Page 27 of American Royals II: Majesty
Himari reached into the gift basket for a box of chocolate truffles and popped one into her mouth, then passed Daphne the box. “Tell me the whole story, from the beginning.”
Samantha walked down the palace hallway with willfully slow steps. She trailed her fingers over every tapestry, scuffed her feet on the carpets, the way she’d seen children do when their parents dragged them on a palace tour. She felt maddeningly like a child right now, receiving a summons to meet with Lord Robert Standish.
She’d only been to Robert’s office twice before. Once a few years ago, when that paparazzo got the infamous photo of her skirt riding up. And then last spring she’d been called there with Jeff, after Himari Mariko fell down the stairs at their graduation party.
Neither occasion had been especially pleasant.
The Lord Chamberlain worked on the second floor, just outside Beatrice’s study—so that he could monitor the queen’s visitors, a bright-eyed Cerberus guarding her time. Sam was grateful to see that her sister’s door was firmly shut. She’d done a fantastic job avoiding Beatrice for the past couple of weeks, and had no intention of stopping now.
She knocked at the chamberlain’s door, then reluctantly slipped inside to take a seat.
Robert was seated at his desk, dressed as usual in a charcoal-colored suit. It was the only thing Sam had ever seen him wear. She’d occasionally caught herself wondering whether he ever took it off, or maybe his closet was simply full of them, dozens of matching gray pants and jackets lined up in tidy little rows.
She made an impatient noise, but Robert didn’t look up. He kept on typing, as if to punish her for her tardiness.
Perched on his desk was an arrangement of red roses, along with golden daylilies and blue delphiniums. The whole thing was disgustingly patriotic. Sam reached up to pluck one of the flowers, rolling it back and forth. It was as dusky blue as a midsummer sky, as Teddy’s eyes.
She crushed it between her fingers, then let it fall to the floor.
“You’re nineteen minutes late,” Robert said at last. Sam found it strangely irritating that he’d saidnineteeninstead oftwenty.He shook his head with a resigned sigh. “Your Royal Highness, I set this meeting so that we could discuss your new responsibilities as first in line for the throne.”
“There’s no need for me to go through all the training that Beatrice did,” Sam said automatically. “It’s not like I’m ever going torule.”
This—being first in line for the throne—was the highest Sam would ever rank. Once Beatrice had children, the entire family would engage in a silent game of musical chairs, bumping everyone down a spot in the order of succession. The more kids Beatrice had, the more obsolete Sam would become.
EvenTeddyhad upgraded to Beatrice, the instant he’d gotten a chance.
“I’m certainly not suggesting that you prepare to bequeen.Beatrice isn’t going anywhere.” Robert was clearly so appalled by the suggestion that he was startled into omitting her title, for once.
“Good, then we agree.” Sam rose to her feet. “There’s no need to waste your time preparing me for a role I will never fill. Especially when neither of us wants to be here.”
“Sit down,” Robert snapped, and Sam sank sullenly back into her chair. “We aren’t here to train you as a future monarch. Besides, the only person qualified for that sort of preparation is Her Majesty herself.” Robert was the type of person who saidYour Majestyas if the title belonged to him, or at least as if it lent him a secondhand glamour.
“Then why are we here?” Sam demanded.
“Our discussion today will focus on your new role as heir to the throne. You are a representative of the Crown now.”
“But…wasn’t I always?”
Robert’s sneer deepened at her ignorance. “As princess, you were a representative of your family. But now you are the heir apparent—the queen’s next in line, should anything go wrong. You havelevel-one security clearance.” He gestured to the alarm on the wall. It was one of many scattered throughout the palace, all of them protected by biosecurity, so only a handful of people could activate them. A handful of people that now included Sam.
“I’ll expect you to carry out the same schedule of social engagements that Her Majesty used to fulfill as the heir,” Robert went on. “Including the Royal Derby, the queen’s garden parties, the US Open—tennisandgolf—the Baltimore Flower Show, the Chelsea Art Fair, the Fourth of July celebrations, hospital benefits, and, of course, anything related to the military.”
At first Sam thought he’d merely paused, that he would keep on listing events until either she interrupted or he went hoarse. But the chamberlain only looked at her in unmistakable challenge.
“Well, if that’s all,” she said, with forced lightness.
“It’s a hundred and eighty events per year.” When he saw her eyes widen, Robert nodded. “Which is why we have a great deal of work to do to make you into a princess.”
Sam’s face went hot. “Iama princess,” she reminded him.
Robert spoke slowly. He clearly relished this opportunity to show how little he thought of her. “My apologies, Your Royal Highness. I meant that you need to startbehavinglike one.”
Sam hid the sting of hurt she felt at his words. She thought of all those hours she and her siblings had spent in the downstairs drawing room with their etiquette master. He’d droned on about how to greet visiting dignitaries, and the varying depths of a curtsy, and the order of precedence in every aristocratic house, because god forbid she insult someone by addressing a junior family member before a senior one. Beatrice, of course, had nodded with childish seriousness and taken notes. Even Jeff had paid halfhearted attention. While Sam had spent the entire time staring out the window, daydreaming.
Eventually the king and queen had given up, and let Sam run wild. She was simply too much effort to teach.
“With Her Majesty’s upcoming wedding, your family will be under more scrutiny than ever before.” Robert tilted his head, considering her. “You’ll need an escort, of course, as the maid of honor. I’ll find someone suitable.”
