Page 10 of Reign
A goofy, excited grin stole over Marshall’s face. “Kai and I agreed it was the best day yet! Seriously, Sam, we’ve got to get you out there soon. I have a beginner lesson at two.”
“That’s okay. I’ll sit outside with my book. It’s going to be a gorgeous day.” Though, to be fair, it was always a gorgeous day here.
“You’re still reading that fantasy series, right?” Marshall asked. “What book are you on now, three?”
“Four! Alina just betrayed her fiancé, and Luke is getting back from his quest. And there are these mysterious prologues that I don’t know how to interpret! I keep wanting to text Nina, but…” Sam trailed off without finishing the sentence.
Before they landed in Hawaii, she and Marshall had both turned off their phones, which they had then stuffed in the back of a suitcase—and kept there, wrapped in a pair of oldsocks, as if they were bombs that might detonate. They had no idea if the palace could use their phones to track their location in Hawaii, but they weren’t taking any chances.
Sam hadn’t told Marshall about all the times she’d snuck into that closet and fished out her phone, her thumb hovering over the power button. The need to turn it on was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. If only she could text Nina and Beatrice, just to let them know she was okay.
But the moment she did that, the life she and Marshall had built could evaporate like smoke.
It was safer if Nina knew nothing. No texts, no emails, nothing that could incriminate her when the palace came asking questions, as Sam knew they would. Still, Sam’s chest ached at the silence between them. She hadn’t gone this long without talking to Nina since they were seven. It felt like half of her internal monologue had abruptly shut off.
She and Marshall headed through the doors of the only coffee shop in town. After they ordered lattes from the guy behind the counter, Sam glanced around the empty tables—and her heart skipped. An abandoned newspaper lay near someone’s empty coffee mug.
She stepped closer, and saw that it was a week-old copy of theHonolulu Star.
“Sam,” Marshall warned, momentarily forgetting her fake name, but Sam was already thumbing through the pages, which were covered in crumbs and coffee stains.
When she reached the section on world news, Sam froze. The headline was so nonsensical, it must be a mistake:Acting King Jefferson Accepts Homage from American Peers.
“You okay?” Marshall asked.
Sam stared down at the letters, willing them to rearrange themselves. “This newspaper thinks Jeff is the king,” she said slowly.
The barista set their lattes on the counter. “Acting King,” he corrected her, and shook his head. “That poor family. The number of accidents they’ve had, almost makes you wonder if they’re cursed.”
“Accidents?” Sam repeated, her voice rising. “What happened to Queen Beatrice?”
“She’s hurt or something. Who knows.” The barista spoke with complete detachment, because to him, Beatrice was just a figure from a magazine, more abstract than real. He had no interest in what happened to her.
Sam looked back down at the newspaper, which was shaking; her hands had begun to tremble. Marshall took her by the elbow and led her to a table in the far corner, their lattes abandoned. Sam felt nauseous as she continued to read:After Queen Beatrice’s car accident last month, there is still no update on her condition. Prince Jefferson has accepted recognition from the American peers in a formal ceremony of homage….
“Oh my god,” Sam heard herself say, over and over. “Oh my god, oh my god.”
Marshall looked stricken. He still had a hand on her back, tracing slow circles over her shoulder blades, but for once she hardly felt his touch. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked.
Sam lifted a tear-streaked face to his. “Marshall, this is my family! I have to be there. I can’t—I don’t—” She swallowed, turned to him, though they both already knew what she would say. “I have to go back.”
Half an hour later, Sam sat cross-legged on the bedspread, Marshall’s computer poised in her lap—because, in typical Samantha fashion, she didn’t have her own laptop with her. “Ifound a plane,” she announced. “It’s notEagle III,obviously, just some random rental plane.”
Until now, she hadn’t known that you could book private planes on the internet. Apparently all you needed was a search engine and a credit card. Except…
She frowned, distracted, and entered her credit-card information a second time.Card Not Validstill flashed across the screen. “It’s not accepting my card.”
“Your accounts are probably frozen. Here, use mine,” Marshall offered, pulling a black card from his wallet.
Sam hesitated. “What if it gives away our location to your parents?”
“It won’t. I got full control of my accounts when I turned twenty-one,” Marshall assured her.
Sam bit her lip but accepted Marshall’s credit card. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back once I figure everything out.”
Marshall glanced around their cottage, which looked like a hurricane had torn through it, beach towels and flip-flops strewn about. “Can I help you pack? My stuff’s all ready.”
Sam looked up at that, and realized his suitcase was zipped and waiting near the door. She shut his laptop and set it aside.
