“But…wasn’t I always?”

Robert’s sneer deepened at her ignorance. “As princess, you were a representative of your family. But now you are the heir apparent—the queen’s next in line, should anything go wrong. You have level-one security clearance.” He gestured to the alarm on the wall. It was one of many scattered throughout the palace, all of them protected by biosecurity, so only a handful of people could activate them. A handful of people that now included Sam.

“I’ll expect you to carry out the same schedule of social engagements that Her Majesty used to fulfill as the heir,” Robert went on. “Including the Royal Derby, the queen’s garden parties, the US Open—tennis and golf—the Baltimore Flower Show, the Chelsea Art Fair, the Fourth of July celebrations, hospital benefits, and, of course, anything related to the military.”

At first Sam thought he’d merely paused, that he would keep on listing events until either she interrupted or he went hoarse. But the chamberlain only looked at her in unmistakable challenge.

“Well, if that’s all,” she said, with forced lightness.

“It’s a hundred and eighty events per year.” When he saw her eyes widen, Robert nodded. “Which is why we have a great deal of work to do to make you into a princess.”

Sam’s face went hot. “I am a princess,” she reminded him.

Robert spoke slowly. He clearly relished this opportunity to show how little he thought of her. “My apologies, Your Royal Highness. I meant that you need to start behaving like one.”

Sam hid the sting of hurt she felt at his words. She thought of all those hours she and her siblings had spent in the downstairs drawing room with their etiquette master. He’d droned on about how to greet visiting dignitaries, and the varying depths of a curtsy, and the order of precedence in every aristocratic house, because god forbid she insult someone by addressing a junior family member before a senior one. Beatrice, of course, had nodded with childish seriousness and taken notes. Even Jeff had paid halfhearted attention. While Sam had spent the entire time staring out the window, daydreaming.

Eventually the king and queen had given up, and let Sam run wild. She was simply too much effort to teach.

“With Her Majesty’s upcoming wedding, your family will be under more scrutiny than ever before.” Robert tilted his head, considering her. “You’ll need an escort, of course, as the maid of honor. I’ll find someone suitable.”

“What?” Robert wanted to pick out her wedding date?

His eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry, did you have someone in mind? I wasn’t aware that you were seeing anyone.”

Sam thought of Teddy, and her jaw hardened. She tilted her head up defiantly. “I don’t need a date. I’m perfectly happy to go to Beatrice’s wedding alone.”

“Unfortunately, that’s out of the question. You’ll need to help lead the opening dance.” Robert made an expression that was probably meant to be a smile, though it resembled a grimace. He began organizing papers on his desk, arranging their stacks into careful right angles. “I’m afraid we have to conclude today’s meeting. I really wish we’d had more time, but since you were nineteen minutes late, we’ll have to pick back up on Thursday.”

“You want to meet again?”

“It’s crucial that we begin meeting several times a week. We have a great deal of material to cover.”

Sam felt her own anger rising to meet his. “You should know that you’re wasting your time.”

“Because you refuse to cooperate?”

Of course Robert assumed she was the problem. He didn’t know what it was like growing up in a sister’s shadow—fighting for years to be taken seriously, only to realize that fighting would never get her anywhere.

The nation had never wanted to like Sam. Wasn’t there an old saying, that nothing drew people together like a common enemy? Well, if Americans could agree on one thing, it was their disapproval of Princess Samantha.

“It doesn’t matter how hard we try,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I’m the least popular member of my family. America has never cared what I do. They aren’t about to start now.”

She marched out of Robert’s office before he could answer, letting the door click shut behind her.

As Sam turned down the hallway, she fumbled in her pocket for her phone. She started to call Nina, to see if they could meet up later—but a familiar voice emanated from the palace’s two-story entryway, halting her in her tracks.

Standing at the foot of the curved staircase was Lord Marshall Davis. He was gesticulating wildly as he argued with a footman. And he was wearing full ceremonial dress.

“Marshall? What are you doing here?” Sam hadn’t known when she would see him again, after they said goodbye at the end of the museum party.

He looked up in evident relief. “Samantha! I came to see you, actually. I need my lapel pin back.”

Sam flushed as she remembered the proprietary way she’d grabbed that pin, fastening it to her dress before dragging Marshall into the party. It had all been impulsive, fueled by obstinate pride and that bottle of wine. Think before you act, Sam, her father always used to say. But Sam had a tendency to act first, leaving the thoughts—or, often, regrets—for later.

She braced her palms on the stair railing and leaned forward, trying to sound nonchalant. “You didn’t think to text?”

“You never gave me your number.” Marshall started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, the same way Sam did.

He was wearing the peers’ ceremonial robes: crimson wool trimmed in gold lace, complete with a cloak that tied at the throat with a white satin ribbon. They looked absurd on him. The robes had been designed centuries ago, back when the leaders of most duchies had been old white men. Marshall was so tall and imposing that he made the outfit look ludicrously like a Halloween costume.

“I can’t believe you came here on your way to…where are you going?”

“Swearing-in of the new Chief Justice.” He glanced down ruefully at his robes. “Believe it or not, I only just realized the pin was missing.”

“Don’t you have an extra?”

“Did you lose it?” Marshall sighed. “I’ve lost it too. I wore it on a dare, once, and it fell out on the streets of Vegas. It actually wasn’t at the casino, but at the In-N-Out we stopped at when—”

Sam cut him off with a groan. “Chill out, okay? I have your jewelry.”

Marshall didn’t rise to the bait. He just smiled and said, “Where is it?”

“In my room.”

To her surprise, he followed her down the hall, his red velvet cloak streaming out behind him. Historical portraits glared at them from the walls: statesmen with powdered wigs and pointed beards, women in pearl necklaces layered six strands deep. Marshall’s outfit wouldn’t have looked out of place inside one of the paintings.

Sam wondered what he was wearing underneath the robes. She glanced over at the broad expanse of his chest with an idle spark of curiosity.

Marshall’s eyes met hers. Aware that he’d caught her staring, she hurried to ask a question. “Why are you the one here representing Orange? Isn’t your grandfather the active duke?”

Most peers looked forward to ceremonial occasions like this. It was one of the few chances they had to put on these dusty old robes—and stare down their noses at all the commoners who didn’t have the right to wear them.

“He’s been sending me as his proxy a lot lately. He says he hates the cross-country flight. Not that I actually do anything,” Marshall added under his breath.

“What do you mean?”

“Even when the dukes are all assembled, I’m only there to help fill out the room. I can’t actually speak or vote. Being a proxy literally means that I’m a body filling a seat—a very good-looking body, obviously.” He flashed his usual cocky smile, but Sam sensed that his heart wasn’t in it. She surprised herself by answering with a truth of her own.

“I know the feeling. No one ever wants me to be anything but a body—a smiling, waving, tiara-wearing body.”

“Would it help if I said you look great in a tiara?” Marshall offered, and Sam rolled her eyes.

“The tiara isn’t the problem. It’s the rest of it that I can’t stand.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not the smiling-and-waving type either.”

“But at least you have a purpose! You’ll get to rule someday!”

He seemed surprised by her reply. “In forty years, maybe. For now, there’s nothing for me to do except sit around and wait.”

“Welcome to life as the spare. It’s a job full of nothing,” Sam said drily.

“You, doing nothing? I find that hard to believe.” Marshall’s mouth twitched. “Just think of all the buildings you haven’t yet kicked.”

“Look, can you please forget about that?”

Sam hated that Marshall had caught her in that moment. She felt more exposed, somehow, than if he’d seen her naked.