When she was with Connor, she’d been all girl, and not enough of a queen. Then Teddy had come along and made her feel like she could be both at once. He didn’t just love “off-duty” Beatrice, in the brief snatches of time when she felt like an ordinary person; he loved her all the time, even when she was queen. Connor had loved her in spite of her position, whereas Teddy loved her in a way that made her feel more secure in that position.
Yet somehow Beatrice had still let the Crown come between her and Teddy.
She wondered how her parents had done it. Though, as unfair as the situation was, things had probably been easier for her mom, since there was a precedent for queens consort. Whereas Teddy didn’t have a clear role in her life.
And now Samantha was riding off into the sunset with Marshall, ignoring the demands of the Crown altogether. Beatrice realized that no matter what her fellow monarchs might say, Sam’s decision wasn’t weak at all. It showed powerful self-determination and courage. Sometime in the past year, Sam had forged herself into a woman to be reckoned with—a woman who knew her own mind.
Maybe Beatrice should take a page from Sam’s book and go all in on her own relationship.
She wasn’t about to renounce her title and run away to Hawaii, but she knew, suddenly, that she should fight for Teddy. Beatrice’s heart sank as she recalled the desolate look in his eyes when he’d kissed her on her brow and said goodbye. Increasing the distance between them wouldn’t solve things; it would only push them further apart.
All she wanted was to be with him. Sitting next to him, lying alongside him, her arms wrapped around his chest, their breaths intermingling. He was her anchor amid the storm, the only solid thing she could cling to in this whirlwind of a world.
Beatrice set down her sister’s letter, leaving it neatly folded next to the tiara, then hurried into the hall and down the stairs.
There were a few bedraggled partygoers spilling onto the path that led to the guest cottages. When the valets saw Beatrice emerge through the main doors—still wearing her gown and heels, not even clutching a purse—they glanced at one another in confusion. “Your Majesty, can we help you?”
She felt like a character from a movie making a sweeping romantic gesture as she said, “I need a car, now. We have to reach the airport before Lord Eaton’s plane takes off.”
To her relief, a Revere Guard stepped away from the front steps and nodded toward one of the sedans. “I’ll drive, Your Majesty.”
The ferry ride was torture. Beatrice kept staring from her phone screen to the tinted window, counting the minutes, hoping she would make it in time. Finally they were on the mainland and cruising along the freeway toward the private airstrip.
“Are we close?” she asked the Guard, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window.
“Less than ten minutes, Your Majesty.”
A fresh wave of optimism washed over Beatrice. It would all be okay, once she saw Teddy. He would take one look at her expression and know what she was thinking, the way he always did. He would pull her into his arms, tell her that he loved her and that of course she hadn’t lost him.
The crash happened in the blink of an eye.
One minute they were driving, the surroundings passing in an indistinguishable blur of coastline, and the next moment there was the violent thud of impact, the screeching of tires, the shattering of glass. The world lurched sickeningly upside down, and Beatrice hurt—
Then everything went dark.
Sam and Marshall walked down the sidewalk of the beach town hand in hand, inhaling the salt air and the morning sunshine. Palm trees swayed against the blue sky overhead. The stores they strolled past—painted in bright colors, with open porches and handwritten chalkboard signs—were just throwing open their doors. Only a few cars wound slowly along the streets; everyone was walking or riding a bike, children in pigtails and shorts racing each other to school.
Sam had on wraparound sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat over her hair, which was still half-curled and crunchy with hairspray from last night’s event. It was surreal, to think that just twelve hours ago she’d been at the League of Kings final banquet, and now they were here.
Once she’d left her note for Beatrice, Sam had tossed a few things haphazardly into her weekend bag and started off. She wanted to leave quickly, before anything happened to make her or Marshall lose their nerve.
She’d gone straight to Aunt Margaret—who was, unsurprisingly, one of the last people lingering out on the terrace—and drew her aside.
“I need your help,” Sam had said, cutting right to the chase. “Do you know a way that Marshall and I can get to Hawaii without anyone finding out?”
For an instant, Aunt Margaret looked shocked. Then a slow, proud grin spread over her face. “Hawaii,” she repeated. “Good for you. And, Sam…”
She’d folded her niece in a hug, squeezing her tight. “Good luck.”
Whatever strings Aunt Margaret had pulled, she’d gotten them onto a plane within the hour. Soon enough they were landing at a private airport in Hawaii and being greeted by an immigration agent, whose name tag read ben. Sam handed him her passport with a shiver of trepidation.
He looked down at it, yawning, and then his eyes shot open. He glanced at the photo, then at Sam, then at the photo again.
“Samantha Washington?” Ben asked slowly, disbelievingly. He’d used the common version of her name, no Your Royal Highness–ing, no bowing.
“Yes?”
He blinked, then began fumbling with a stack of papers in a file cabinet. “Hang on, there’s a protocol I’m supposed to follow if this ever happens, but I don’t have it memorized—I never thought it would actually— Sorry.”
When he found what he was looking for, he sucked in a breath and read aloud:
“ ‘You are aware that Hawaii maintains cordial relations with the United States of America. However, if you choose to enter these borders, you will not be greeted as a visiting dignitary. You will not be invited for a private audience with Queen Liliuokalani. You will not be granted any special treatment from the police or state department, as the Kingdom of Hawaii does not recognize diplomatic immunity for any foreign royalty. During the duration of your stay, you are subject to Hawaii’s laws and legal system.’ In other words,” Ben added, evidently going off script, “you will be treated as a private citizen, not as a princess.”
Sam marveled at the fact that enough young royals had come here that Hawaii had created an official speech for the immigration agent to give them upon arrival.
“I’m not here to break any laws,” Sam said.
“Then why are you here?”
“Um…to learn to surf?”