Majesty (American Royals, #2)(61)

“Actually, you were pretty good at being the spare. But you’re the heir now, and that’s what’s causing you problems.” When Sam shot her a puzzled look, Daphne tried to explain. “Being the spare is all about being a foil to the heir.”

“Are you saying that when I act out, it’s a good thing, because it makes Beatrice look better by comparison?”

“I’m saying that when you were the spare, you existed as a counterpoint to your sister. Don’t you know that Beatrice is at her most likeable when she’s in interviews with you and Jefferson? When she’s alone she can come off too…rehearsed, and a little stiff,” Daphne said delicately. “But when she’s with you two, like in those fireside chats your family always does around the holidays, America sees another side of her.”

Samantha blinked, as if she’d never thought of that. “Except now everything’s changed,” she muttered. “Jeff is the spare, and I’m the heir.”

“Well, yes. Those are different roles. You haven’t been trained as first in line—and, really, you shouldn’t have needed to be,” Daphne added softly.

If the succession had proceeded on a happier timeline—if the king had never gotten cancer, had lived another thirty years—Beatrice would have been succeeded by her own children, not by her sister.

No child who grew up second in line for the throne should ever become first in line. If they did, it meant that something had gone horribly, tragically wrong.

“Let’s do a little practice talking to reporters. Here, I’ll give you an easy one,” Daphne said briskly. “How does it feel, being the maid of honor for your sister’s wedding?”

“It’ll be fun,” Sam offered.

Daphne tilted her head expectantly, waiting for Sam to say something else. When she didn’t, Daphne groaned. “That’s it? ‘It’ll be fun’?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What on earth is a reporter supposed to do with three words? Samantha, you have to give them something they can use.”

“I could have said something much worse,” the princess observed, and Daphne let out a breath.

“Here’s the thing about reporters. All they want is to write a story that will make them money. While you want them to write a story that’s flattering.” Daphne had figured that out long ago; it was why she and Natasha got along so well. “Your job is to make those goals one and the same. If you can give them a story that makes you look good and sells copies, they have no reason to attack you.”

“Maybe,” Samantha said, unconvinced. “But they’re pretty attached to the party princess version of me. I doubt they’re going to start giving me positive coverage anytime soon.”

“They definitely won’t give you positive coverage if all you’re willing to tell them is ‘It’ll be fun.’?” Daphne smiled. “All you have to do is be a little bit…softer, create a temporary moment of intimacy. Pretend you’re excited to be talking to them.”

“I’m sick of pretending. There’s too much pretending in my family as it is.”

Daphne’s ears pricked up at that. She tried not to sound too eager as she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Everyone keeps pretending that they’re fine when they’re not,” Samantha said helplessly. “We’re all smiling and waving for the cameras, planning this enormous fairy-tale wedding as if it can somehow make everyone forget we had a funeral earlier this year. My mom is pretending that nothing bad ever happened to us, and I’m pretending with Marshall, and Beatrice is pretending most of all! She doesn’t even love Teddy; she loves—”

Samantha broke off, shaking her head. “I just don’t see the point. Why are we trying to convince everyone that things are great, when they so obviously aren’t?”

Daphne’s mind was whirling. What had Samantha meant, when she said she was pretending with Marshall? Did she not actually like him? But what other reason could she have for dating him?

She realized that Samantha was still staring at her expectantly, and hurried to reply. “The monarchy is all about pretending. When the world feels like it’s falling apart, your family is supposed to paper over the cracks, and reassure people that it isn’t.”

Samantha seemed almost sad as she replied, “It sounds impossible.”

“Exactly. That’s why being a princess is so hard,” Daphne said reasonably. “If it were easy, everyone would do it.”



* * *





The next day when the final bell rang, Daphne didn’t follow the stream of students out into the parking lot. She waited for a few minutes, then turned into the alley—the narrow strip of grass between the campus of St. Ursula’s and its brother school, Forsythe. She and Himari used to come out here during their study hall sometimes, when they were supposed to be in the library doing homework. But it was so much more fun sneaking out to watch the boys’ sports practice instead.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind her, and Daphne’s blood spiked with adrenaline. She whirled around to see Ethan coming toward her.

“Ethan,” she said gratefully, “I’m so glad you wanted to meet up. You’ll never believe what happened.”