Her Royal Highness

by Rachel Hawkins

  I miss you.

  The cursor blinks at me. Those are definitely welcome words from Jude, and I realize I miss her, too.

  But . . . not like I did a few months ago. I miss my friend Jude, not my almost-sort-of-girlfriend Jude. Because while what I felt for her was real—and while seeing her back together with Mason sucked a whole lot—it was always a tightrope with Jude. I never knew what we really were or how she really felt, no matter what she said about being an us.

  Flora hadn’t called us an us, but we’d felt like one.

  My fingers move quickly.

  I’m not mad anymore. About what happened this summer. I don’t even know if I was mad, I guess. Hurt? I don’t know. But I’d like us to be friends again if we can.

  And then, after a pause, I add, But just friends this time.

  This time her reply takes a while in coming.

  I’m sorry, Millie. Honestly. Really, really sorry.

  And I’d like to be friends again, too.

  I go to reply with a smiley face in return, but there’s more.

  Besides, I see you have a very fancy new girlfriend now, lol. GLOW UP.

  My fingers hover over the keys, wondering if I should tell Jude about what happened with Flora, but before I can, there’s a knock at the door.

  BRB, I type to Jude, then hop off my bed to answer the door.

  It actually takes a beat for my mind to absorb just who I’m seeing.

  It’s Seb.

  He looks a little worse for wear, his shirt a bit wrinkled, his jaw patchy with scruff, but it’s definitely him, leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Roomie Quint,” he says with a faint grin.

  “Brother Seb,” I reply, and his grin deepens.

  I shake myself out of my shock and usher him inside.

  I quickly realize I have no idea where he’s supposed to sit, given that the only options are the bed—nicer, bigger—and my desk chair—probably more appropriate. In the end, I don’t have to offer because Seb makes the decision himself, sitting heavily on the end of my bed, his elbows braced on his spread thighs.

  “So,” he says on a long breath. “This is buggeringly awkward, but I’m here to talk about you and Flora.”

  “I assumed that was it,” I tell him, taking a seat in my desk chair and slinging an arm across the back.

  Seb nods, but he’s still looking around the room. “Who’re you rooming with now?” he asks, taking in Sakshi’s bed with its brightly colored pillows and striped sheets.

  “Saks,” I reply, and he nods again, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

  “She around? Wouldn’t mind—”

  “No,” I say flatly, turning to face him more fully. “So can we get this over with?”

  Seb leans back at that, his expression faintly surprised. “Get what over with?”

  “Whatever this is going to be,” I say, wishing I were closer to the dresser so I could fiddle with one of my rock samples. The hematite maybe. Ugh, but no, then I’d just remember showing it to Flora, and—

  “You think I’m upset with you?” Seb asks. “Here to do some sort of patronizing brother thing?” Snorting, he shakes his head. “Trust me, love, I’m rubbish at that. I’m here because . . .”

  Trailing off, he sighs and looks around again. “You wouldn’t happen to have a drink around here, would you?”

  I blink at him. “As in booze? No, I, a seventeen-year-old, do not have booze in my dorm room.”

  Seb mutters a rude word under his breath and slumps slightly before asking, “Are you in love with my sister?”

  I don’t know how to answer that, and my instinct at first is to deny it. To tell him that Flora was a great friend and roommate, but that’s it.

  But then I realize: I don’t want the first time I admit, out loud, that I’m in love with Flora to be to anyone but Flora.

  And I say so. “That’s private.”

  Seb’s blue eyes widen at that. “So that’s a yes.”

  “It’s a none of your business,” I shoot back.

  Outside in the hallway, there’s the usual murmur of sounds I’ve gotten used to here at Gregorstoun. The sound of feet on floors, the murmur of voices, the occasional howling of the wind. Inside the room, I can practically hear the ticking of Saks’s alarm clock.

  “If that’s all you came here to ask me,” I say now to Seb, picking up the notebook I’ve left on the bed, “then I guess you have an answer. And I have homework to do, so—”

  “She’s miserable,” Seb says. “Without you. I’ve never seen her like this before.”

