“I’m sick of pretending. There’s too much pretending in my family as it is.”

Daphne’s ears pricked up at that. She tried not to sound too eager as she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Everyone keeps pretending that they’re fine when they’re not,” Samantha said helplessly. “We’re all smiling and waving for the cameras, planning this enormous fairy-tale wedding as if it can somehow make everyone forget we had a funeral earlier this year. My mom is pretending that nothing bad ever happened to us, and I’m pretending with Marshall, and Beatrice is pretending most of all! She doesn’t even love Teddy; she loves—”

Samantha broke off, shaking her head. “I just don’t see the point. Why are we trying to convince everyone that things are great, when they so obviously aren’t?”

Daphne’s mind was whirling. What had Samantha meant, when she said she was pretending with Marshall? Did she not actually like him? But what other reason could she have for dating him?

She realized that Samantha was still staring at her expectantly, and hurried to reply. “The monarchy is all about pretending. When the world feels like it’s falling apart, your family is supposed to paper over the cracks, and reassure people that it isn’t.”

Samantha seemed almost sad as she replied, “It sounds impossible.”

“Exactly. That’s why being a princess is so hard,” Daphne said reasonably. “If it were easy, everyone would do it.”

* * *

The next day when the final bell rang, Daphne didn’t follow the stream of students out into the parking lot. She waited for a few minutes, then turned into the alley—the narrow strip of grass between the campus of St. Ursula’s and its brother school, Forsythe. She and Himari used to come out here during their study hall sometimes, when they were supposed to be in the library doing homework. But it was so much more fun sneaking out to watch the boys’ sports practice instead.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind her, and Daphne’s blood spiked with adrenaline. She whirled around to see Ethan coming toward her.

“Ethan,” she said gratefully, “I’m so glad you wanted to meet up. You’ll never believe what happened.”

“You mean, how you completely betrayed me?”

Just as she’d suspected, he knew what she’d done. Daphne hesitated, then forged ahead, her voice threaded with fear. “Listen—Himari remembered everything. Now she hates me. She accused me of trying to kill her!”

She waited for Ethan to tell her that it was okay, that they would figure out how to handle Himari, together. But his features were as unreadable as stone.

“Daphne—I don’t care what’s going on with Himari,” he told her. “I texted you because I want to know why the hell you tipped off a reporter about me and Nina. Don’t bother denying it,” he added swiftly.

Daphne took a step closer to the protective shelter of the building, angling herself behind a massive blue recycling bin, even though no one was around. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” she offered. “On the bright side, now you can call off the whole thing.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to keep pretending to like Nina.” She shuddered. “I’m impressed you were able to keep it going for as long as you did. Don’t worry, I consider your end of the bargain fully complete.”

Ethan stared at her blankly. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” she assured him. “I’m a woman of my word. It might take a while, but I’ll make sure you get your title.” She paused, tilting her head in consideration. “Maybe one of the vacant ones from the Edwardian era, like Earl of Tanglewood?”

Ethan just stared at her, shaking his head slowly. He’d stuffed his hands into his jeans, but Daphne could see that inside the pockets they were curled into fists. “You’re unbelievable.”

Her mouth went dry. “I don’t—”

“You honestly thought I was angry because I was worried about our stupid bargain?” he asked. “My best friend won’t speak to me!”

Neither will mine, Daphne thought, shoving aside her sudden guilt. “I’m sorry that Jefferson is angry with you, but it had to be done.”

“Oh, ‘it had to be done’?” he repeated. “Daphne, some of us actually want to keep our best friends, not push them down staircases!”

That was a low blow. But of course Ethan knew exactly how to hurt her, because he knew her so well. Because he was just as dishonorable and selfish and ruthless as she was. Which was why he would understand, eventually. He would have done the exact same thing if their circumstances were reversed.

“Jefferson will come around, I swear,” she said earnestly. “Especially after you break up with Nina.”

Daphne had known, when she’d planted that story with Natasha, that it would drive the prince and his best friend apart. The best plans always left the most damage in their wake.

She hadn’t wanted to hurt Ethan, but what other option did she have? And it wouldn’t be forever. Later—after Jefferson had asked her to the wedding, when she was more secure in her position—she would make it right, and convince Jefferson to forgive Ethan. She could convince Jefferson of anything, once they were back together.

Eventually, when they were all friends again, Ethan would see that she’d done what was best for both of them. Things between her and Ethan would be just like before: the two of them scheming and social climbing in tandem, looking out for each other’s interests. Except this time, she would be a princess and Ethan an earl. This time, they would have real power to wield.

She looked up at Ethan, but he was staring at her with evident disgust. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said heavily. “Unlike you, Nina is a good person.”

“What are you saying?” Daphne demanded, over the strange twisting in her gut.

“I’m saying that I won’t hurt Nina just because you want me to.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I realize this may come as a shock, given that the rest of America is always telling you how spectacular you are, but not everything is about you.”

Daphne stumbled back a step. Her heel caught on the gravel, sending pebbles flying every which way. Ethan instinctively held out a hand, steadying her.

She brushed him aside, trying to regain some semblance of her dignity.

“Of course it’s about me. I asked you to date her in the first place,” she reminded him.

They both flinched at the sound of a door opening, but it was just a custodian setting a bag of garbage outside the opposite door. Music blared from his headphones, and he didn’t even notice them.

When the door shut behind him again, Ethan sighed. “I can’t handle your games anymore, Daphne. You never play fair.”

“I play to win.” The words were a reflex, spoken with half a thought.

Ordinarily Ethan might have smiled at that. But now he just looked at her steadily, his dark eyes heavy with fatigue—and resentment.

“Whatever you’re planning, leave me out of it.”

They stood there for a long moment, their heartbeats chasing each other.

“Fine, then. You can get your title from someone else,” Daphne declared.

Her head held high, she walked away from Ethan as serenely as if she were leaving a palace reception. It wasn’t until she was back in the parking lot that Daphne let her steps slow, then slumped wearily against her car door.

It didn’t matter; she could do this on her own. She didn’t need Ethan.

She was Daphne Deighton, and she had never needed anyone except herself.

“Jeff?” Sam called out, as she walked around the palace’s garage. She’d checked her brother’s bedroom first, but when he wasn’t there, she’d asked Caleb to radio Jeff’s Guard, Matt, and find out where he’d gone. She’d been surprised to learn he was shooting hoops at the old basketball net their dad had installed when they were kids.

The sky was a cloudless blue, the air bright with the promise of summer. Sam pulled her sunglasses lower over her face. Up ahead, she heard the steady thump of the ball against the pavement. She turned the corner, and paused when she saw that Jeff wasn’t playing against Matt, as she’d thought.

Marshall was with him.

Oblivious to her presence, the two of them kept good-naturedly heckling each other. It seemed like they’d known each other for most of their lives, instead of a matter of weeks.

Sam watched as Marshall feinted to his left, then broke away past Jeff. He sprinted forward, hurling the ball toward the basket—just as he noticed her, standing in the shade of the garage.

Ever since their pool photos, Sam and Marshall had followed the palace’s decree and escalated their relationship: going out on public dates, attending a series of cocktail parties and receptions. Sam was desperate to know what he really thought about all this, but he treated her with the same easygoing irreverence as ever. He made her laugh, held her hand when reporters took photos of them—and that was it.