Majesty

by Katharine McGee

  Marshall was with him.

  Oblivious to her presence, the two of them kept good-naturedly heckling each other. It seemed like they’d known each other for most of their lives, instead of a matter of weeks.

  Sam watched as Marshall feinted to his left, then broke away past Jeff. He sprinted forward, hurling the ball toward the basket—just as he noticed her, standing in the shade of the garage.

  Ever since their pool photos, Sam and Marshall had followed the palace’s decree and escalated their relationship: going out on public dates, attending a series of cocktail parties and receptions. Sam was desperate to know what he really thought about all this, but he treated her with the same easygoing irreverence as ever. He made her laugh, held her hand when reporters took photos of them—and that was it.

  He hadn’t kissed her since the night of the party. His grandfather had probably given him the same mandate that Robert had told her: to keep things chaste from now on. So why did Sam keep fixating on it?

  Sam strode behind the basket to grab the ball, her eyes meeting Marshall’s. “Looks like you missed that one,” she observed, and began dribbling between her legs.

  His glance strayed to her mouth, and he smiled. “I had a pretty girl distracting me.”

  Sam rolled her eyes and tossed the ball to Jeff, who took it back to the free-throw line. “Hey,” Marshall cried out in protest, “if you’re going to join mid-game, then you’re on my team!”

  “I can’t go against my twin. It violates the laws of nature,” Sam said brightly as Jeff threw a perfect three-pointer. He ran over to give her a high five.

  A ringtone sounded from the stone bench where the boys had thrown their stuff. “Sorry, can we take a break?” Marshall asked, jogging over. He picked up the phone and tucked it into his shoulder.

  “Hey,” he answered, in a low, tender voice. Sam strained her ears, trying to catch the rest of the conversation. Was he talking to Kelsey? Marshall hadn’t mentioned her since the morning after the twins’ party. But—wasn’t he going to see her, when he and Sam went to Orange for Accession Day later this month?

  Sam tried to smile as if nothing was wrong. “I didn’t know you and Marshall were hanging out today,” she told her brother, and he nodded.

  “I guess I should have told you. I asked Davis if he wanted to come by, since…” Since I’m not talking to Ethan right now, he didn’t need to add.

  Sam felt partially responsible for all this mess. Hadn’t she encouraged Nina to go for it, then kept the truth from Jeff? And now her brother was hurting.

  She remembered how excited she’d felt, back when she’d first learned that Nina and Jeff were dating. Her two favorite people in the world, ending up together—it seemed perfect. She hadn’t realized that when they broke up, she would be left in the middle, forced to keep their secrets from each other.

  “Besides,” Jeff teased, “I needed to decide if I give you and Davis my blessing.”

  “Your blessing?”

  “You can’t date anyone I don’t like. As your twin, I have final veto power.”

  A month ago Sam would have snorted and said something like you certainly ignored my veto when it came to Daphne. But now that she’d seen a more vulnerable side of Jeff’s ex, had asked for her help, the comment felt a little petty.

  Jeff picked the basketball up off the ground and spun it idly on one finger. “It’s cool, though. I approve of Davis. He’s funny, and he seems really into you.”

  No, he isn’t. He’s just using me to make his ex-girlfriend jealous—the way I’m supposedly using him, Sam thought dully.

  Except…she wasn’t really dating Marshall to hurt Teddy anymore, and she didn’t know when that had changed.

  “We’re not that serious,” she mumbled, and her brother laughed.

  “Nope. You like him; I see it on your face.” Jeff’s eyes danced. “Please, can you not scare him off the way you usually do? I like having him around.”

  Of course, Sam thought. Of all the guys she’d been involved with through the years, her brother approved of the one who wasn’t actually hers. The one she didn’t get to keep.

  * * *

  Later that evening, Sam wandered down the palace hallway. She felt the telltale flush of sunburn on her shoulders; she’d stayed outside with the boys all afternoon, playing basketball and then sitting out on the lawn, soaking in the sunshine.