  That’s a direct hit to the heart, and I swallow hard before saying, “Well, I’m not exactly dancing through the streets, either.”

  “Then why did you leave?”

  I look up at him, my fingers fiddling with the hem of my shirt, and he lifts one elegant hand to add, “And don’t say that’s private. I mean, it is, I’m sure, but I’d still like to know.”

  I think about getting into the whole thing about Tamsin, about the tuition, about how I am in no way cut out to be a princess’s girlfriend.

  But in the end, I just say, “We were too different. It was too hard. I get where I was fun and . . . convenient, I guess, but she’s never going to end up with someone like me.”

  “Bollocks,” Seb says, sitting back with his hands braced on his knees. “Absolute bollocks.”

  Blinking at him, I clear my throat before saying, “It is not bollocks. It’s the truth. I mean, look at me.”

  “I’m looking,” he replies, “and I see a perfectly lovely girl who my sister is completely mad for, and who’s throwing away a good thing because she’s not brave enough to give it a shot.”

  “That’s unfair,” I say, but Seb only shrugs, patting his shirt pockets for something.

  He pulls out a cigarette, and I lean forward, plucking it from his fingers and tearing it in half, tiny shreds of tobacco falling on the floor.

  To my surprise, that makes Seb grin. “See?” he says. “You’re exactly what she needs. You say you’re not cut out for the royal life, but look at you. Not scared of me, survived an entire weekend in a castle, looks good in tartan, and, from what Flora has said, smart as a bloody whip.”

  “She said that about me?” I ask in a small voice, and Seb leans forward again, putting a hand on my knee.

  “She’s a bit of a screwup. We all are. Well, all of us except for Alex. But she cares about you. She let you in. She trusted you.” His hand squeezes just a bit. “Now return the favor.”

  With that, he stands up, idly scratching at his chest with a muttered “Now I’m going to go find a drink.”

  And then he’s gone, leaving me sitting there, his words running through my head.

  Crossing the room, I go over to the dresser and pick up the rose quartz, feeling its cool weight in my palm. I remember Flora’s face when she looked at it as we stood so close. I remember the way her hand felt in mine when we danced on Skye. I remember . . . everything.

  And then I’m putting the quartz down and heading to the door.

  I don’t walk down the hall so much as march, and taking a deep breath, I steel myself and rap my knuckles on Perry’s door, knowing I’ll find Saks there.

  Sure enough, she opens the door, her black hair pulled off her face in a high ponytail. “Millie!” she exclaims, her eyes bright. “Is it true Seb came to see you? What did he say? What did you say? Was it awkward? Did you tell him I’ve moved on? Did he—”

  “Saks,” I say, holding up one hand. “We can get into all of that later. For now, I need your help.”

  She blinks, leaning against the door frame. “With what?”

  Saying it is going to make it real, which is vaguely terrifying, but I know now it’s the only thing I can do.

  “I screwed up,” I say on a long br
eath. “Like, monumentally. With Flora.”

  Saks nods. “Yes, we know.”

  Scowling, I put one hand on my hip. “Okay, great, glad everyone’s in agreement that I blew it.”

  Another nod, this time with a sort of exaggerated sad face. “You really did.”

  I roll my eyes. “Noted. But that’s not what I need help with.”

  Straightening my shoulders, I look up into Sakshi’s face. “I’m going to get her back.”

  CHAPTER 39

  I have never skipped school in my life. I’ve also never sneaked out, or “borrowed” a car, or lied to an adult, but this morning, I’m doing all of those things in one fell swoop.

  I mention all of this to Saks, who twists in the passenger seat of the car Perry is driving, her brow creasing into a frown. “But you’re doing it for a good reason!” she says, then reaches over and takes Perry’s hand, a smile lighting up her beautiful face. “True love.”

  True love. Right.

  But that thought just makes my stomach twist, too. Flora. I’m going to see Flora again, and I’m going to tell her how I feel.

  Yeah, way scarier than the idea of getting caught with the groundskeeper’s car.

