“It was never about the prince; it was about us!”
Daphne blinked in surprise. Himari pulled her hair over one shoulder, twirling the ends of it.
“Daphne, when I saw you with Ethan, I wasn’t thinking about Jeff at all. I was just…shocked that you could betray someone you claimed to love, without a shred of remorse.” Himari sighed. “After it happened, I kept waiting for you to break up with Jeff, but you clearly had no intention of telling him. And it made me realize—your relationship wasn’t sacred to you. Nothing at all is sacred to you. The only reason you get close to people is because you can use them as stepping-stones on your upward climb!”
A strange, brittle emotion carved through Daphne like a shard of ice. “That’s not true,” she whispered. “At least, not with you.”
Light filtered through the branches overhead, casting lacelike shadows over Himari’s face.
“I didn’t have many friends before you,” Himari said softly. At Daphne’s surprised look she clarified, “I was popular, sure, but only because of my parents’ title. You were the first girl I didn’t have to pretend to like.”
Daphne nodded; she’d felt the same.
“But once you and Jeff started dating, I immediately got bumped down to second place. You were suddenly too busy for me. And whenever we did hang out, it was still about Jeff—we were going to a palace event to see Jeff, or shopping for something you would wear with Jeff, or talking about Jeff.”
Daphne’s next words were a defensive reflex. “You didn’t act like you hated it. Parties at the palace, free designer clothes—”
“I can buy my own designer clothes!” Himari burst out. “I didn’t care about the perks that came with being in your entourage; I just wanted time with you. I missed my best friend.”
Daphne wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly cold. “I always thought you were jealous.”
“Of course I was jealous,” Himari agreed. “I’d be lying if I said it was buckets of fun playing the quiet sidekick while you became more and more famous. While the press kept gushing on about you, with your perfect face and perfect boyfriend and perfect life. Which no longer included me.”
“No, I mean—I thought you wanted to date Jefferson. That you were trying to break us up so you could swoop in and date him yourself.” Daphne’s words sounded clumsy even to herself.
Himari shrugged. “I went through a phase of crushing on him, sure. But that’s practically required of being a teenager in America. I never actually liked him, not romantically.” Her eyes cut to Daphne’s. “I’m still not convinced that you do, either.”
Daphne couldn’t afford to acknowledge that comment. “I’m sorry, Himari. For being a bad friend, and hurting you, and…”
“And sending me to Japan?”
Daphne let out a ragged breath. “Yeah. For sending you to Japan.”
“You never do things halfway,” Himari agreed, a note of grudging admiration in her voice. She looked down. “Still, we both know my parents wouldn’t have gotten this appointment without your…interference,” she said delicately. “And honestly, I don’t hate the idea of a fresh start.”
A fresh start. Daphne wouldn’t know what to do with that. For a fleeting instant, she let herself imagine what it would be like: if she wasn’t Daphne Deighton, future princess. If she was just…Daphne.
But she’d traded away so many pieces of herself, she didn’t really know what was left. She didn’t really know who she was anymore, underneath the bright, public self she showed the rest of the world.
“Truce?” she suggested, and Himari’s mouth twitched in amusement.
“You stick to your side of the Pacific, and I’ll stick to mine?”
Daphne nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“You know,” Himari mused, “the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of being friends with a princess. I’m sure there’s a favor or two I could call in.”
Daphne tried not to reveal how her heart had skipped at the word. “Are we still friends?”
Himari scoffed, as if it were self-evident. “What else could we be? Only friends know each other well enough to cause this kind of hurt. Only friends push each other past the breaking point.”
“I don’t think most people would agree with your theory of friendship.”
“So what?” Himari said easily. “You and I aren’t most people.”
The two of them stood there for a moment in a strange, weighted silence. The wind picked up, raking its fingers through the trees.
There was an unmistakable similarity between the two young women: a stubborn, steely quality that each of them had seen in the other. It was what had drawn them together, and also what had set them against each other, and, in the end, perhaps it made them more like sisters than friends.
Daphne wouldn’t know. She’d never had a sister, had never let anyone past her guard, except Himari.
And Ethan.
“I’m going to miss you,” Daphne heard herself say.
Himari held out her hand. “It’s settled, then. No more feuding.”
Daphne nodded and shook Himari’s hand, struck by the formality of the gesture, as if they were a pair of queens formalizing a state treaty.
Then, to Daphne’s utter shock, Himari pulled her closer, and threw her arms around her in a hug.
“I’m sorry,” Himari murmured, so softly that Daphne almost didn’t hear it. As if Himari was reserving the right to deny she’d ever spoken the words.
“Me too.” Daphne blinked back the tears that burned her eyes. “I wish I could go back and do things differently.”
“It’s for the best. This town isn’t big enough for the both of us.”
“This country isn’t.”
Himari softened, just a little. Then she stepped away, letting out a breath. “Well—I should get going. I have a lot of packing to do.”
“Goodbye, Himari,” Daphne ventured. “And good luck.”
