Her Royal Highness

by Rachel Hawkins

  Is she flirting with me? And if she is, is it just because Such Is Flora, or is she feeling as intrigued by this whole thing as I am?

  No, can’t let myself think that, can’t go there at all. One heartbreak per year should be more than enough for me. And that’s all Flora could be, really.

  Heartbreak.

  We come from entirely different worlds. I don’t even know how to dance, much less how to address a duke by his title or what fork to use. And I think of all those tall, glossy-haired girls surrounding Flora. Caroline. Ilse. Probably Tamsin.

  Me? Definitely not tall. Or glossy.

  Not to mention, I’m pretty sure that getting your heart broken by a princess is a whole new level of awful.

  Maybe that’s why my feet suddenly trip us up, my heel coming down on the back of my skirt.

  I think the Flora I first met would’ve made some rude remark about what a klutz I am, but this Flora—this new, dangerous Flora—just laughs. “Okay, maybe that’s enough waltzing.”

  It’s enough everything. It’s too much everything.

  I can’t do this.

  Dropping her hand, I move away from her and look back to the orange trees. “So was it just oranges they grew in here or other things, too? Lemons? Limes? Was there some kind of vast citrus empire they were running out of fancy houses back in the day?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see that Flora is watching me with a funny look on her face, head slightly tilted. “Quint, are you babbling?” she asks at last, and if I thought my face was hot before, it’s probably on fire now.

  “Just trying to learn new and interesting Scottish facts!” I reply, smiling too big. “And speaking of, why don’t you show me some of the. Um. Paintings outside. In the hall.”

  The hall is also dim, but it’s cold and intimidating, not romantic, so that is for sure where I want to be right now.

  I don’t even wait for Flora to agree before I head for the doors, determined to put . . . whatever this was behind me.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Is this rock sufficiently magical?”

  I’m standing on the top of a massive green hill, staring at a shard of stone thrusting up toward the sky. Wind is whipping my hair out from under my beanie, and my cheeks sting. It started raining on us about fifteen minutes into this hike and only just stopped, so I’m vaguely damp and clammy.

  And I am also delighted. When Flora told me at breakfast that there was something she wanted to show me, I didn’t imagine anything like this.

  “The most magical,” I confirm to Flora, looking at the Old Man of Storr.

  Flora hadn’t lied about this part of Skye being almost unbearably beautiful and also very rock-filled. It feels like being on another planet, almost, everything bare and craggy, loose rubble under my feet. Even the other tourists brave enough to make this climb on a windy, wet morning don’t take away from the beauty of the place or the sense that I’m somewhere completely different and unknown.

  Grinning at me, Flora leans down to pick up a loose pebble, bouncing it in her hand. She’s wearing a red jacket and black pants, her own hair also stuffed underneath a hat. Her nose is red, too, but she still looks nearly magazine-ready.

  Such is Flora, I guess.

  Then she gestures to the rock, calling out over the wind, “So tell me about it!”

  I screw up my face, trying to shove my hair back out of my eyes. “What, the rock?”

  “Yes, Quint, the big magic rock. Give me all the rock facts in your ginormous brain.”

  Self-conscious, I dust my hands on the back of my pants, glancing up at the shard. “Well, it’s made of two types of rock,” I start, and Flora sits on the ground, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. It’s a very un-Flora-like pose, and I almost giggle at it, her sitting there like a bright and eager student.

  “Louder!” she calls, and I roll my eyes.

  “Two types of rock!” I repeat. “In layers, see?” I point, and Flora nods. “So that means the rock is fairly fragile and susceptible to weathering, and that’s what happened here. All the wind and rain and years just kind of . . . whittled it into this. This big rock.”

  Flora squints a little as she studies the huge, jagged piece of stone, then she says, “See, legend has it that there’s a giant buried under this hill, and that’s his thumb, sticking up out of the ground.”

  “Well, that story is much better than ‘giant rock made slightly less giant by erosion,’” I admit, and Flora laughs, standing up.