  When Perry said he had a way for us to get to Edinburgh, I expected an elaborate train and bus schedule, so him pulling the ancient Land Rover around to the back of the school where Saks and I were waiting was something of a shock. Perry swears Mr. McGregor had said he was free to use it whenever he wanted, but I’m not sure if something said after four pints counts.

  So now here I am, in the back seat of a borrowed-but- also-possibly-stolen car, and oh my god, this is insane.

  “Should we maybe talk about how exactly I’m going to get to see Flora?” I ask. There’s a tear in the fabric seat, and the metal floorboards are rusted. Are we even going to make it to Edinburgh in one piece?

  Saks waves an elegantly manicured hand. “All under control, darling. You forget, I’m the daughter of a duke, and that counts for something. I’ll present myself at the palace, with you and Perry as my guests,” she goes on, scrolling through her phone, “and I’ll say . . . Oh, bollocks!”

  “Okay, pretty sure mentioning testicles is not going to get us very far in the palace,” I say, but Saks shakes her head, a stricken expression on her face.

  “No, bollocks because the royal family isn’t at the palace today. There’s some new museum exhibit opening about Scottish royal weddings, and they’re all going to that this morning, then there’s a procession down the Mile. Dammit! I knew I should’ve looked at their social calendar, but I was quite”—another hand wave—“swept up in everything, I suppose.”

  “Glad you find my love life so sweeping,” I mutter, leaning forward to take Saks’s phone from her hand. Sure enough, there’s the announcement about the museum exhibit, complete with Flora’s name in bold type.

  “We’re halfway there,” Perry says, glancing over at Saks. “We can always get to Edinburgh and hang out for a bit. They have to go back to the palace eventually.”

  They do, and they will, I’m sure, and that’s a great plan, just grabbing some lunch there in the city and waiting.

  Or . . .

  Swallowing hard, I hand Saks back her phone. “By the time we get there, the parade will be starting,” I say. “We can just go there.”

  Saks twists in her seat, her dark eyes wide. “Millicent Quint,” she breathes. “Are you telling me—”

  I give a firm nod. “I am.”

  Squealing, Saks claps her hands, and Perry looks over again, clearly confused, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “What?”

  “Big Romantic Gesture!” Saks cries. “Millie is going to declare her love in public! Oh my god, I think I might start weeping.”

  “And I think I might start vomiting, so please don’t,” I say, settling into the back seat, an entire colony of butterflies in my chest. Maybe that’s what makes the drive go by so much faster than I’d thought, because before I know it, we’re pulling into the city.

  Parking the car, Perry gestures for me to get out. “The parade is going down the Mile,” he says, “so all you have to do is get to the front, wait for Flora to pass by, and tell her you love her.”

  I stare at him, my palm suddenly sweaty on the handle. “Right,” I say, but it comes out a croak, so I clear my throat and start again. “Right.”

  “Easy peasy!” Saks says, then, thank god, she opens the door. “I’ll come with, though, just to make sure.”

  “Well, I’m not missing out,” Perry says, turning the car off, and I smile at the two of them, feeling a little choked up all of a sudden.

  “Y’all are really good friends, you know that?” I say, and they both grin at me.

  “Of course we do,” Saks says, and then we’re heading down one of the little side streets and up toward the Mile.

  There’s a series of barricades set up, and a crowd has already gathered around them in the cold autumn air. We’re toward the back, but I can hear pipers and drummers, and when I rise up on my tiptoes, I can see the royal family making their way down past St. Giles’s.

  Flora is in the middle of her brothers as they make their way through the crowd, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s smiling and shaking hands, taking the occasional bouquet of flowers and thanking people before handing them off to a man in a black suit.

  Just looking at her makes my chest ache. She’s so good at this, even though she’d swear she’s not. But I can see the way people look at her, can tell from her smile that it’s sincere. She’s never looked more like a princess to me, even when she was all decked out in the tiaras and sashes.

  But she’s not just a princess.

  She’s my princess.

  Aaaaand she’s way too far away for me to get her attention.

