Her Royal Highness

by Rachel Hawkins

  I really wish I didn’t have one of those faces where everything I’m thinking is immediately obvious, but such is my curse. It was my mom’s, too, Dad tells me.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk for just a sec?”

  She looks over her shoulder back toward the ballroom, but then she nods, tugging me up from the bench and farther down the hall. “It’ll be a bit of a scandal if we’re late, but I for one am all right with that.” Flashing a smile at me that makes dimples appear in her cheeks, she adds, “You’ve clearly been a good influence on me, Quint—I haven’t caused a ruckus in ages.”

  We pause at the end of the hall, and her smile turns into something like a smirk. “Should probably rectify that,” she murmurs, and then she leans over, kissing me softly. Even though my head is still reeling, I can’t help lifting my hand to her wrist, holding her hand against my face for just a little longer.

  When Flora pulls back from the kiss, she laughs lightly, running her thumb over my lower lip, sending a shower of sparks through me. “Why such the serious face?” she asks, and I try to make myself smile back, but I’m not sure I do such a great job at it.

  Still holding my hand, Flora opens a heavy door there at the end of the hallway, and a blast of cold air hits me. She’s taking me out onto the rooftop terrace I spotted before, so we can have this super-awkward conversation in a very romantic location.

  Great.

  We step outside, and I’m already shivering. Flora is, too, but she’s still grinning at me. “I know it’s not quite the season for this,” she says, “but it’s one of my favorite spots. Look how gorgeous Arthur’s Seat looks from here.”

  I glance over to my right, and sure enough, the craggy hill reaches up to the stars, lit from the lamps in the park below, a darker shape against the navy sky.

  “I knew you’d like this place,” Flora says, a little smug. “Volcanoes and all that. Advanced rocks, really.”

  My throat feels tight as I look at Arthur’s Seat, and just for a moment, I think about forgetting the whole thing. Just kissing her again, telling her I love it here—and I do—then going back in to the dinner.

  Turning around, I face Flora, my hands clasped in front of me, and she blinks, her shoulders stiffening a little bit. “Quint?” she asks. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

  “Did you dump Tamsin?” I ask, and Flora blinks.

  “What?”

  I take a deep breath. “Tamsin,” I say. “You acted like she broke up with you. Like you got how I felt about the thing with Jude, but . . . is that not what happened?”

  Flora wrinkles her nose. “Why does it matter?” she asks, and my heart sinks.

  “So . . . that’s a yes, then. You broke up with her.”

  “Only because she wanted to be almost absurdly secretive about us,” Flora counters. “Which made me feel slightly rejected, so to my mind—”

  “That’s not the way the world works, Flora,” I tell her now, stepping closer. “You can’t just say, ‘Well, to me, it was like this,’ and have it actually be that.”

  Flora waves a gloved hand. “Quint, this is ridiculous. Tamsin has nothing to do with us.”

  “But she does,” I say, “because that was this . . . this thing we had in common. The thing that made it feel safe to like you.”

  Flora looks as baffled as I’ve ever seen her, one hand on her hip, her head tilted to one side. “Safe? What does that even mean?” Sighing, I look up at the sky above us. It’s clear tonight and cold, stars twinkling in the inky black sky, Arthur’s Seat rising to my left, and I almost shake my head at all of it. Up here on the terrace at a palace with a princess under a starlit sky by an ancient volcano, like a fairy tale I never thought to imagine.

  “I don’t want to be your distraction,” I say at last. “I can’t be that again. Someone fun to hang out with until the person you really want comes back.”

  “Is this about Dastardly Jude?” Flora asks. She’s got her arms folded tightly around her middle, and I don’t think it’s from the cold. She’s so beautiful standing there in her golden dress, her diamonds and emeralds glittering, but just like the stars and the palace and the entire night, it’s a reminder of how different her life is from mine.