  “I think I like your science-y version better, if I’m honest.”

  We stand there for a second, grinning at each other, and suddenly last night in the orangery comes rushing back to me. The way I felt dancing with her. How the air around us seemed different, charged.

  And even up on top of a mountain in the north of Scotland in October, my skin suddenly flushes hot.

  That feeling only intensifies when Flora slips her arm through mine and bumps my hip with hers, saying, “So I delivered on all my Skye promises, yes?”

  “And then some,” I tell her.

  Nodding back at the Old Man of Storr, she steps away and holds out her hand. “Give me your phone, I’ll take a picture of you by it.”

  Feeling self-conscious, I move in front of the rock, pulling my hair out of my eyes before clasping my hands in front of me.

  Flora laughs. “Okay, Quint, try to actually look like you’re having fun.”

  “I am having fun,” I retort. “I’m just terrible at posing for pictures.”

  With an extravagant sigh, Flora comes to stand next to me, throwing her arm around my shoulders and pulling me in tight. “Fine. We’ll selfie it, then, shall we?”

  She holds my phone out, her face pressed to mine, and I can see us in my phone screen, her smile dazzling and bright, my own a little more hesitant.

  “Quint, you’re insulting the giant under the ground with that face,” Flora says through her smile, and I laugh.

  That’s when Flora snaps the picture.

  When we get back to the castle, it’s already getting dark, even though it’s barely evening. The wind has gotten colder, too, and Flora and I tumble out of the car that had taken us to Storr.

  “Hand me your phone,” she says, and I do it without thinking because Flora is that good at issuing commands.

  “Back in the land of Wi-Fi,” she mutters to herself, and I remember setting up my phone with the castle’s Wi-Fi yesterday. The network was called “IT’S THIS ONE GRANDDA,” so I assumed one of Lord Henry’s grandkids had set it up for him.

  Flora’s fingers tap over the screen, and I make a grab for the phone with a laugh. “What are you doing?”

  “Posting this amazing shot of us to your Instagram because I know you won’t,” she replies. “Or if you do, you’ll forget to give us the filter that makes us the prettiest.”

  “Right, because you need a filter for that,” I say, the words just tumbling out, and Flora looks up at me, nose crinkling.

  “Are you calling me pretty, Quint?”

  My face flames hot, and I make another grab for the phone, but Flora is already turning away with a triumphant “Ha!”

  She hands the phone back to me then, and there we are on my Instagram, windblown and laughing, the Old Man of Storr barely in the shot. Then I read the caption.

  Two “stone”-cold foxes at Storr!

  “That is . . . a terrible geology pun,” I tell her, but I’m grinning like an idiot.

  “Oi!” Flora cries with mock outrage. “Points for trying at least!”

  I slip my phone back into the pocket of my jacket. “Don’t you have to be careful about that kind of thing?” I ask her. “Putting pictures of you up on the internet and stuff?”

  Flora takes off her sunglasses, polishing them with the ends of her scarf. “A bit. I’
m not allowed to have any social media, of course, and I’m sure at some point, someone will find that shot on your page and it will end up on one of the blogs or in a magazine, but . . .”

  She shrugs. “It’s not exactly a scandalous picture, and I wanted to take it. So I did.”

  “I wanted to, so I did,” I say. “Basically your motto.”

  Flora lifts her chin at that. “Oooh, I might see about having that officially added to my crest!”

  She turns away then, missing the way my mouth drops open a little bit. Right. She has a crest. Because princess.

  Shaking my head, I jog to catch up with her, and the two of us are almost to the front steps when a voice says, “There you are.”

  We stop there in the front courtyard, the fountain burbling to our left as a tall brunette walks down the front steps. She’s wearing black pants tucked into high glossy boots and a white blouse with an honest-to-god tweed vest. Even though it’s dim outside, an expensive pair of sunglasses rests on top of her head, pulling her hair back from her face.

  And it’s a good face. High cheekbones, straight nose, really great brows.

