed my books and shoved them into my bag as I hurriedly left the room. Ellie looked panicked, and for a girl as calm as her, that had me worried.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, the second we were outside. “Has something happened to George?”

“No, George is fine,” she replied. Ellie walked so quickly I had a job to keep up with her. “I’ll explain back at my dorm.”

We rushed back to Ellie’s room which was only a few minutes away. Students stared at us as we walked, and I could swear I saw a few of them smile. I’d gotten plenty of looks from the public recently, but there was something unnerving about those smiles.

Ellie shut the door behind us the second we were in her room. I felt like we had just escaped a pack of zombies, and half expected her to barricade the door and push all the furniture in front of it.

“What the hell is going on, Ellie? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I wish that was all I’d seen.” She opened up a message on her phone and passed it to me. “This email is doing the rounds on the university server. I haven’t seen any news stories on it yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

The email had a subject line of “Her Royal Highness’ royal tits.”

Oh fuck. Please no. Please. Anything but this.

There was no text to the emails, just some photo attachments. I opened the first one, but didn’t need to open any more.

“I’m so sorry,” Ellie said, wrapping her arm around me.

“Me too,” I replied. “About everything.”

The dream was over. There was no way I could be a princess now. I didn’t know if I wanted to be.

My own phone rang. No need to guess who it was. I hit the decline button on George’s call.

“You should speak to him,” Ellie said. “He might be able to help.”

“He promised me he’d sorted it. Just last night he said this wouldn’t be a problem any more. Now look what’s happened.”

“I’m sure he tried.”

“He should have tried harder.”

I probably wasn’t really mad at George, but he’d have to bear the brunt of my anger for the time being. He was a fucking prince; he should have been able to fix this. Instead, here I was, trapped in my friend’s room, while pictures of my breasts circulated the university, and soon the country. Then the world.

This was only the beginning. There were plenty more photos. Stan had other photos he could release if he wanted to. And then there were the video clips.

The embarrassment wouldn’t be ending any time soon.

After running from my own wedding, I hid from the world until the worst of it had blown over. How long would that take this time?

I might never see the light of day again.