“We’re getting married in June.”

“No,” she said automatically. It couldn’t be. The night of her engagement party, Beatrice had pulled Sam out onto the terrace and confessed that she was calling off the whole thing. She was going to talk about it with their dad, come up with a plan for telling the press.

Except they’d lost him before Beatrice had time to do any of that. And now that she was queen, Beatrice clearly felt obligated to go through with this ill-advised engagement.

“So it meant nothing, when you said that we were in this together? Teddy, you promised!” And so had Beatrice.

Sam should have known better than to hold her sister to her word.

Teddy’s fists clenched helplessly at his sides, but when he spoke, his voice was oddly formal. “I’m sorry, Samantha. But the queen and I have agreed.”

“Stop calling her the queen! She has a name!”

He winced. “I owe you an apology. The way I’ve handled all of this…it hasn’t been fair to Beatrice, and especially not to you.”

There was something so stubbornly honorable about his confession that Sam couldn’t help thinking how right she’d been when she’d told Beatrice—in a fit of pique—that she and Teddy deserved each other.

“It’s not fair to you, either!” Sam cried out. “Why are you doing this?”

He looked down, fiddling with a button on his blazer. “A lot of people are counting on me.”

Sam remembered what he’d said in Telluride, which felt like a lifetime ago: that the Eatons’ fortune had evaporated overnight. Marrying Beatrice, gaining the support of the Crown, would save his duchy from financial ruin. Because it wasn’t just about Teddy’s family: the Eatons had supported the Boston area—had been its source of financial stability, its largest employer—for over two hundred years.

Teddy, who’d been raised as the future duke, felt obligated to take that responsibility onto his shoulders.

“You shouldn’t get married because you think you owe it to the people of Boston,” Sam said heatedly.

Teddy looked up to meet her gaze. His eyes were more piercingly blue than normal, as if confusion, or perhaps regret, had deepened their color. “I promise you that I’m not doing this lightly. I have my reasons, and I’m sure your sister does, too.”

“If she really has to rush down the aisle, tell her to pick someone else! There are millions of guys in America. Can’t she marry one of them?”

Teddy shook his head. “You know it doesn’t work like that. Beatrice can’t go and propose to someone else. It would make her seem fickle and capricious.”

The truth of it hit Sam like a sickening blow. Teddy was right. If Beatrice broke off her very public engagement and began dating another guy, it would just fuel the attacks of all those people who were already cheering for her to fail. America would start to wonder: If Beatrice couldn’t even make up her mind about her personal life, how on earth would she make decisions about the country?

“You can’t seriously be going through with this,” she insisted.

“I know you don’t understand—”

“Why, because I’m just the spare?”

At some point Sam had taken a step forward, closing the distance between them, so they were now standing mere inches apart, their breathing ragged.

“That’s not what I meant,” Teddy said gently, and the red-hot anger pounding through her veins quieted a little.

“You’re really doing it,” she whispered. “You’re choosing Beatrice.” The way everyone always did.

“I’m choosing to do the right thing.” Teddy met her gaze, silently pleading with her for understanding, for forgiveness.

He wasn’t about to get either. Not from her.

“Well then. I hope the right thing makes you happy,” she said caustically.

“Sam—”

“You and Beatrice are making a huge mistake. But you know what? I don’t care. It’s not my problem anymore,” she added, in such a cruel tone that she almost believed her own words. “If you two want to ruin your lives, I can’t do anything to stop you.”

Pain flickered over Teddy’s face. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

“It’s worth nothing.” She didn’t want Teddy’s apologies; she wanted him. And like everything else she’d ever wanted, she couldn’t have him, because Beatrice had laid claim to him first.

She whirled around and stalked back toward the party, grabbing a mint julep from a passing tray. At least now that she was eighteen, she could legally drink at these events instead of sneaking away from the photographers to chug a beer.

Sam squinted, scanning the crowds in search of Nina or Jeff. The sun felt suddenly overbright, or maybe it just seemed that way through the haze of her tears. For once, she wished she’d done as her mom asked and worn a hat, if only to hide her face. Everything had begun spinning wildly around her.

Hardly knowing where she was going, she wandered down to the riverbank, where she sank onto the ground and kicked off her shoes.

She didn’t care that she was getting grass stains all over her couture dress, that people would see her there, alone and barefoot, and gossip. The party princess is back, they would mutter, already drunk, at her first public outing since her father’s death. Fine, she thought bitterly. Let them talk.

The water lapped softly among the reeds. Sam kept her eyes fixed furiously on its surface so she wouldn’t have to see Teddy and Beatrice together. But it didn’t stop her from feeling like a stray puzzle piece that had gotten lost in the wrong box—like she didn’t fit anywhere, or with anyone.

“Here you are,” Nina said, coming to sit next to Sam.

For a while the two of them just watched the boats in silence. Their oars were a blur of water and fractured light.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled. “I just…I needed to get away.”

Nina pulled her legs up, playing with the fabric of her long jersey dress. “I know the feeling. I actually just talked to Jeff.”

Sam sucked in a breath, glad to be distracted from her own problems. “How did it go?” she asked, and Nina shrugged.

“It was awkward.”

Sam glanced over, but Nina plucked a blade of grass and began to tie it into a bow, avoiding her gaze. Maybe she’d noticed that Daphne Deighton was here, too.

“He probably wants to try and be friends,” Sam ventured.

“I don’t know how to be friends!” Nina reached up to fiddle with her ponytail, then seemed to remember her hair was shorter now. Her hand fell uselessly to her side. “I’ll obviously keep running into him, since he’s your brother, but I can’t pretend that nothing ever happened between us. It’s not normal to have to keep seeing someone after you’ve broken up with them! Is it?”

“I don’t know.” Sam had never really been through a normal breakup, because she’d never had anything resembling a normal relationship. She let out a breath. “But I guess I’m about to find out. I just saw Teddy.”

Her voice raw, Sam explained what he’d told her: that he and Beatrice were going through with the wedding.

“Oh, Sam,” Nina said softly when Sam had finished. “I’m so sorry.”

Sam nodded and tipped her head onto Nina’s shoulder. No matter what happened, she thought, she would always be able to do this—to close her eyes and lean on her best friend.

When Beatrice stepped into her father’s office, she saw that nothing had been touched since he died.

All his things were in their usual places on his desk: his monogrammed stationery; a ceremonial gold fountain pen; the Great Seal and its wax melter, which resembled a hot glue gun but emitted liquid red wax instead. It looked for all the world like her dad had just stepped out and might return again at any moment.

If only that were true.

Beatrice had thought she was used to being the focal point of everyone’s attention. But she hadn’t realized how much worse it would get once she became queen. It wasn’t fair that she’d been granted just six weeks to process the loss of her dad, only to be shoved back into the national spotlight. But what choice did she have? The mourning period was officially over, the endless carousel of court functions swinging back into motion. Already Beatrice’s schedule was packed with events: benefits, charity appearances, even an upcoming gala at the museum.

And she wasn’t ready. Yesterday at the races, when the national anthem had played, she’d automatically opened her mouth to join in, only to remember belatedly that she couldn’t sing it anymore. Not when the song was directed at her.

Her position always left her feeling this way—that she was most alone when she was most surrounded by people.

At the creaking sound of footsteps, her head shot up.

“Sorry.” Connor winced as the floor once again groaned beneath his feet. That was the thing about living in a palace; two-hundred-year-old floorboards did not keep secrets.

He closed the door and leaned against it. “I just…I wanted to check on you.”