Majesty (American Royals, #2)(10)

“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.”

Guilt twisted in Beatrice’s stomach. She’d been avoiding Connor—or at least, avoided being alone with him, since he was always nearby: hovering in the wings of her life while she occupied center stage.