One of the footmen fanned the cards back and forth, shuffling them, then began to deal. Beatrice remembered her father saying that with fifty-two cards in a deck, there were over three hundred million possibilities for a hand of poker. With some trepidation, she studied her cards.
It wasn’t so bad: an ace and a nine.
The dealer flipped over three of the center cards, and Beatrice’s heart skipped. An ace, a seven, and another nine. Luck was on her side tonight. She had two pairs already: aces and nines.
“We can call off the bet now, if you’re having second thoughts,” Dmitri said, watching her expression.
Beatrice slid her cards carefully onto the green baize of the table. “No.”
Juan Pablo, the King of Spain, was clutching a cigar; smoke gathered overhead, casting the room in a dim haze. Conversations and gossip fell silent. Beatrice was suddenly aware of even the quietest background noise: waves lapping against the side of the yacht, the hum of the electricity.
The dealer flipped over the fourth card. It was a king.
“Shall we up the stakes?” Dmitri suggested. A low murmur swept around the table, like wind rushing through leaves.
“How so?” Beatrice asked coolly.
“If I win, you ask your Congress to eliminate the taxes on Russian companies operating in America.”
Beatrice glanced back at her cards, rapidly calculating the odds. Unless he had a pair of kings, which was highly improbable, there was no chance his hand could beat hers. He had to be bluffing.
Yet his features were stern, revealing nothing. She imagined this must have been what his ancestors looked like when they mounted their armored horses and rode into battle—resolute, emotionless, impassive.
Well, her ancestors had gone to war, too. She could be every inch as tough and unreadable as he was.
“Then, if I win, you need to help me get more votes for the climate accord.”
“I already promised you my vote.”
“That’s not enough. I want you to help me drum up support. Become the climate accord’s greatest champion.”
Dmitri grinned and looked out over the room. “As you can see, we have a bit of a wager going. In the event Queen Beatrice wins, will you all agree to vote for her climate accord?” He laughed in a way that managed to convey how deeply unlikely he considered Beatrice’s victory.
Some of the observers pursed their lips, clearly reluctant to promise their support, but some—enough—nodded or cheered in agreement.
The footman flipped over the final card in the center of the table. It was another ace.
Dmitri let out a cry of excitement and threw down his cards. “You’d better polish that tiara,” he exclaimed as the other monarchs burst into raucous shouts.
Beatrice blinked, stunned. He’d had a pair of kings after all.
“Full house.” He swept a stack of chips, which they hadn’t even gambled on, forward in his eagerness.
“You’re right. You do have a full house,” Beatrice said slowly. “But so do I.”
She set her cards down and watched as Dmitri registered what had happened. He had a full house of kings, but Beatrice had a full house of aces, and in poker, aces counted higher.
He stared at her cards for a moment, shocked, then tipped his head back and laughed uproariously.
“Only in poker can anything outrank a king! Well done, Beatrice. I mean—Your Majesty.”
Beatrice smiled, gratified. “So you’ll vote for my climate accord?”
“Of course I will, and I’ll make sure everyone here does as well. I gave you my word, and a Romanov always keeps his word,” he said gruffly.
Beatrice watched Dmitri disappear into the crowd, accepting condolences and commentary on the game. Her body was coursing with adrenaline, as if she’d just completed some impossible task, scaling Everest or running a marathon.
“That was amazing,” Louise exclaimed.
Sam pulled Beatrice into a tight hug. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been so proud of you! That was an epic display of girl power—like nineties-girl-group-level girl power! It makes me want to put on a glittery wig and belt out pop songs.”
“We can go sing in the karaoke room, if you want,” Alexei offered. He turned to Beatrice. “That was impressive. I’ve been gambling against my father for years, and I’ve never beat him.”
Then Sirivannavari was high-fiving her, and Bharat was twining glow necklaces around her neck, and they were all heading down the hall.
“You have a karaoke room on your yacht?” Sam was asking.
“Well, it’s also a golf simulator,” Alexei said, as if that made the whole thing more reasonable. “You can use it for any sport, really. A tennis simulator, or skiing…”
Beatrice smiled and let herself be swept along with the group. She felt giddy, unstoppable. She had gone up against monarchs far older and more experienced, and she had prevailed.
Maybe she was starting to get the hang of this queen thing after all.
The world must be turning upside down. There was no other explanation for the fact that Nina was pulling into the Deightons’ driveway: venturing deep into enemy territory, straight into the lion’s den. A month ago, if you’d told her that she would come to Daphne’s house, Nina would have laughed in your face.
Before she could ring the bell, the door swung open.
“Nina. Hey.” Daphne sounded like she’d almost expected her to cancel. Nina had certainly considered it.
When they reached Daphne’s bedroom, she glanced around with anthropological curiosity. She’d expected something bland and traditional, but the room was full of surprises: a wooden desk that Nina recognized from a chain store because she had the exact same one; a lamp with a pebbled surface that looked vintage and somehow mermaidish. Three of the walls were white, but the fourth was a dusky blue-gray accent wall, its lines just uneven enough to suggest that Daphne had painted it herself.
On the bedside table, in the place of reverence where most girls kept their phones, Daphne had a stack of books. Nina saw one of the Kingmaker novels, a paperback thriller—which surprised her—and a copy of Middlemarch, which didn’t.
Then she registered her own thoughts and wondered when she’d developed an opinion on Daphne’s taste in literature.
Daphne gestured toward the armchair. But Nina decided to provoke Daphne, just a little, by plopping onto the bed instead, pulling one of the fluffy pillows into her lap. Daphne hesitated, then took the chair.
“I remember that trip.” Nina nodded at a photo on the bedside table, of Daphne and Jeff on the ski slopes. Actually, she felt like she’d seen the picture recently. Daphne had probably posted it as a #tbt or something.