  “Maybe?” I say. “And let’s get real here, Flora. The Tamsins and Carolines and Ilses of the world are much more your type,” I finally say. “I’m short, I say ‘y’all,’ I have no idea how anyone plays polo—”

  Flora’s face is cold now, her shoulders back. “That’s what you think my type is, is it? You think I’m only interested in girls like Tamsin?”

  “I think the princess and the scholarship kid looks good on paper, but is too hard in reality,” I reply, and Flora waves a hand again.

  “You’re not even on scholarship anymore, for heaven’s sake, and honestly this is so—”

  “Wait, what?”

  I move closer to her, the night breeze tugging strands of hair from my updo. “What do you mean I’m not on scholarship anymore?”

  Some of Flora’s coldness fades away, and she shifts her weight, her eyes sliding from mine. “I . . . may have paid your tuition for the rest of the year,” she says.

  “You just . . . paid for school? And didn’t tell me? Didn’t ask me?”

  Her gaze meets mine again, lower lip poking out just a little. “Oh, yes, so very sorry to have done something nice for you. What a villain I am.”

  But I shake my head. “No, Flora, that’s not the point, the point is you did it without asking if I wanted you to. I earned that scholarship. I worked hard for it. It was important to me, but you just saw it as . . . what? Something embarrassing? Something a little grubby.”

  “Yes,” she says now, turning to face me. “That’s what you want to believe, isn’t it? That I couldn’t bear to date someone not of my class.”

  Shaking her head, she backs off in a swirl of skirts and perfume. “Honestly, Quint, if that’s what you think about me, then I’m not sure why you ever liked me in the first place.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. Somehow this has all gotten so twisted and out of hand so fast that I’m not even sure what to be mad about anymore. But I am mad. And hurt and confused.

  Flora, however, is just mad. “Anyway,” she says on a sigh. “This entire scene is unnecessary and, frankly, boring. Why don’t we go back inside, and you can run off and hide in your room or something? I’ll have a car take you back to Gregorstoun in the morning.”

  “Flora, can we—” I start, but she’s already moving for the doors, her skirts swishing over the stone, her tiara glittering.

  Just like that, she’s gone, back into the palace. Back into her life.

  And I’m left outside.

  CHAPTER 37

  I wake up the next morning with gritty eyes and the beginnings of a massive headache. And that’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest. The idea of going downstairs for breakfast and sitting across the table from Flora makes me want to hide under the covers. What even happened last night? Were we fighting about Tamsin or about the scholarship?

  But then I remind myself that if our first fight can go that badly, maybe it was never meant to be. Maybe it was always going to end like this.

  I finally manage to get up, but when I make my way to the family’s private dining room, it’s empty except for a few of Seb’s friends, Daisy, and her boyfriend. The boys just glance at me as I walk in, but I see Daisy give me a sympathetic smile, and I wiggle my fingers at her before going over to the buffet and grabbing some breakfast.

  Scottish breakfast isn’t exactly my favorite at the best of times, but right now, when I can’t imagine ever wanting to eat again, it’s especially unappetizing. Still, I put some mushrooms, a grilled tomato, and a slice of toast on my plate before heading to the table.

  When I sit down, I see Daisy nudge Miles—well, kick him under the table, se
ems like—and he clears his throat with a “Right,” before leaning over and saying, “Millie, I’m so sorry about mentioning the story last night. I just assumed you knew, or didn’t care, or that . . . Well, all of us have gotten very used to seeing things about ourselves in the press, true or not, over the years, and I forget that’s not the case for everyone.”

  “And you’re a prat,” Daisy helpfully supplies, to which Miles sighs, closing his eyes briefly before adding, “And also, I am a prat.”

  Smiling in spite of myself, I poke at my mushrooms. “You’re not,” I tell him. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “It seems slightly biggish,” Daisy says, “because we heard you’re leaving this morning?”

  “It isn’t about that,” I say, which is technically the truth. “It’s just . . .” I eat a mushroom to avoid talking for a second. “Not for me,” I finally say, waving my fork around. “This whole thing. Leaving it to the professionals.”

