Majesty (American Royals, #2)(70)

“I lost a showdown with Congress yesterday. Or, really, with Robert,” she said at last.

Teddy didn’t interrupt. He just shifted a little closer, letting Beatrice explain the whole disastrous encounter.

“I keep wondering what my dad would say about all this,” she finished, shame and resentment warring in her chest. “Would he have understood why I did it…or would he say that I’ve been foolish, jeopardizing the balance of power? That I acted out of pride and put the entire monarchy at risk?”

When he spoke, Teddy’s voice was thoughtful and steady. “Bee—I can’t speak for your dad. But I, for one, am proud of you.”

“Even though I violated the terms of the Constitution?”

“I thought Congress violated the Constitution by failing to invite you,” he countered.

Beatrice looked down, tracing a few swirls on the damp sand. “I’d have to check…”

“I doubt it,” Teddy challenged, giving her shoulder a playful nudge. “Come on, nerd out for me. You know you want to.”

He was fighting back a smile, but his dimple gave him away. Seeing his expression, Beatrice couldn’t help smiling, too.

“Article three, section twenty-eight,” she recited. “?‘It is a duty of the King to convene and dissolve a Congress. In the absence of a Crowned King, Congress shall ask the Heir Apparent to preside over its opening and closing: the Legislative Body deriving its authority from the people, but its Action and Competency from the Crown—’?”

She was cut off mid-sentence when Teddy leaned over and dropped a quick kiss on her lips.

“Sorry,” he told her. “I just, um…”

“Have a thing for girls reciting the Constitution?”

“I was going to say smart girls, but yours works too.” He laughed, then grew more serious. “Bee, you know you just answered your own question. Congress acted out of line, too.”

By now the sky had lightened, the surf curling back from their feet as the tide lowered. The breeze tousled Beatrice’s hair. She leaned back on her palms, watching Franklin race through the waves.

Her entire life, she’d been taught to respect the Constitution, to obey the Crown, to venerate tradition.

But now she was the Crown, and truth be told, Beatrice was getting kind of sick of tradition.

The future didn’t belong to people like Robert anymore. It belonged to her and Teddy, to Samantha and Jeff. To their entire generation of people, who were all dreaming and fighting and doing their best to make the world a better place.

She was still clutching at the sand: scooping great handfuls of it and letting it fall through her fingers like the sand of an hourglass. Teddy reached over, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said bluntly.

“Bee, you’re doing a job that only eleven people have done before. There aren’t going to be any easy answers,” Teddy pointed out. “You should trust your instincts. And stop listening to the people who try to tear you down, because you’re going to be one hell of a queen.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. You already are.”

Beatrice couldn’t take it anymore. She turned and pulled his face to hers, dragging her hands through his blond curls, kissing him with everything that was aching and unsettled in her.

When they finally broke apart, she saw that the sun had lifted above the horizon, streaking the sky with color. Beatrice took a breath, inhaling the mingled scents of coffee and sea salt and brine.

Franklin came racing out of the surf. He gave his entire body a shake from nose to tail, spraying water over them both, before plopping his wet head in Beatrice’s lap.

She shifted closer to Teddy, leaning her head onto his shoulder, and scratched idly at Franklin’s ears.

Together, the three of them watched the sun climb higher in the sky—setting the ocean on fire, creating the world anew.





“I’m so sorry for what happened,” Daphne pleaded. “I never meant to hurt you!”

Himari took a step forward. There was no trace of the stubborn, proud girl who’d been Daphne’s best friend. Her eyes were pools of darkness, her features as impassive as if they’d been carved from stone.

“Daphne, you are a terrible person. Now you’re getting what you deserve.” She placed her hands on Daphne’s shoulders and pushed.

Daphne realized, then, that she was at the top of the palace’s curving staircase.

Her feet flew out from beneath her, and her shoulder hit the next stair with a crack that resounded through her bones. Yet somehow her body kept falling, tumbling ever faster down the staircase. She cried out in agony—

Daphne sat bolt upright, clutching her sheets to her chest, gasping for air. Her hair was a fiery tangle around her shoulders. Reflexively she reached for the phone on her bedside table.

And there was the text Himari had sent last night, the one Daphne hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

Last night, in a fit of anxiety—after weeks of calling and texting Himari, with no response—Daphne had gone to the Marikos’ house. But Himari had refused to see her. Instead Himari had sent her first text in weeks. Don’t come here again.

Please, Daphne had hurried to reply, can we talk?