Page 79 of American Royals
“What for?” Sam asked cautiously.
“Wedding prep. Come on.” Adelaide turned on one heel and led her daughter along the hallway, then down multiple flights of stairs. Sam’s fishtail braid swung back and forth like a pendulum with their steps.
Wedding prep. Last night, Beatrice had announced the news of the engagement to the gathered family—with Teddy at her side, of course. There had been a lot of hugging and champagne and planning of a full-court engagement party, all of which had made Sam feel slightly ill.
When they stepped into the hallway that led beneath the palace, Sam almost halted in her tracks. “We’re going to the vault?”
The queen cast her a puzzled glance. “Is something wrong? Usually you can’t wait for an excuse to come down here.”
While the Crown Jewels technically belonged to the state, the right to borrow them was granted only at the discretion of the monarch, which meant that right now, the only people with access were the queen, the princesses, and the Queen Mother—and, occasionally, Aunt Margaret and Aunt Evelyn. They usually scheduled a visit before each black-tie event, to coordinate which jewels each of them would wear. Sometimes the queen would bring her favorite dress designer along, so that he could make a gown specifically to showcase a particular item of jewelry.
They were probably here to pick out their jewels for Beatrice and Teddy’s big party. Another occasion to celebrate Beatrice, Sam thought dully. What else was new.
She wondered what her mom thought about Beatrice’s lightning-fast engagement. Maybe she was the one who’d pressured Beatrice into it.
“I can’t believe the news about Teddy and Beatrice,” Sam began, testing the waters. “Don’t you think it feels a little fast?”
The queen shrugged. “When you know, you know. I knew that your father was the one by the end of our third date.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow skeptically, but her mom wasn’t finished. “Beatrice clearly felt certain enough in her choice that she didn’t need to wait any longer. She’s always been sure of what she wanted.” Unlike you was the silent implication.
“I guess so,” Sam muttered, unconvinced. It was easy to be decisive when all you did was obey your parents’ orders.
They stepped into a shadowed underground hallway. The air was especially cold down here; Sam hugged herself, trying not to shiver in her thin black sweater. A pair of security guards stood to either side of a heavy metal door.
The queen pressed her palm to a biosecurity panel and the door swung inward, revealing that it was almost a meter thick. Sam followed her mom inside, feeling her spirits lift a little in spite of everything.
The room blossomed to life as display tables lit up one by one. Behind the glass panes, against a backdrop of black velvet, gleamed gold and ivory and countless jewels. Sam knew for a fact that nothing down here was insured, because how could anyone begin to assign a financial value to these items? They were all utterly priceless.
This was far and away the most lucrative part of the palace’s tourism revenue: the “Crown Jewels Experience” cost an additional ten dollars per ticket, which almost everyone paid. In the crowded summer months, the entry line snaked around the hallway for hours.
Sam wandered past the first case, the one containing all the ceremonial regalia: the Great Scepter, the Orb of State, the Hand of Justice. Farther along was a collection of delicate porcelain wedding-cake boxes that, remarkably, still contained a slice of cake from every royal wedding. The fondant was solid as a brick by now.
She paused at the crowns and tiaras. There were almost a dozen of them, some heavy and masculine, others delicate and filigreed, including a few child-sized coronets for the Princes and Princesses Royal. Through the first hundred years of America’s history, the kings and queens had commissioned their own crowns for each coronation, until the expense was eventually deemed too great.
Grandest of all was the Imperial State Crown, the one that had been used for every coronation since that of King George III. It glittered all over with stones—at the center was a massive hundred-carat ruby called Heart’s Blood, stolen in the Spanish-American War—and a set of pearls that was said to be from Queen Martha’s necklace.
Sam’s memories of her father’s coronation were hazy; her grandfather King Edward III had died so suddenly. No one had expected George to assume the throne for another twenty years at least.
She remembered the look on her father’s face as he recited the words of the coronation oath: “I swear to you that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service, and to the service of this great nation to which we all belong.”
“Who is he talking to?” she’d whispered to ten-year-old Beatrice, who’d stood next to her, looking awed and maybe a little fearful. But then, Beatrice had known that she was up next.
“Everyone. America,” Beatrice answered.
Sam watched, breathless, as her father reached for the enormous gleaming crown and placed it upon his head.
In other countries, kings and queens were crowned in churches, by priests. But this was America, where the state was the state, with no involvement from any religious entity. Here the monarchs crowned themselves.
“Your Majesty. Thank you so much for making the time,” she heard Teddy say as he walked through the door and into the vault. He started to bow to the queen, who brushed the motion aside and pulled him in for a hug.
“We’re so thrilled for you both,” Queen Adelaide murmured. Sam rolled her eyes.
Teddy stopped short when he noticed Sam. “Samantha. I didn’t know—I mean, I hadn’t expected you to join us.”
The queen’s phone buzzed, and she glanced down at her screen with a frown. “I have to take this,” she said with a resigned sigh. “Why don’t you two get started without me?”
Get started? Sam felt her chest seize in panic. Were they really here to pick out Beatrice’s engagement ring?
