The Nina who’d spent years pining after Jefferson—who’d contorted herself into someone she didn’t recognize, hoping to win acceptance as his girlfriend—was gone. And this new, fiercer Nina knew better than to get her heart broken by anyone. Even a prince.

When her phone buzzed with an incoming call, Nina assumed it was one of her parents, until she looked over and saw Samantha’s name. She pulled it quickly into her lap.

Rachel’s eyes cut toward her. “Everything okay?”

“Sorry, I need to take this.” Nina rose to her feet, shrugging into her denim jacket, and headed out the double doors of the café.

“Sam. How are you?” She immediately winced at the question. Of course Sam wasn’t doing well; she was grieving.

“Tired. I’m ready to be home.” The princess’s tone was normal—brave, even—but Nina knew her well enough to hear the emotion behind it. Sam wasn’t nearly as tough as she pretended to be.

“When do you get back?” Nina asked, tucking her phone into her shoulder.

“Actually, we’re on the road now.”

Nina hated how her mind fixed on that we. She imagined Jeff sitting next to his twin sister, hearing Sam’s half of the conversation.

“Jeff is here, but he’s asleep,” Sam added, guessing her friend’s thoughts. “With headphones on.”

“I—right. Okay.”

It hurt to think of Jeff: a dull, lingering sort of pain, as if Nina were pressing on a bruise that hadn’t yet healed. Things between them had ended so abruptly. One minute they’d been in the palace ballroom, twined in each other’s arms, and then later that night their relationship was just…over.

Part of Nina wanted to hate him—for allowing Daphne to push them apart, for letting their relationship crumble instead of fighting for it. But she couldn’t stay that angry with a boy who’d just lost his father. She wished she felt brave enough to ask Sam how Jeff was doing, except she didn’t trust herself to say his name.

There was a rustling on the other end. “Come on, Nina, tell me everything. What’s happened with you since—” Sam broke off before saying since my dad died. “Since I’ve seen you,” she amended.

They both knew that this wasn’t the normal dynamic of their relationship. Normally Sam was the one who kept talking: debating and theorizing and telling stories in her winding, roundabout way, which was always more satisfying than if she’d told them start to finish. But today, Sam needed Nina to be the one who filled the silence.

Nina’s heart ached. When someone was hurting like this, there was nothing you could say to make it better. The only thing you could do was hurt alongside them.

Still, she cleared her throat and attempted an upbeat tone. “Did I tell you I chopped off my hair?”

Sam gasped. “How many inches?”

“I’ll send you a picture,” Nina assured her. “And I just got back from a spring break trip with some friends from my dorm. You would have loved it, Sam. We rowed kayaks down the coast, and found this tiki bar that served half-price frozen drinks…”

She sank onto a bench as she talked. Various students passed, heading to their dorm rooms or to meet friends for ice cream at the Broken Spoon.

“Nina,” Sam finally asked, with uncharacteristic hesitation, “I was wondering…would you come to the Royal Potomac Races with me tomorrow?”

Nina went very still, her heart thudding. Hearing that silence, and knowing exactly what it meant, Sam hurried to explain. “I understand if you can’t be around Jeff. It’s just my first public appearance since—” She broke off, then forged ahead. “Since my dad’s funeral, and it would mean a lot to have you there.”

How could Nina possibly say no to a request like that?

“Of course I’ll be there,” she promised.

And just like that, she thought with weary resignation, she was headed back into her best friend’s world—the world of the American royals—all over again.

Daphne Deighton had never really liked the Royal Potomac Races. They were just so loud, so unapologetically common. Really, what else could you expect from a free public event?

Thousands of people had gathered along the Potomac, transforming its riverbanks into a brightly colored fairground. Families picnicked on beach towels; girls in sunglasses posed for pictures that they hurried to post online. Long queues had formed behind the scattered bars that sold mint juleps. The bars inevitably ran out of ice after the first few hours, yet people kept on lining up to purchase warm bourbon with a few sodden pieces of mint.

