Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(28)

That expression falls right off her face when she sees whatever is written on the iPad, though, and I lean a little closer, trying to read it myself, but Glynnis pulls it back before I can.

“You wouldn’t,” Flora finally says, and her mother gives Glynnis another one of those finger snaps.

“I would,” she answers. “I will. A complete revocation of royal titles and privileges until your twenty-first birthday. A bit fairy tale, perhaps, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

We all sit there, taking that in. Flora looks a little gray, and even Saks has gone somber and quiet. Personally, I don’t know what “royal titles and privileges” entail, but it seems intense.

Clearing her throat, Dr. McKee signals for us all to stand. “Well, I think that sorts things out,” she says.

But at that moment, Sakshi leans over me and Flora both, bobbing into another curtsy and saying, “Your Majesty, I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Lady Sakshi Worthington. My father is—”

“The Duke of Alcott,” the queen replies, still holding herself stiff. “Yes, I’m aware. I had hoped you’d be a better influence on my daughter, Lady Sakshi, given what a role model your mother has always been. And yet here we are.”

Sakshi’s mouth opens and closes, and at her side, I see Perry tugging her back to her seat.

“No one influences me, Mummy,” Flora says, throwing up her hands. “I’d think you would’ve at least worked that out by now.” Then she shoots a look at Dr. McKee. “And now you have another fun thing to add to the recruitment materials—‘visit the local pub where Princess Flora got into her thirty-fourth brawl!’”

With that parting shot, she sashays out of the chapel.

The queen gives a nod to Dr. McKee and then she and Glynnis head out as well, leaving me, Saks, and Perry with our headmistress. Now that the queen is gone and I don’t feel as terrified, I step closer to Dr. McKee and ask, “Are we . . . in trouble?”

Am I in trouble is what I mean. As in Scholarship Trouble.

But Dr. McKee just takes a deep breath before patting my arm. “One of the most important lessons here at Gregorstoun is how to course-correct after making a mistake. You made a mistake yesterday, but I’d hope you have indeed learned from it.”

I nod so hard it’s a wonder my head doesn’t go rolling off. “Oh, totally,” I assure her. “Much learning. Course-correcting like a boss.”

Dr. McKee smiles at that, but it’s a little sad, and then she reaches out and pats my arm again. “And, Miss Quint?” she says. “Maybe be a little more selective in whom you call a friend.”



I’m still thinking that over as I head back to our room. Did Dr. McKee mean Flora when she told me to be careful who my friends were? Because Flora and I are definitely not friends. We’re barely acquaintances.

I open the door to find that acquaintance standing by her bed, pulling things out of a carryall with a fancy gold charm dangling from the handle, her back straight.

I’d left for the chapel before Flora, so I hadn’t realized she’d already packed up. She must’ve been supremely confident that her plan was foolproof, and I can’t help but scoff a little as I shake my head, making my way to my own bed. It’s Saturday, and I have reading to catch up on.

And then I remember Jude’s message on my laptop. With everything that happened, I totally forgot about it, and I look at my computer now, wondering if I should answer. But no, it’s still early morning in America, and Jude never gets up before noon.

Later. I’ll get to it later.

Flora turns, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Come to gloat?” she asks, and I bite back a sigh as I rummage through my desk for The Mill on the Floss.

“No,” I tell her. “Trust me, I’d love it if your plan had worked out.”

Book found, I look up at her, tucking my hair behind my ear with my free hand. “You didn’t even care if we got in trouble, too, did you?”

Flora turns to her bag, taking out a framed picture and putting it back on top of the dresser. “You wouldn’t have. You didn’t, obviously.”

“But you couldn’t have known that,” I argue, and Flora just sighs again before rummaging in her bag for something. She plucks out a roll of tape, the pretty kind used in crafts and scrapbooks, pink with little daisies on it.

Then, as I watch, she crosses the room to the dresser and peels off a long strip of the tape, neatly bisecting the top of the dresser into two halves—mine and hers.

“Do you want to put a line across the floor, too?” I ask, and Flora gives me a sickly-sweet smile.

“The thought had crossed my mind. Especially since it’s clear we’re together for the long haul.”

I flop down on my bed, crossing my legs at the ankle. “You know, this place isn’t so bad. I don’t get why you hate it.”

“Because my life isn’t here,” she replies, tossing the tape onto her own bed. “My life is in Edinburgh with my family and my friends, and people I actually enjoy spending time with. My brother is getting married in three months, and I should be there, not . . . not hidden away up here like an embarrassing relation.”

Put that way, I get why she might be a little pissed, and I open my mouth to say so, but before I can, she mutters, “This is boring. I’m going to go see what Caroline is doing.”