  She knew she should be grateful that Marshall was making this whole charade so easy on her. So why did she feel a hollow ache pressing down on her sternum?

  When she noticed the light creeping from beneath the door to the monarch’s study, she came to an uncertain halt. Beatrice must be in there, working late.

  Sam realized, suddenly, that she was tired of being angry with her sister.

  For so long she’d held tight to that anger, lifted it before her like a shield, and now she was exhausted. She wanted to lay down her weapons and actually talk to Beatrice, for once.

  “Bee?” Sam gave a soft knock. When no one answered, she pushed the door cautiously open, but the office was empty.

  And it had changed. Sam could still see traces of her father—in the antique globe, the heavy stone bookends carved like giant chess pieces—yet this was unmistakably Beatrice’s space now.

  She walked slowly around the desk, running her hands over its polished wooden surface, then plopped down in Beatrice’s chair, bracing her sneakers on the floor and wheeling herself idly forward and back. So, she thought, with something that might have been jealousy or might have been loneliness, this is what it feels like to be queen.

  Curious, she pulled out the top drawer of the desk, revealing Beatrice’s personal stationery and a neat row of pens. The next few drawers contained stacks of manila folders, a package of dog treats, a series of notes from Robert.

  When she was younger, Sam was always sneaking into Beatrice’s room: rifling through her drawers, trying on her dresses, rubbing her arms with Beatrice’s scented lotion. At the time, Sam hadn’t understood that impulse. But she knew now that when she was sifting through Beatrice’s things, she’d been trying to understand her sister, and all the differences between them.

  Sam leaned farther down, remembering the hidden drawer built into the bottom of the desk. She wondered if Beatrice kept it full of lemon candies, the way their dad had. She found the latch and pressed it, releasing the drawer—only to frown in confusion.

  Inside lay a heavy ecru envelope, printed with the swirling handwriting of the palace calligrapher. It was addressed to Mr. Connor Dean Markham and marked with a scrolling WP on the top right corner, where a stamp would normally go. One of the privileges of being the monarch, of course, was that you were exempt from paying postal fees.

  Connor Markham—wasn’t he Beatrice’s former Guard, the one who’d been with her at Harvard? Why hadn’t his invitation gone out with the rest of them?

  There was something else in the drawer, Sam realized: a thin box secured with an ivory ribbon. It looked like an engagement present.

  She couldn’t help untying the ribbon and lifting the lid.

  Inside lay an ink drawing, of snow-covered mountains seen through the frame of a window. On the far edge of the sketch was a fireplace, and next to it, a small figure that could only be Sam’s sister.

  They’re in love, Sam realized, stunned.

  Beatrice was fully clothed in the sketch; there was nothing erotic or overtly sexual about it. But Connor’s feelings for her were visible in every sweeping line of ink. There was an indefinable bloom to her, as if she had some private secret you could only guess at.

  Sam studied the image a little longer, her eyes lingering on the sparks popping from the fire, on the jagged line of the mountains, veiled by a luscious blanket of snow. It struck her that this wasn’t an imagined scene. This had really happened. It was a sketch of that nigh
t in December, right before New Year’s, when Beatrice and her Guard had been stranded on their way to Telluride.

  It all made sense now, the various pieces of the puzzle crashing together. Sam’s mind flashed back to the night Beatrice had told her she was calling off the engagement. You’re seeing someone else, Sam had guessed.

  Beatrice had admitted that she loved a commoner, and that he was there that night, at the engagement party. Sam had always assumed she was talking about one of the guests, but Beatrice had clearly meant her Revere Guard.

  She scoured her memory, trying to recall when Connor had resigned. It was right after they’d come back from Sulgrave—when Beatrice and Teddy had set a wedding date.

  Loving Beatrice like this, Connor must have decided he would rather quit than watch her marry someone else.

  Sam’s hands tightened around the paper. She wanted to run to her sister, grab her by the shoulders, and shake some sense into her. You don’t have to go through with this! she would scream. You don’t have to marry someone you don’t love, just because Dad said you should.