  “Tam,” Flora says, pulling up short, and I am in no way surprised that this gorgeous creature in front of us is Flora’s ex.

  Tamsin’s eyes slide to me in all my grubby, mountain- climbing glory, and I pull off my beanie, attempting to smooth down my hair, but I can feel my bangs sticking up and off to the side.

  “Hi,” I say with a little wave. “So I’ll go on in and let you two—”

  Flora threads her arm through mine, and she draws me closer to her side, effectively freezing me in place. “No, stay,” she says. “Tam, this is Quint—Amelia, I mean.”

  “Millie, really,” I say, offering Tamsin my hand, and after a beat, she shakes it with a faint “Hullo.”

  “Quint’s my roommate at Gregorstoun,” Flora adds, and Tamsin looks back to her, her arms folded loosely over her chest.

  “It’s still hard to imagine you there,” she says with a little smile, and Flora finally lets go of my arm to flick her hair out of her eyes.

  “It’s not so bad,” she says. “The company is interesting at least.”

  Something flickers over Tamsin’s face at that, but then she gives a little laugh. “Good to know. I was hoping I’d get to see you this weekend. I was hoping—”

  “Well, you did get to see me, so lucky for you,” Flora interrupts, and then her hand is on my arm again, tugging me toward the house.

  We head up the front steps and through the massive door, Tamsin’s eyes on our backs, I’m pretty sure, and only once we’re inside does Flora let out a long breath, reaching up to take off her hat and ruffle her hair.

  “Well, that was awful,” she mutters, and I reach out, laying my hand on her arm.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Trust me, I know how awful that feels.”

  “Dastardly Jude,” Flora says in response, and I can’t help but giggle a little.

  “The very same. But if it’s any consolation, it’s totally Tamsin’s loss.”

  Flora looks over at me, and it might just be a remnant of the cold, but I could swear there’s a blush high on her cheekbones. “It is, isn’t it?” she says at last, and when we head upstairs to our rooms, I don’t think anything of slipping my arm through hers again.

  CHAPTER 29

  When we get back from Skye, Dr. McKee is waiting for us in the front hall. I wonder if she’s going to ask us about our trip or maybe hit up Flora for information on Lord Henry—the school is always on the lookout for wealthy donors, Saks says—but instead, she says, “Welcome home, ladies. I hope you had a lovely time on Skye. One of my favorite places in Scotland.”

  “It was gorgeous,” I say, meaning it, and Dr. McKee gives me what I think is a genuine smile.

  Then she says, “In your absence, we’ve decided to make a few changes. Miss Quint, for the rest of the school year, you’ll be rooming with Miss Worthington. Miss Baird, Miss Worthington’s roommate, Miss Graham, will be taking Miss Quint’s place in your room.”

  We stand there in the hall, not saying anything for a beat, and I have this horrible, jolting thought that Dr. McKee heard about us dancing at Skye. That she somehow knows that it’s like the ground has shifted underneath me and Flora just the tiniest bit.

  It makes me want to squirm with embarrassment, and I don’t even look over at Flora when she says, “For heaven’s sake, why? Quint and I were just getting to be friends. Isn’t that the point of being roommates?”

  Dr. McKee’s smile tightens just a bit. “The point of being roommates is learning how to share space with other people in a congenial and respectful manner. Friendships are a lovely bonus, but not the point, no.”

  This still feels weird to me, and I think Flora might keep fighting, but instead, after another long pause, she only shrugs. “Fine,” she says, and then she turns to me.

  “Well.”

  “Well,” I echo, very aware of Dr. McKee watching us.

  “Suppose I’ll see you in class, Quint.”

  “Yeah, same,” I reply, and I wonder if we’re supposed to shake hands or something.

  But Flora just turns, heading up the stairs with her bag. When she’s out of sight, to my surprise, Dr. McKee reaches out and rests a hand on my shoulder.

  “This is for the best, Miss Quint, I assure you. And this decision is not a reflection of your behavior at all, but more a . . . let’s say a precautionary measure.”

