Majesty

Teddy didn’t interrupt. He just shifted a little closer, letting Beatrice explain the whole disastrous encounter.

“I keep wondering what my dad would say about all this,” she finished, shame and resentment warring in her chest. “Would he have understood why I did it…or would he say that I’ve been foolish, jeopardizing the balance of power? That I acted out of pride and put the entire monarchy at risk?”

When he spoke, Teddy’s voice was thoughtful and steady. “Bee—I can’t speak for your dad. But I, for one, am proud of you.”

“Even though I violated the terms of the Constitution?”

“I thought Congress violated the Constitution by failing to invite you,” he countered.

Beatrice looked down, tracing a few swirls on the damp sand. “I’d have to check…”

“I doubt it,” Teddy challenged, giving her shoulder a playful nudge. “Come on, nerd out for me. You know you want to.”

He was fighting back a smile, but his dimple gave him away. Seeing his expression, Beatrice couldn’t help smiling, too.

“Article three, section twenty-eight,” she recited. “?‘It is a duty of the King to convene and dissolve a Congress. In the absence of a Crowned King, Congress shall ask the Heir Apparent to preside over its opening and closing: the Legislative Body deriving its authority from the people, but its Action and Competency from the Crown—’?”

She was cut off mid-sentence when Teddy leaned over and dropped a quick kiss on her lips.

“Sorry,” he told her. “I just, um…”

“Have a thing for girls reciting the Constitution?”

“I was going to say smart girls, but yours works too.” He laughed, then grew more serious. “Bee, you know you just answered your own question. Congress acted out of line, too.”

By now the sky had lightened, the surf curling back from their feet as the tide lowered. The breeze tousled Beatrice’s hair. She leaned back on her palms, watching Franklin race through the waves.

Her entire life, she’d been taught to respect the Constitution, to obey the Crown, to venerate tradition.

But now she was the Crown, and truth be told, Beatrice was getting kind of sick of tradition.

The future didn’t belong to people like Robert anymore. It belonged to her and Teddy, to Samantha and Jeff. To their entire generation of people, who were all dreaming and fighting and doing their best to make the world a better place.

She was still clutching at the sand: scooping great handfuls of it and letting it fall through her fingers like the sand of an hourglass. Teddy reached over, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said bluntly.

“Bee, you’re doing a job that only eleven people have done before. There aren’t going to be any easy answers,” Teddy pointed out. “You should trust your instincts. And stop listening to the people who try to tear you down, because you’re going to be one hell of a queen.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. You already are.”

Beatrice couldn’t take it anymore. She turned and pulled his face to hers, dragging her hands through his blond curls, kissing him with everything that was aching and unsettled in her.

When they finally broke apart, she saw that the sun had lifted above the horizon, streaking the sky with color. Beatrice took a breath, inhaling the mingled scents of coffee and sea salt and brine.

Franklin came racing out of the surf. He gave his entire body a shake from nose to tail, spraying water over them both, before plopping his wet head in Beatrice’s lap.

She shifted closer to Teddy, leaning her head onto his shoulder, and scratched idly at Franklin’s ears.

Together, the three of them watched the sun climb higher in the sky—setting the ocean on fire, creating the world anew.



“I’m so sorry for what happened,” Daphne pleaded. “I never meant to hurt you!”

Himari took a step forward. There was no trace of the stubborn, proud girl who’d been Daphne’s best friend. Her eyes were pools of darkness, her features as impassive as if they’d been carved from stone.

“Daphne, you are a terrible person. Now you’re getting what you deserve.” She placed her hands on Daphne’s shoulders and pushed.

Daphne realized, then, that she was at the top of the palace’s curving staircase.

Her feet flew out from beneath her, and her shoulder hit the next stair with a crack that resounded through her bones. Yet somehow her body kept falling, tumbling ever faster down the staircase. She cried out in agony—

Daphne sat bolt upright, clutching her sheets to her chest, gasping for air. Her hair was a fiery tangle around her shoulders. Reflexively she reached for the phone on her bedside table.

And there was the text Himari had sent last night, the one Daphne hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

Last night, in a fit of anxiety—after weeks of calling and texting Himari, with no response—Daphne had gone to the Marikos’ house. But Himari had refused to see her. Instead Himari had sent her first text in weeks. Don’t come here again.

Please, Daphne had hurried to reply, can we talk?

I have nothing to say to you. You’re a terrible person, and soon enough you’ll get what you deserve.

It was a real text. Not just part of Daphne’s nightmare.

She fell back onto her duvet and closed her eyes. Her body was still shaking with the panicked adrenaline rush of the dream.

Daphne wasn’t safe. She’d made so much progress with Jefferson these past few weeks. But if Himari followed through on her threat, it could all come crashing down.

Her former best friend was going to destroy her, unless Daphne found a way to destroy her first.

She glanced back at her phone, wishing she could text Ethan. She could use his sharp, sarcastic mind right now. But she and Ethan hadn’t spoken since their confrontation outside school a few weeks ago. So many times Daphne had started to call him—he was the only person she could talk to about any of this—but some stubborn impulse held her back. She told herself that she didn’t need Ethan, that she could handle everything alone, just like always.

Except…she couldn’t, not this time. There was no way she could go up against Himari again without help. Daphne needed an ally, and not just any ally. Someone strong. Someone so powerful that even Himari would be forced to back down.

Suddenly, a memory crashed into Daphne’s mind, of something Samantha had said in their first training session. Beatrice is pretending most of all! She doesn’t even love Teddy; she loves—

And Samantha had broken off, to rapidly change tack.

Daphne’s breath caught. Did Samantha mean what Daphne thought she meant—that Beatrice was involved with someone else, someone who was not Teddy Eaton?

Whoever it was, it must be someone highly off-limits: a commoner, perhaps, or someone who worked for the royal family. Otherwise, why wasn’t the queen engaged to that person instead of Teddy?

Daphne reached for her phone again, and typed a quick email to Lord Robert Standish, requesting an appointment with Her Majesty. She held her breath and pressed Send.

If she was right, Daphne had just stumbled across the most valuable secret she’d uncovered in a lifetime of scheming. And she knew just what to do with it.

If she was wrong, then she would lose everything.

* * *



When Daphne arrived at the palace for her meeting with Beatrice, the footman directed her not to the queen’s office, but to her personal suite. Daphne tried to conceal her surprise. Despite all her years of knowing the royal family, all the countless times she’d been in the prince’s bedroom, she’d never actually set foot in here. But then, she and Beatrice had never exactly been close.

As Daphne stepped through the door, she gasped.

The furniture had been pushed aside so that the queen could stand at the center of the room in her wedding gown. A portable mirror was unfolded before her; a seamstress crouched at her feet, making a series of minute stitches on the delicate hem.

The gown was timeless and elegant and so very Beatrice. It had long sleeves, with a narrow V-neck and dropped waist that disguised the queen’s small chest. But the real showstopper was the enormous full skirt, its ivory silk faille overlaid with delicate embroidery.

Beatrice was standing there with impossible stillness, almost as if she wasn’t breathing. Daphne remembered hearing that the late king used to make her do her homework standing up, so that she would grow accustomed to long hours of being on her feet. So much of being the monarch was a job done while standing—attending receptions, meeting people at a walkabout, conducting long ceremonies—that he’d thought it was never too young to start practicing.

“Robert wants you to sign an NDA, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. So please don’t post anything about the dress,” Beatrice said, a smile playing around her lips. Daphne wondered, startled, if the queen was teasing her.