  Daisy opens her mouth to say something to that, but now it’s Miles’s turn to kick her under the table, and glaring at him, she rubs her shin.

  I shove some more toast in my mouth and make apologetic sounds before basically bolting from the dining room.

  When I get back to the bedroom I was staying in, I see my things have already been packed. The royals are clearly very efficient at booting you out once your time is up.

  This time, there’s no help with my bag, no one at all in fact until I step out the back door and see Glynnis waiting for me.

  “There you are,” she says. “The car just pulled up.”

  Sure enough, there’s a black car idling in the drive.

  “When will Flora be leaving?” I ask, but Glynnis only gives me that tight smile, her lips crimson.

  “Her Royal Highness will be returning to school here in Edinburgh. With the wedding coming up, it’s really best to have her closer to home now.”

  The morning is cold and gray, and there’s a mizzle falling that suits my mood as I stand there in the portico, waiting for the car to come around. If I had known that last night might be the last time I’d get to talk to Flora . . .

  The thought makes my throat go tight, but the last thing I want to do is start crying in front of Glynnis. I have a long trip back to the Highlands during which I can fully indulge in self-pity, after all.

  To my surprise, Glynnis lays a manicured hand on my sleeve. “I’m sorry to see you go, Amelia,” she says, and weirdly enough, I think she might mean it. “I thought you might be a more permanent fixture.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I just give an awkward shrug, trying to smile. “Not exactly cut out for the royal thing,” I tell her, but Glynnis only gives me a little pat, her smile turning just the slightest bit sad.

  “Well, off you pop, then,” she says, gesturing to the car, and I shift my bag to my other shoulder, nodding. Off I pop indeed.

  Back to Gregorstoun. Back to normalcy. Well, as normal as that place gets, I guess.

  The car smells like expensive leather plus the faint burning scent of the heater on blast, and I’m already tugging off my scarf as I settle into the back seat when a movement catches my eye.

  There are big windows looking out on this private drive from the second story, and I see Flora in one now, still wearing her robe, her hair loose and messy around her shoulders. Her face is a pale oval against the thick glass, but I’d know her anywhere, I’m pretty sure.

  It’s so weird to look at her and know that I might never see her again—almost certainly won’t see her again—except in magazines or on TV sometimes. But isn’t that for the best? She was never really mine, and this whole thing was like a dream I stumbled into. A fairy tale where she was the princess in the tower and I was . . . Okay, I wasn’t the frog, exactly, but close enough. And one day, Flora will find her princess, too.

  It just won’t be me.

  Another flash of red from her robe, and she’s gone.

  The train back up to the school is nowhere near as nice as the ride down was. This time, I’m in a regular carriage, sitting next to a stranger, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spend most of the ride looking up stories about Flora on my phone.

  I’m quickly realizing this is going to be the worst part of things—with Jude, I just had to deal with her at school and on Facebook. With Flora? I’ll have a lifetime of being able to pull up multiple pictures of a Girl I Used to Like.

  Once the train gets to Inverness, I call the school to send Mr. McGregor to pick me up and bring me back to Gregorstoun.

  I’m expecting another story about Killer Trout, or the McGregor Legacy, Cruelly Stolen, but all Mr. McGregor says as I climb into the car is “Chin up, lassie,” which nearly makes me cry all over again.

  It’s raining now, and the school that once looked so beautiful and special to me just looks dismal as we pull up.

  Once I’m inside, I make a beeline for Sakshi’s room. The door is cracked, so I don’t knock—I just push it open and call, “Hey, I’m back—”

  Only to be confronted with the sight of Sakshi and Perry entwined on her bed, kissing.

  I squawk, and they squawk, flying apart—both of them fully and completely dressed, thank god—and scrambling off the bed.

  “Millie!” Saks cries. “We were just . . . Perry and I are—”

  “I know what you were doing,” I reply, and then, as awful as this whole day has been, I clap my hand over my mouth, giggles erupting out of me.