As she watched Himari get into her car, Daphne knew she should feel satisfied, or at least relieved. Instead she felt oddly hollow.
Her greatest enemy, her best friend—whatever Himari was, she had defined Daphne. And now that she was gone, Daphne knew a piece of her would always be missing.
“Hey, Daphne.”
She looked up and saw that Himari had rolled down her window. “You know the Crown Prince of Japan is only two years older than us,” Himari went on, an eyebrow raised in unmistakable challenge.
“I’m aware.” The ache in Daphne’s chest seemed to loosen, just a little.
Himari tilted her head, that old mercurial smile playing around her lips. “So who knows? Maybe you won’t be the only one of us to marry a prince.”
“Thanks for walking me back.” Beatrice held open the door to her suite so that Teddy—who carried the stack of last-minute presents they’d been given at the rehearsal dinner—could follow her inside. As she moved, the antique mirror on her wall caught the swishing of her dress, which was hand-sewn with pearls to match the ones woven into her updo. When Beatrice nodded or shook her head, they gleamed against the silken darkness of her hair.
“You look so pretty tonight, Bee,” Teddy told her, and she smiled.
Pretty. Not majestic or elegant or any of the other things that Beatrice thought of herself, but just pretty. She knew it was ridiculous for something like that to matter, but it was still nice to hear. It made her feel almost like a real, ordinary girl—one who’d been to high school dances and stayed out past curfew and read magazines that didn’t have her picture on the cover. As if she and Teddy might be any couple at all, rather than the Queen of America and her future king consort.
She went over to lift the window, letting in the warm summer air as she glanced outside. Hundreds of people were already lining up in anticipation of tomorrow’s even
t. Ten miles of scaffolding had been erected along the parade route—after the ceremony, she and Teddy would drive through the streets in the golden state carriage before returning to the palace for the reception.
Beatrice looked down at the blurred sea of faces, many of them waving miniature American flags, or clutching flowers, or holding posters that said her and Teddy’s names. Her heart seized in her chest.
Perhaps alone in the modern world, this was a crowd of people who’d been drawn together out of something positive—not animosity, or anger, but love. For the country, and what it stood for. And for her.
She understood now what her dad had meant, when he’d told her that the symbolic aspects of her job were still the most crucial ones. America needed these moments of pure and uncomplicated joy, something outside the ugliness of political rivalries, to bring the nation together when so many things conspired to tear it apart.
Thunder rumbled through the capital. A low mass of clouds gathered in the distance, making the fluorescent glow of the city lights seem even brighter in contrast. The crowds squealed and began to retreat under cover.
Teddy moved toward her. “It looks like it might rain on our wedding day.”
Beatrice nodded; she felt the pressure gathering. The sky was swollen, the air thickening in anticipation of a coming storm. It felt like the entire world was holding its breath—waiting for something monumental, something big.
“People will say it’s bad luck,” she agreed.
“Do you think it’s bad luck?”
“I’ve never believed in luck. Or, rather, I believe in making your own luck. Besides,” she added, “now the souvenir shops can sell all those commemorative wedding umbrellas, the ones printed with our faces.”
“Oh good, do we have extras of those? I could use a new umbrella,” he joked, and she smiled.
Teddy turned toward the gifts, which he’d stacked on her upholstered blue sofa. “By the way,” he went on, grabbing a flat box wrapped in ivory paper, “I have something for you.”
Beatrice hadn’t realized that one of the gifts was from him. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Given that you bought me a house, I figured I should do something.” He said it lightly, but Beatrice heard the note of emotion beneath. She tore open the box, and her breath caught.
Inside was a pair of Minnie Mouse ears: the special bridal ones, covered in white sequins and affixed with a miniature veil.
Beatrice felt an aching pressure in her chest that pulled her somewhere between laughter and tears. She placed the ears on her head, not caring that they would ruin her updo. Compared to the tiaras she usually wore, they were curiously light.
Teddy reached to adjust them, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wish we could elope to Disney World, so you’d get the wedding of your five-year-old dreams, but I think a few people might be disappointed. So, since I couldn’t bring you to Disney World, this seemed like the next best thing.”
His hand was still cupped around her chin, tilting her face up. Moonlight traced the sweep of his eyelashes, caught the startling blue of his eyes.
“I’m so in love with you,” Beatrice blurted out.
Her hands flew to her mouth in shock, the way a cartoon character’s would. She had just said it, had told Teddy she loved him without a second thought, which was so unlike her that she wondered if it had really happened. She never spoke without thinking.
Teddy opened his mouth—but before he could answer, earth-shattering thunder reverberated through the room, and the skies split open in a downpour. Beatrice realized with a start that her window was still open. The curtains whipped up in the sudden wind, rain slanting inside to splatter the carpet.
Together she and Teddy grabbed the massive windowpane and wrestled to bring it down. The wind roared into the room like an angry spirit, flinging raindrops into their faces.
Finally the window fell into place with a clatter.
After the violence of the storm, the silence felt suddenly terrifying. Beatrice turned slowly to face Teddy, her heart hammering as erratically as the patter of rain outside. And yet—she knew she had meant what she’d said.
