Happily Ever After

He stood, and I followed him into the main hall. I wasn’t sure what to make of our late, brief date. It felt more like an interview, if I was honest. The thought made me giggle, and he looked at me.

“What’s so funny?”

I debated saying that it was nothing. I wanted him to know me, and that would eventually mean me getting past my nerves.

“Well …” I hesitated. This is how you learn about each other, Amberly. You speak. “You said you liked me … but you know nothing about me. Is that how you usually act with girls you like? Do you interrogate them?”

He rolled his eyes, not angrily but as if I should already understand. “You forget. Until very recently, I’d never—”

The sound of a door crashing open startled us out of our conversation. I recognized the queen instantly. I started to curtsy, but Clarkson pushed me sideways into another hallway.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” The king’s voice boomed across the floor.

“I refuse to talk to you when you’re like this,” the queen replied, her speech faintly slurred.

Clarkson put his arms around me, shielding me even more. But I suspected he needed the embrace more than I did.

“Your spending this month is outrageous!” the king roared. “You can’t go on like this. It’s that kind of behavior that sends this country into the hands of the rebels!”

“Oh, no, dear husband,” she replied, her voice drenched in fake sweetness. “It will send you into the hands of the rebels. And believe me—no one will miss you when it does.”

“Get back here, you conniving bitch!”

“Porter, let me go!”

“If you think you can bring me down with a handful of overpriced gowns, you are mistaken.”

There was the sound of one of them striking the other. Instantly, Clarkson let me go. He grabbed one of the door handles and turned, but it was locked. He moved to the other, and it opened. He grabbed my arm and forced me inside, shutting the door behind us.

He started pacing, gripping his hair with his hands as if he was tempted to rip it all out. He moved to the couch, grabbed a pillow, and tore it to threads. When he’d finished with that one, he moved on to a second.

He smashed a small end table.

Threw several vases against the stonework of the fireplace.

Tore the curtains.

Meanwhile, I pressed my body against the wall by the door, trying to make myself invisible. Maybe I should’ve run or gone for help. But I didn’t think I could leave him alone, not like that.

When it looked as if he’d gotten most of his anger out of his system, Clarkson remembered I was there. He stormed across the room and stopped in front of me, a finger pointing at my face. “If you ever tell anyone what you heard, or what I did, so help me, God …”

But I was shaking my head before he finished. “Clarkson …”

The angry tears glistened in his eyes as he continued. “You never let on, you understand?”

I raised my hands to his face, and he flinched. I paused and tried again, moving even slower this time. His cheeks were warm, slightly tinged with sweat.

“There’s nothing for me to tell,” I vowed.

His breathing was so fast.

“Please, sit,” I urged. He hesitated. “Just for a moment.”

He nodded.

I pulled him to a chair and settled on the floor beside him. “Put your head between your knees and breathe.”

He looked at me questioningly but obeyed. I put my hand on the back of his head, running my fingers over his hair and down his neck.

“I hate them,” he whispered. “I hate them.”

“Shhh. Try and calm down.”

He looked up. “I mean it. I hate them. When I’m king, I’m sending them away.”

“Hopefully not to the same place,” I muttered.

He took a breath. And then he laughed. It was a deep, genuine laugh, the kind you can’t stop even if you want to. So he could laugh. It was buried, that was all, hidden behind all the other things he had to feel and think and manage. He made much more sense now, and I’d never take one of his smiles for granted again. Those must be so much work for him.

“It’s a miracle they haven’t torn down the palace.” He sighed, finally calming down.

Risking his flying off the handle again, I dared a question. “Has it always been like that?”

He nodded. “Well, not so much when I was little. They can’t stand each other now, though. I’ve never figured out where it came from. They’re both faithful. Or, if they’re having affairs, they’re doing an excellent job of hiding them. They have everything they need, and my grandma told me they used to be very much in love. It makes no sense.”

“It’s a hard position to be in. Theirs. Yours. Maybe it just wore on them,” I offered.

“So that’s it, then? I’m going to be him, my wife will be her, and we’ll eventually implode?”

I reached up and put my hand on his face again. He didn’t flinch this time. Instead, he leaned into my touch. Though his eyes were still marked with worry, he did seem to be soothed by it.

“No. You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be. You like order? Then plan, prepare. Imagine the king, husband, and father you want to be, and do whatever it takes to get there.”

He looked at me, almost with pity. “It’s adorable that you think that’s all it takes.”

(#ulink_97379ed4-3134-51f6-ab15-41028ef9c713)

I’D NEVER HAD A PHYSICAL before. I realized that if I did become princess, they would probably become a regular part of my life, and that horrified me.

Dr. Mission was kind and patient, but I was still uncomfortable letting a stranger see me naked. He took my blood, did numerous X-rays, and poked at me all over, looking for anything that might be amiss.

I felt exhausted when I left. Of course, I hadn’t slept well, and that didn’t help. Prince Clarkson had left me at my door with a kiss on my hand. And between being elated over the touch and worried about how he was feeling, it took me forever to fall asleep.

I walked into the Women’s Room, a little nervous to look Queen Abby in the eye. I worried that she might have a visible mark on her somewhere. Of course, she could have been the one who hit the king. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

But I was positive I didn’t want anyone else to.

She wasn’t there, so I moved to sit with Madeline and Bianca.