  Turning back to Sakshi and Perry, I shake my head. “This is stupid,” I say. “I can just email her or—”

  “NO!” they shout in unison before glancing at each other and doing those soppy smiles they do all the time now.

  Then Perry grabs my hand. “Millie, this requires a big gesture. Emails are not big. Emails aren’t even medium-sized.”

  “My boyfriend is right,” Saks says, and then, yes, once again, the cutesy smiles. They actually touch noses, and it would be gross if I didn’t love them both, but Sakshi quickly shakes herself and says, “Not the time. Anyway, what Perry said. You are winning back the woman you love, and that means an email simply will not do. So.”

  Reaching down, she plucks a bouquet out of a little girl’s hands. When the little girl, her hair as bright as Perry’s, opens her mouth to protest, Saks rummages through her pink Chanel purse, pulling out her wallet and phone before handing the bag to the little girl. “Fair trade,” she says, and the girl, clearly having good taste, takes the purse eagerly, flowers forgotten.

  “Saks,” I say, but she shakes her head.

  “It was last season anyway. Now, take these flowers and go get your princess.”

  The flowers in my hand are a little wilted, the purple blooms definitely worse for wear, but there’s a bright ribbon around the stems in the Baird family plaid, which seems like a good sign.

  And after a moment, I reach into my pocket for the smooth and shiny lump of rose quartz I slipped in before we left the school.

  The crowd is thicker now, surging near the barricades, and the Bairds are moving down the Mile, closer to where I am, but unfortunately, I’m stuck all the way at the back of the crowd, and being the size of a sixth grader definitely doesn’t help.

  Luckily, I have Sakshi.

  “PARDON!” she calls out loudly, her bright smile in contrast with her sharp elbows as she pushes her way through the crowd. Perry stands behind me, the caboose in this engine getting me to the front of the line, and I duck my head, following behind Saks as best I can. As the crowd parts,
I hear some of the murmurs start up.

  Most of them are about how gorgeous Sakshi is, which is valid, but I hear my name a couple of times. Amelia. Millie. That’s her. That’s the girl dating Flora.

  And this time, the words don’t make me want to cringe or hide out of sight. They make me want to hold my head up. Yes, that’s me.

  Millie, the girl dating Flora.

  We’re nearly to the edge of the barricade now. It’s cold out, gray and windy, and I nearly trip on the cobblestone when I hear Saks trill, “Flooorrraaa!”

  There’s still six feet of Saks hiding me from sight, but I hear Flora’s reply of “Sakshi!”

  And then suddenly, Saks is gone, and I’m standing there at the barricade facing Flora, a bunch of flowers in my hand.

  The smile Flora had been wearing for Saks falls away, her expression going guarded for a second until she looks down and sees the flowers.

  One corner of her mouth lifts slightly, a patented Flora Smirk, but her eyes are suspiciously bright as she glances back up. “Are those for me?”

  “They are,” I say, holding them out. “I stole them from some kid. Well, Saks did, and they’re not as pretty as I would’ve wanted, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? Or . . . stealers can’t be choosers, I guess.”

  The crowd is starting to back away from me a little now, and I see Flora’s bodyguards watching us cautiously. From just behind Flora, Seb rises up on his tiptoes to see what’s going on.

  When he spots me, he breaks out into a grin, and maybe that’s what gives me the courage to rush on.

  “Flora, I’m so sorry. About everything. About not being brave enough or . . . or tough enough or whatever it was. Because I . . .”

  I have never been more aware of people looking at me, and even though the rest of the royal family is moving on, the crowd’s attention feels very focused on me and Flora right now. But I realize that there’s only one person’s attention I care about right now—Flora’s. As long as she’s looking at me, I don’t care about anyone else.

  “I love you, Flora,” I say, and even though there’s a crowd around us, and bodyguards and other royals, it feels like it’s just us. Like we’re back in our room at Gregorstoun, or out on the moors under the stars. “And yes, sometimes you make me crazy, and we’re definitely going to have to talk about the whole high-handed thing, but . . . it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”