  And then they both start laughing, too, their clothes rumpled, their hair a mess.

  “Are you shocked?” Sakshi asks, threading her arm through Perry’s. They should look so mismatched as to be ridiculous, Sakshi so glamorous and gorgeous, Perry so . . . neither of those things, but instead, they just look right. Perfect, really.

  Laughing, I throw myself on both of them, wrapping them into a hug that’s made tougher by the fact that Saks is so much taller than me and Perry, but we manage it.

  “No, not shocked, bloody well thrilled,” I say, and Perry guffaws, patting my back hard.

  “Spoken like a true Scottish lass, now,” he teases, and I pull back, still smiling at both of them.

  “Who would have thought?” Sakshi asks on a sigh. “All three of us finding love at Gregorstoun of all places.”

  I try to smile. I really do.

  But I can feel it wobbling on my face, my eyes stinging, and suddenly there are tears rolling down my face.

  “Peregrine,” Saks says, pointing to the door. “Out.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Saks and I are sitting on her floor, a tube of chocolate digestive biscuits half-destroyed between us.

  “Oh, darling,” Saks says, breaking a cookie in half, “I am sorry.”

  I want to protest and tell her no, everything is fine, I’m fine, it’s all deeply, deeply fine, but that would be a lie, so I let her pull me close to her, my head on her shoulder. “Flora always was a heartbreaker,” she says, stroking my hair, but I shake my head, pulling away.

  “No, that’s the thing. She didn’t break my heart, Saks. I . . . I think I might have broken hers.”

  Sakshi’s dark eyes go wide. “Oh, dear,” she murmurs. “That might be a first for Flora.”

  Tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling, I groan. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better,” I remind her, and she pats my arms again, all fluttery fingers.

  “Of course, of course. I mean, how could you know Flora had a heart to break? And it’s probably her due. Like I said, she’s always had quite a reputation as the love-them-and-leave-them type.”

  I think of Flora making me a fake Thanksgiving, of her picking out the perfect dress for me. Of how happy she seemed to have me at her side in Edinburgh.

  My eyes are stinging again, and I wipe at them with the back of my hand. “She’s a lot more than anyone thinks she is,” I s
ay at last. “She’s funny and smart and kind. Well, not always on that last one, but she tries, is the point. And she’s just got that hard shell because her insides are marshmallows, basically, so she has to have a protective coating, you know? But once you get past that, she’s just . . . she’s . . .”

  Saks is still sitting against her bed, and she’s watching me now with her mouth hanging open a little bit.

  Self-conscious, I stand up, dusting off the back of my jeans. “She’s just a lot greater than anyone knows,” I finally finish up, and Saks leans forward, asking me the question I was really afraid she was going to ask.

  “Then, darling, why did you leave her?”

  CHAPTER 38

  The next few days are somehow even worse than I’d thought they’d be.

  The school feels empty without Flora in it, and, as I expected, I spend way too much time Googling her.

  I even set up an alert, which feels like a special kind of pathetic.

  Dad knows something is up whenever we Skype, but I just blame my general sad-sackness on school, the weather, and being homesick, which is kind of true. Being home at Christmas seems really nice now, and I start marking the days off with a big red pen on my calendar.

  I’ve got twenty-nine more days to go when I trudge back up to my room after class one afternoon, tossing my bag on my bed.

  With a sigh—I am a champion sigher these days—I open my laptop. There’s an email from Lee, a missed Skype call from Dad, and . . .

  Another Hangout message from Jude.

  This one just says, Was thinking about you today. Hope you’re having fun up there in Bonny Scotland!

  She sent it just three minutes ago, and without letting myself overthink it, I type back.

  Hi. Yup, things are good here.

  Her reply comes back an instant later.

  Plenty of unicorns?

  Smiling, I type back, A surprising lack of, sadly.

  That’s a bummer!

  I stare at the screen, wondering what to say next, when another reply comes in.