“Oh.” I want to get out of the bed, but I’m so twisted in the covers that I struggle, trying to break free. It’s the story of my life, I have to think, but this girl doesn’t want to hear it.
“Will you be wanting tea, Your Highness? Or coffee? The kitchen can prepare whatever you wish to have.”
“I’m not …” Hungry. Thirsty. There are a lot of words that could fill in that blank, but I say, “Your Highness. I’m not … I’m just Ann’s goddaughter. I’m not a member of the royal family.” Yet.
I expect the girl to curtsy and apologize, go about whatever business brought her to my room. But she just drops her gaze and her voice.
“I don’t believe that’s true … Your Highness.” The girl leans over as she curtsies again, deeper this time, then pulls a gold chain out from the neckline of her uniform. She lets a small medallion dangle. It’s the same symbol I followed through the streets and down into the tunnels last summer—the same image that’s been haunting me for months. She isn’t just a maid, I realize. She’s a member of the Society. And I’m suddenly grateful she didn’t try to smother me in my sleep.
“My name is Clarice, Your Highness. I am to let you know that you are not alone.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I blurt, and I mean it. “If the Society sent you to keep me in line, then tell them I get it. I made my bed. Now I’m sleeping in it.”
I expect the girl to smirk like the PM, to scowl at me like the women in Paris. But she continues to look at me with something approaching reverence.
“There are those among the Society who have longed for this day—for Amelia’s heir to finally claim her rightful place. Please consider me your loyal servant, Your Majesty.” This time she doesn’t act like I’m a princess; she’s treating me like a queen as she bobs one final curtsy and dashes toward the door.
I’m throwing off the covers, chasing after her, but I don’t know why. I only know I’m darting into the hallway and then …
Slamming to a stop.
“Hello, dear.”
“Ms. Chancellor?”
How many hours has it been since I last spoke with her? A little over a day at most. But that feels like ages ago, and now she stands before me like a ghost from another life.
“What are you … ?” I trail off, then look down the hall behind her, behind me.
I need to know what kind of tragedy is looming on the horizon now. I want to know if she knows that the Society has moles within the palace. I want to ask what Mom was looking for—what she found. But, most of all, I want her to tell me that my grandfather is okay—that she’s not here to break even more bad news.
“Grandpa?”
“He’s fine.” Ms. Chancellor eases forward. “He’s getting stronger every day.”
“Then … why are you here?” I ask.
“I came to see you.” She opens her arms, but I don’t go to her. If I let her hug me, hold me, I might cry. And if I start crying, I may never, ever stop.
Ann was right, I know. This is my path. My destiny. The one and only way out. And the sooner I make my peace with it the sooner I can grow numb.
The sooner I grow numb the sooner it will all be over.
“Grace,” Ms. Chancellor says, “are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. It’s just … I just woke up.”
“Have you spoken with Dominic?” Ms. Chancellor asks, but I can only nod. “You aren’t alone,” she tells me with a smile.
I just shake my head slowly. Right now—in this moment—it feels like she is the young one, the na?ve one, the foolish one. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I am always alone.
“What brings you by?” I ask, my voice too casual, too light. And she knows it. But she never gets to answer because that’s when Ann’s voice comes floating over my shoulder.
“She’s here to help, silly.”
I spin. “Help with what?”
“Turning you into a princess, of course.” She actually smiles when she says it. And I can’t help it: I turn to Ms. Chancellor, eyeing her, wondering if I’m the only one who sees this moment as surreal.
But Ms. Chancellor is a born diplomat. If she notices anything amiss, she doesn’t show it. Her brown eyes twinkle as she says, “Her Highness was kind enough to include me in today’s fun.”
Fun? Ms. Chancellor knows me well. I don’t even have to say the word aloud.
“Now, Gracie …”
As soon as Ann uses my nickname I want to scream. I want to claw. But Ms. Chancellor shakes her head, a gesture so slight that only someone who knows her well would see it.
“I just live here now,” I say. “I won’t have to be a princess for a long time.”
“Oh, but we have to start building you now,” the princess says.
“Building me how?”
“Your perception. Your persona. Your personal style. If in a few years, people are to believe that the prince has fallen for you, then we will need you to be a bit more polished.” She looks from my bare feet to the top of my bedhead and I want to recoil. This woman doesn’t have the right to judge me. If anything, this woman should fear me.
“It will be fine, Grace. Parts might even be a little fun. That’s why I’m here. To help you get ready for the party,” Ms. Chancellor says.
And this stops me.