Robert opened his mouth—but drew to a halt at something in the Washington women’s expressions. “Very well, then. Your Majesty.” He spat her title with utter disdain and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Oh, Bee” was all Sam could say, as Beatrice threw her arms around her and held tight.

They stood like that for a while, clinging to each other with such force that Sam couldn’t have said which of them was leaning on the other. Maybe they both were. That was what you did with family, wasn’t it? You grabbed hold of them and didn’t let go. You supported each other’s weight, held each other up, even when you lacked the strength to stand on your own.

“How did you know to pull the alarm?” Beatrice’s question was barely a whisper.

“I guessed, when I saw you and Connor.” Sam pulled back a little, so she could look into her sister’s face. “It’s my fault that he came to the wedding. I’m the one who mailed his invitation.”

She felt Beatrice stiffen.

“I went into your office to talk to you one day, and when you weren’t there, I looked through your desk. Even the secret drawer that Dad used to hide candy in,” Sam confessed. “That was how I figured out that you’d been seeing Connor. I found his invitation and I just—sent it,” she said haltingly. “I’m so sorry.”

Beatrice considered her sister’s words for a long, drawn-out moment, and then she nodded. “Don’t be sorry, Sam. I’m not.”

She looked so painfully bridal right now. Her pair of veils fell in a cascade around her, the fine net of the tulle catching shadows like water. Yet she’d just called off the wedding of the century.

“So—are you and Connor back together?”

“I told him goodbye.” Beatrice glanced down, running her palms over her ethereal shimmering skirts. “Of course, I wish his timing had been better,” she went on, with something like humor. “But I can’t be angry with Connor for fighting for me. We have so much history.”

From the way she’d pronounced history, Sam knew that Beatrice saw Connor as a figure who belonged to her past, and not her future. But…hadn’t she just called off her wedding to Teddy?

“I don’t understand,” Sam blurted out. “If you’re not choosing Teddy, then aren’t you choosing Connor?”

“I’m choosing me!”

When Beatrice turned, her eyes were lit up with a new, confident glow. Sam realized that in getting rid of Robert, Beatrice had shed a stifling and oppressive weight.

Now that she was free of him, she could step into her own power at last.

“I’m the queen. By definition, I’m different from the eleven kings who came before. But the moment I marry Teddy, I won’t be that woman anymore.”

“Even if you marry Teddy, you’ll still be queen,” Sam pointed out.

“I’ll be a queen with a king consort. Not a queen ruling on her own.” Beatrice sighed. “Dad always reminded me not to underestimate the power of symbolism. What kind of symbol would I be if the first thing I do as queen is get married?”

Her sister was right. There was little imagery as powerful as the Crown. And Beatrice, sitting on the throne, alone—that kind of image could make a real difference.

“Bee. You’re a rebel,” she said, with an incredulous smile.

Beatrice shook her head. “I fell for someone who was in Mom and Dad’s binder of approved options. And, by the way, so did you,” she added. “That’s not especially rebellious.”

Sam felt a pang of regret at the reference to Marshall. “It doesn’t matter who Teddy is. What matters is that you’re choosing not to marry him. You’re a runaway bride! I can’t wait for the made-for-TV adaptation of this,” she went on, trying to coax a smile from her sister. “As long as it doesn’t star Kelsey Brooke.”

“Runaway bride.” There was a note of fear in Beatrice’s voice, as if she’d only just processed the full extent of her decision.

Sam reached for her sister’s hand. “How can I help?”

“Actually…there is something you could do for me,” Beatrice said slowly.

“Name it.”

“Will you do the royal tour that Teddy and I were supposed to go on?”

Sam blinked. “You aren’t going on your newlywed tour?”

“As much as I’d like to spend the summer traveling, I need to stay here for a while, figure out how to actually start doing my job.” Beatrice’s eyes were bright. “Besides, I think you’re overdue for a royal tour, given that you’re my heir.”

“I doubt anyone really wants to meet with me,” Sam began, but Beatrice shook her head.

“They do, Sam. You inspire people,” she said urgently. “Not just because you’re with Marshall—though it would be nice if our family looked more like the nation we’re supposed to unify.”

Sam bit her lip but couldn’t bear to interrupt.

“The monarchy is over two centuries old, and I’m the very first woman to ever be in charge of it. The world keeps getting more diverse, but our family is changing at a snail’s pace! We can’t go on like this. If we want to survive into the next century, we’re going to have to find a way to stay relevant,” Beatrice insisted. “I need you to help forge our way forward. You’re the one who realized that I should walk down the aisle alone. You’re changing the way people view our family. You can see problems that I’m too removed to see.”

Sam shifted her weight from one foot to the other, dazed. “Are you sure I’m ready? I never finished Robert’s lessons.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Forget Robert’s lessons. The important thing is that you do exactly what a princess is meant to do.”

“Which is?”

“Help people believe in themselves.”

Sam shook her head. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Of course you do. You did it with me,” Beatrice said gently.

Sam had always thought of herself as the black sheep of her family. The one who took a perverse delight in breaking the rules, just to prove how pointless the rules were in the first place.

Was it possible that all her rebellious energy could actually be useful?

“I’ll do it,” she said hoarsely, excitement blossoming in her chest—though it was edged in regret, when she thought of Marshall.

Seeing Sam’s expression, Beatrice stepped forward. The great volume of her gown moved with her, its hem hissing smoothly over the floor. “Is something wrong?”

“Marshall. We…got in a fight before the wedding.”

Beatrice put her hands on her sister’s back, giving her a gentle push. “Well then, what are you waiting for? He’s probably still here.”

* * *

Sam rushed through the sea of people flooding the halls. Now that Robert had confirmed the wedding wasn’t taking place—at least, not today—the guests seemed eager to get outside, as if they still didn’t quite trust that the palace was safe. When Sam didn’t see Marshall in the crowds, she stumbled out onto the front portico.

And there he was, about to step into one of the palace’s courtesy cars.

“Marshall!” She hurried forward, still wearing her narrow-cut ivory dress. “I need to talk to you!”

His head darted up at the sound of her voice. “Sam, no.”

There was only one thing for her to do.

Sam ran around the front of the car to the driver’s side. She hoped she wasn’t visible to the flocks of people gathered outside the palace gates, murmuring confusedly about the wedding.

“Get out,” she commanded the chauffeur.

“Your Royal Highness, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Sam drew herself up taller, adopting the imperious, queenly tone she’d heard Beatrice use. “That was a direct order.”

Startled into submission, the driver stepped out of the car. The keys were in the ignition, the motor already rumbling.

Sam looked up in time to see Caleb hurtling down the front steps of the palace in pursuit. “Sorry,” she called out, before getting in the car and throwing her foot on the accelerator.

“Sam!” Marshall shouted from the backseat. “What are you doing?”

She tore down the front drive, reaching to frantically adjust the mirrors. Marshall tried to throw his door open, but Sam had enabled the child lock.

“Buckle your seat belt,” she informed him. “We’re going for a drive.”

Technically Sam didn’t have a license; she’d never passed the parallel parking section of the driver’s test. She was only allowed to drive her Jeep—which she’d lovingly named Albert—on the country roads near Sulgrave, and only if her car was at the center of a formation, with a black security vehicle in front and another behind.

Driving in the capital, without her Guard, was definitely illegal. But it was too late to worry about that.

Sam whipped around another corner. Metro stops and colored pennants passed by in a blur. She wasn’t really sure where she was going except that she wanted to get as far from the palace as possible.

“Sam, you have to pull over!”

“I just wanted to talk,” she said reasonably, as if it were totally normal for her to commandeer one of the palace vehicles.