Thankfully, Daphne never ventured to those sections of the river. There was another side to the Royal Potomac Races, one that still enforced a sense of hierarchy, of exclusivity. After all, the truly important people weren’t about to watch the races from a dirty picnic blanket.

Near the colorful pennants of the finish line, behind ropes and stiff-lipped security, lay the massive white tents of the private enclosures—capped at the very end by the Royal Enclosure itself, open only to the Washington family and their invited guests.

Unlike the other tents, where low-ranking aristocrats and businesspeople strode around in plastic name tags, no one in the Royal Enclosure wore a badge. It was tacitly assumed that if you were here, you must be someone worth knowing.

And Daphne knew them all. She could trace the tortuous maze of the Washington family’s relationships, which tangled over the entire globe. She doubted anyone else could tell Crown Princess Elizabeth of the Netherlands (the king’s cousin) from Lady Elizabeth of Hesse (an aunt on his mother’s side) from Elizabeth the Grand Duchess of Romania (surprisingly, no relation).

That was the difference between Daphne and all the other beautiful girls who’d set their sights on Prince Jefferson over the years. In Daphne’s experience, most beautiful girls tried to skate through life relying on nothing but their looks. They lacked brains, or hustle—while Daphne had more than enough of both.

A volley of trumpets sounded, and everyone in the crowd glanced expectantly downriver, to where the pennants of the royal barge snapped against the sky.

Sunlight sparkled on the Potomac, setting its pewter waters afire. Daphne’s eyes automatically zeroed in on Jefferson, who stood next to his twin sister, one hand lifted halfheartedly, though he wasn’t quite waving. The wind stirred his sleeves, ruffled his dark hair. At the front of the boat, a fragile smile on her face, was Beatrice.

The riverbanks erupted in applause and whistles. People shouted at Beatrice, or, just as often, at Jefferson. Parents hoisted children onto their shoulders so they could catch a glimpse of the new queen.

A song began to play over the loudspeakers, and the cheers quickly died out. For a moment all Daphne heard were the opening notes of the music, above the hiss of wind and the steady rumbling of the barge’s motor. Then thousands of voices wove together as everyone began to sing.

    From shore to shore, from sea to sea

Let our beloved nation ring

With cries of love and loyalty

Our hearts we pledge to you, our queen

Until now, the lyrics had always ended in our king; the rhyme of ring and queen didn’t work quite as well.

The barge pulled up to the dock, and the Lord Chamberlain stepped forward to help the royal family disembark. All the courtiers on the lawn quickly fell into bows or curtsies. In their pastel dresses and seersucker suits, they looked like an indolent flock of butterflies.

Daphne didn’t rush. She sank down as gracefully as a flower drooping, and held the pose for a long, slow moment. She’d taken ballet as a child, and at times like this she was every inch a dancer.

When she finally stood, Daphne skimmed her hands over the front of her dress, which followed the enclosure’s strict rules and hit at precisely knee-length. It fell around her legs like peach sorbet. Atop her glorious red-gold hair she’d pinned a custom-made fascinator, the same delicate shade as her gown. It was so nice to wear color again, after all the weeks she’d spent dressing somberly, observing the official mourning period for the late king.

Though, to be fair, Daphne also looked striking in black. She looked striking in everything.

She made her way to where Jefferson stood, atop the grassy embankment that sloped liltingly to the river. When he saw her, the prince nodded in greeting. “Hey, Daphne. Thanks for coming.”

She wanted to say I’ve missed you, but it felt too flirtatious, too self-centered, after everything Jefferson had been through. “It’s good to see you,” she decided.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It feels a little weird to be here, you know?”

Daphne didn’t feel weird at all. If anything, she felt that she and Jefferson were back where they were meant to be: with each other. After all, their lives had been intertwined since Daphne was fourteen.

That was when she’d decided that she would marry him, and become a princess.