  But Sam knew she’d forfeited any right to give Beatrice romantic advice.

  This gulf between them was her fault. Every time Beatrice had tried to apologize, Sam had turned her away. And for what, Teddy? Her own obstinate pride? None of it was worth losing a sister over.

  Sam put the sketch back in the box and retied the ribbon, much sloppier than it had been before. Yet, for some reason, she didn’t let go of the invitation. She kept staring at it, tracing the loops of Connor’s name with her fingertips.

  Before she’d fully acknowledged her decision to herself, Sam had turned out into the hallway and dropped the invitation into a gleaming brass receptacle marked OUTGOING MAIL.

  Nina sank onto the picnic blanket, which was spread out on the grass before the open-air stage. The amphitheater at the center of John Jay Park was completely packed, the ground covered in a multicolor quilt of beach towels and blankets. Conversations bubbled up around them, laughter rising lazily into the air like smoke.

  “I’m so impressed you got Shakespeare in the Park tickets. What time did you have to get in line?” she asked.

  Ethan stretched his arms overhead with an exaggerated sigh. “Six a.m. When you were still in bed, Sleeping Beauty.”

  Nina smiled, though she worried the real reason Ethan had gotten up early was because he’d been lying in bed awake, his mind spinning with anxiety. She knew that Jeff still wouldn’t speak to him.

  Though Jeff didn’t seem to be losing any sleep over it, from the photos Nina had seen on all the royal-obsessed blogs. He’d been out almost every night this week, in a group that included Sam and Marshall—and Daphne.

  Nina and Ethan had been pointedly left off the guest list.

  “Thanks for getting the tickets. I’m sure Romeo and Juliet in the park wasn’t your top choice for how to spend a Friday night,” she said, trying to sound upbeat.

  “It’s okay; next week we can go to a movie. That I pick.”

  “Oh goodie, something with lots of explosions and car chases.”

  “Hey, give me some credit,” Ethan objected. “I like zombie movies, too.”

  Nina still couldn’t believe that he’d waited in a five-hour line for her. Jeff would never have done that, but then, he wouldn’t have needed to. He could have gotten backstage passes with the snap of his fingers—and then they would’ve had to stay backstage all night. The Prince of America couldn’t exactly sit out here in the middle of a crowd. It would be a security and logistical nightmare.

  One of the actors walked out onstage, and Ethan sat up, rummaging in his backpack before emerging with a pair of square-rimmed glasses.

  “I love when you wear those,” she murmured. He looked so adorably nerdy in glasses.

  “Can you keep it down?” Ethan nudged her with his elbow. “Some of us are trying to enjoy the play.”

  Nina had read Romeo and Juliet in middle school, had seen the movie version where Juliet wore a ridiculous pair of white angel wings. Tonight, though, the story felt different. Now, instead of sighing over the beautiful language, Nina found herself upset that Romeo and Juliet wanted to be together at all.

  Relationships simply couldn’t work when people came from opposite worlds. No matter how long they managed to keep it secret, circumstances would eventually tear them apart. And it would be so much worse than if they’d never found each other in the first place.

  In real life, love against the odds wasn’t enough. All it had done for Nina was hurt the people she cared about—caused the paparazzi to harass her parents, gave complete strangers the right to call her ugly names. In real life, impossible love caused more pain than it did joy.

  As the play ended, the amphitheater broke out in applause, and Nina came to herself slowly. She’d nearly forgotten where she was. She wiped at her cheeks, a little embarrassed that she’d teared up.

  “You okay?” Ethan asked, as everyone around them began packing up their things.

  She hugged her knees to her chest. “Ethan. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “What?” he asked, bewildered. “You haven’t hurt me.”

  “But you are hurting! And we both managed to hurt Jeff! We shouldn’t have ever…”

  Ethan leaned forward. “What are you saying, that we shouldn’t have ever gotten together?”