“I love you,” she repeated. As she spoke, something seemed to move and settle deep within her; the very tectonic plates of her being shifting, to create space for this new revelation. She loved Teddy, and, of everything that had happened, that was perhaps the greatest gift of all.
“I didn’t see it coming,” she said helplessly. “I wasn’t expecting it and I wasn’t prepared for it, and I’ll understand if you don’t…if you can’t…”
Maybe all that Teddy could give her was the partnership they’d agreed to that night in Walthorpe. He had only ever promised her his hand, not his heart.
Yet Beatrice found that she wanted both.
“Bee—of course I love you.”
His hand reached for hers. Beatrice thought she was trembling, but then she saw that he was the one trembling. The storm seemed to be raging all around them, and here they were, suspended in the eye of it.
“I didn’t expect to fall for you, either,” Teddy said hoarsely. “When we first met, I didn’t even know how to date you. I thought you were…not a person, almost, but an institution. I figured that getting engaged to you was either very brave or very foolish,” he added, with a smile.
“Probably both,” Beatrice managed.
Some of the rain had misted in his hair, turning its strands a darker burnished gold. A few droplets ran down the edge of his jawline. Carefully, Beatrice reached out to brush them away. In the distance, the city lights still glowed in the rain, like sodden fairies.
“It’s my fault,” Teddy said softly. “At the beginning I didn’t try hard enough to get to know you. All I saw was the tiny fraction of you that you show the world—and, for some stupid reason, I assumed that was all there was.”
Teddy’s hand was still gripping hers. He traced his thumb lightly over her skin, drawing small, invisible circles on her palm. Beatrice’s blood turned to smoke in her veins.
“But now I know there’s so much more to you than you let on. You’re funny, Bee, and driven, and you’re smart as hell. Now…I like to think I know all of you. Even the parts that everyone else is too superficial or impatient to see.”
He lifted her left hand, studying the engagement ring that glittered there. Then, to Beatrice’s surprise, he pulled that hand to his mouth and kissed it—not gently, the way a courtier might have, but with an urgent roughness.
“For me, tomorrow will be all about the two of us,” he told her. “Not the thousands of people crowded into that throne room, or the millions of people watching on TV, but us. As if we were two ordinary people getting married at city hall, or at Disney World, or in a backyard.”
Beatrice’s heart raced faster and faster. She wished, desperately, that they were one of those couples, and their relationship could be just that—a relationship, without the fate of nations or dynastic futures hanging on its success.
She wasn’t afraid of marrying Teddy—she wanted to marry him—but she feared all the spectacle and ceremony of it, for reasons she didn’t understand.
Teddy gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look up into his face. Beatrice softened, breathing him in like summer air.
“I should get going,” he decided, and stepped away.
A new, resolute steadiness took hold of Beatrice. Knowing exactly what she was doing, and what it would mean, she caught Teddy’s arm and tugged him back toward her—tugged both of them through the door to her bedroom.
“Bee, I don’t…”
“We’re getting married tomorrow.” She felt the clasp of her dress trembling at her throat, where her pulse was racing.
“Exactly,” he reasoned. “I can wait one more night.”
“Well, I can’t.” When he opened his mouth to
protest again, Beatrice brushed a finger against his lips. “Teddy,” she said, very slowly. “I’m sure.”
She thought back to that night at Walthorpe, when she’d thrown herself at Teddy, out of loneliness and confusion, and perhaps a drunken hope that it might make things simpler between them. It felt like a long time ago, now.
Some of her nervousness must have flickered over her expression, because she saw comprehension dawn in Teddy’s eyes. “You haven’t ever…”
“No, I haven’t.” She and Connor had never gotten that far—had never really gotten the chance.
“I love you,” Teddy said again, and it set Beatrice ablaze. She answered him in the same words, drinking in his love and his kisses and the way his hands slid over her.
Beatrice tore her mouth from his only to tug his blazer impatiently from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Teddy fumbled a little with her dress, struggling with tiny hooks that ran down the back, until Beatrice gave a breathless laugh and just tugged it over her head half-fastened. His breath caught when he saw her in nothing but her ivory lace underwear.
“I love you,” she repeated, simply for the sheer joy of saying it. She wondered if either of them would ever tire of it.
They stumbled back together toward the bed, their kisses wilder and more feverish. Beatrice could taste the rain on his skin. The pearls from her hair were falling loose, gleaming on the pillows around them like tiny fragments of moonlight, but she didn’t care. Her breathing was wild and fast, and she felt a tingling sensation spreading all the way to the edges of her fingers. No matter how many parts of her body touched his, it didn’t feel like enough.
Distantly, with the part of her brain that was still capable of thinking, Beatrice knew that something monumental had changed—that she and Teddy were both changed—here, in this room that had seen two centuries’ worth of history. Where her ancestors had loved and reigned and grieved and found joy.
The steady drumming of the rain echoed their heartbeats, the new rhythm between them.
Majesty Page 26