  “Against what?” I ask, my fingers numb around the handle of my duffel bag.

  “I told you,” she says. “You need to be careful in choosing friends here at Gregorstoun. Miss Baird is a lovely person, and her life is very glamorous indeed, but you never struck me as the person to get her head turned by that. It’s part of why you were assigned to be her roommate in the first place. And now . . .”

  Cheeks hot, I heft my bag a little higher. “And now my head seems turned?”

  “Flora’s mother thought it might be better for her to live with someone who’s not quite as attached to her,” Dr. McKee says, and okay, then. So that’s the real answer—this isn’t just a school decision, it’s basically a royal decree.

  I remember Flora saying her mom thought her liking girls was a phase. Is that what this is about?

  And if it is, what does that mean?

  Moving rooms doesn’t take nearly as long as I think it will. That’s the deal we make, that I’ll go to Sakshi’s room while Elisabeth moves into Flora’s, and as I stack up the last of my books, Flora sits on the edge of her bed, watching me.

  “She’s an actual child, you know. What’s-her-name. Lady McHorseyHorse.”

  “We’re not supposed to use titles here,” I reply, “so it’s Miss McHorseyHorse.”

  Flora snorts in response, and I slide a bookmark into the latest Finnigan Sparks novel before adding it to my stack. “Upside, you won’t have to look at so many rocks anymore, probably. Just plastic horses.”

  “I like rocks,” Flora says, and I look over at her, eyebrows raised.

  “You do not,” I say, and she flicks her hair over one shoulder.

  “I am growing and evolving under your influence, Quint.”

  She’s joking, but there’s still something in her face, something that makes me feel sadder than moving rooms should warrant. I’m getting to room with Saks, after all, and I love Saks. A month ago, I would’ve been thrilled at this switch.

  So why am I so bummed out now?

  I glance at my phone and see I have a few notifications. When I pick it up, I open to the picture of me and Flora, the one she posted just yesterday, and see a handful of comments. There’s Lee with GIRL, WHAT?? ALSO: BABE!!! and right under him, Saks has chimed in, MEGA BABE. It’s funny, seeing the two of them together there in the comments, two friends from two very different parts of my life, a
nd I wonder what it would be like if they met one day.

  I’m still trying to picture it—Lee and Saks hanging out—when I notice the last comment.

  HeyJude02: You look so happy.

  Looking at the picture, my cheeks pink, my mouth open as I laugh, Flora’s face right next to mine, I really do look happy. Really happy. Because I am happy.

  Or was until I realized I’d be switching rooms.

  Without letting myself overthink it, I reply to Jude’s comment.

  Okay, as far as replies go, an emoji isn’t much, but I figure it’s something.

  Clearing my throat, I pick up the last of my things. “So I’d say this has been fun, but it’s really only been a little bit fun, and mostly annoying,” I say, and Flora tilts her head, looking up at me from underneath her lashes.

  “Liar,” she says, and I make a big show of rolling my eyes.

  “Maybe the fun outweighed the annoying, but only in, like, tiny, microscopic amounts.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Quint,” she replies, and then she gives a little laugh, shaking her head. “This is so silly. I’m going to see you every day even if we don’t live together anymore, so let’s not get maudlin here.” She waves one hand. “Go. Get settled with Saks and tell Miss Horsey I’m awaiting the pleasure of her company.”

  “Will do,” I say, and I make myself walk out without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER 30

  “Saks, can you give me some gossip on the royal family?”

  We’re lying on Sakshi’s bed, technically studying for our upcoming history test, but my mind has been a million miles away.

  If I’m honest, I’ve been out to lunch ever since Skye two weeks ago. Things between me and Flora have been pretty much the same—we get along, we chat, we sit together at lunch—but that moment in the orangery has been playing on a loop in my head. And not just that, but the whole weekend, really. Giving me her favorite room. Picking out the perfect dress for me. Is this just Flora trying to be nice now that we’re friends, or—