  “I don’t know!” She closed her eyes, her heart aching. She hated that she’d put Ethan in a position where he could lose his best friend. That she’d put Jeff in a position where he already had.

  Ethan wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Nina took a deep breath, feeling her back rise and fall beneath his touch.

  “Jeff will get over this—maybe not right away, but eventually. We’ve been friends for too long for him not to forgive this.” Ethan sounded confident, but Nina had a feeling he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

  “Of course it would have been better if he’d learned the truth from us,” Ethan went on. “But I’d be lying if I said I regret that he found out. We would have told him soon anyway. And in the meantime, you and I can stop hiding.”

  “We haven’t been hiding,” Nina pointed out. If they had, the reporter wouldn’t have ever found out about them.

  “I don’t mean on campus. I mean with the royal family.” Ethan let his hand fall to the base of her spine. “I was thinking we could go to Beatrice’s wedding together.”

  Nina blinked.

  “Ethan,” she said hesitantly, “do you realize what you’re saying? This will be the most media-heavy event of our lives. If that reporter wanted to make a story out of nothing but campus rumors, think of how much worse it’ll be when we’re at the wedding together!” She shook her head. “We were both invited; can’t we just hang out at the reception without giving everyone a story?”

  “I don’t think we’ll be a story,” Ethan argued. “The other guests are all more important and gossip-worthy. Who’s going to talk about you and me when there are foreign royalty around? Besides,” he added, in a lower tone, “I want to be there with you.”

  Nina wanted to be there with Ethan, too. Yet she wasn’t ready to be in the spotlight again, her photo printed in the tabloids. She had worked so hard to dissociate herself from all the gossip, and if she went to the wedding with Ethan, it would start chasing her all over again.

  “I’ll think about it,” she promised, and glanced toward the river.

  A few hundred yards away, on the edge of the park, stood the oxidized green form of the Statue of Liberty. Floodlights illuminated the statue’s face, casting her features in a golden-green blaze. She looked more dynamic from this angle, as if she’d been caught in a swirl of motion—as if she’d picked up the torch and was about to strike someone with it, to defend liberty itself.

  Nina knew that when the French had shipped the st
atue over, it had almost ended up in another city instead: in Boston or Philadelphia or even that regional shipping city, New York. Of course, Congress had insisted that it stay right here in the nation’s capital, where it belonged.

  “Want to go up?” she asked abruptly.

  When Ethan realized where she meant, he groaned. “Right now? Why?”

  “Why not?” Nina answered. It was a very Sam sort of reply.

  The woman at the ticket office didn’t bother charging them for tickets, since the monument closed within half an hour. “This late, you’ll have it to yourselves,” she said with a wink.

  Sure enough, when Ethan and Nina reached the elevator, they ran into several groups of people on their way down, but no one else heading up.

  “This is so unbelievably cheesy of you,” Ethan muttered, though he didn’t actually sound displeased.

  “That’s me, the queen of all things cheesy and touristy. Get used to it.”

  No one else was on the circular viewing platform at the top. It was several degrees cooler up here than it had been at the statue’s base. Nina stepped forward, the wind whipping her hair.

  Washington wasn’t a beautiful city, not the way Paris or even London was. It was too messy, having grown through the centuries without much of a central plan. One-way streets tangled and looped over each other in blithe confusion, Revolutionary monuments standing next to clunky new housing developments with rooftop pools.

  That was Washington, Nina thought, a city of contradictions: crowded and cruel and thrilling and lovely all at once.

  “Behold, my son. Everything the light touches is your kingdom,” Ethan growled behind her, and she burst out laughing.

  “Aren’t you glad I made us come?” She spread her hands out. “I bet you haven’t been up here since your fourth-grade field trip!”

  “Actually, my mom used to take me up here sometimes. She was always thinking of activities for us to do,” Ethan explained. “Dragging me all over the capital to national landmarks and museums—teaching me history, but also teaching me who I was. As if she needed to make up for whatever sense of identity I was supposed to have gotten from my dad.”