Some Queen’s Champion, eager to kick her off the throne.
From his pleased smirk, Beatrice had the sickening realization that Madison had gotten the votes. His bill to remove her would pass. She wished she could do something, go make a speech or lobby more supporters or, better yet, slap the duke across his selfish face, but of course she couldn’t. She had to just keep on smiling and exchanging pleasantries as if her life weren’t about to be wrenched apart, her future decided by a Congress that had shown no love for her family lately.
A chime echoed through the room, and everyone began to take their seats for dinner. Beatrice started toward the head of the table—even at someone else’s wedding, the monarch presided over the meal—but paused when she saw Anna Ramirez.
“Your Majesty!” The Duchess of Texas came forward eagerly, lowering her voice. “I have news.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve done a little straw poll leading up to next month’s vote, and you’re in the clear. Apparently you’ve done quite a bit of campaigning lately,” the duchess added approvingly.
Beatrice’s heart picked up speed. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be. The Dukes of Roanoke and Montana have both been advocating for you, and did you know the Duke of Orange has quietly lobbied on your behalf, too?”
Marshall’s grandfather? Beatrice never would have guessed. Perhaps he regretted coauthoring the bill that had stripped Sam of her HRH.
“I don’t think Madison knows,” Beatrice murmured.
Both women stared across the room at the duke, who was taking a large swig of red wine.
“I doubt he’s figured it out yet,” Anna said faintly. She smiled at Beatrice. “Congratulations, Your Majesty.”
Beatrice looked down the table at Teddy, who was seated, per protocol, nearly as far from her as possible. Feeling her gaze on him, he glanced up.
I won, she mouthed. His eyes widened in excitement, and he grinned.
Suddenly, Beatrice felt knocked off-center by a longing that was new and familiar all at once.
Heart beating with relief and something else—adrenaline, or maybe nervousness—she took her seat. White-gloved footmen sailed forward with the first course, a butternut squash soup with toasted almonds.
Was it possible to fall in love with someone a second time? Well, why not? It wasn’t any more impossible than any other impossible thing in this wild, unpredictable world.
How strange to think that when she’d woken up from her accident, she’d been baffled by Teddy’s presence in her life. They had spent so much time together these past weeks that his habits all felt familiar to her: The way he ended every text message with a period, which made him sound angry, though he so rarely was. That faded college T-shirt he wore, insisting it was lucky. The smile he sometimes cast her way, which made her insides go unexpectedly warm.
As the dinner progressed, people began rising from their seats to say a few words about Daphne and Jeff. Beatrice wasn’t able to make any remarks herself—it was frowned upon for the reigning monarch to participate—but she loved listening to Jeff’s high school friends, and especially Sam. They took a quick break before dessert, and she looked across the table to Teddy. When they made eye contact, she pushed back from the table and headed out into the hall.
He followed her out a moment later and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her into a hug. Beatrice let out a very unqueenlike sound that was a squeal and a yelp of laughter all at once.
“Bee! I’m so proud of you! Tell me everything,” he exclaimed, once he’d stepped around to face her. “The Duchess of Texas figured it out?”
Beatrice nodded. “She’s been asking around, and realized I have enough votes.”
“Congratulations,” Teddy said warmly.
She had done it. Even without getting her memories back, she’d defended her throne. Her position was safe.
So why did she still feel a lingering sense that something was out of place?
Teddy watched her expression, his own smile faltering. “What is it?”
In answer, she reached for his hand. She didn’t even register at first that her fingers had laced instinctively in his. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
At the end of the hallway, Beatrice tugged him into one of the smaller, less utilized staterooms. She flicked on the lights and started toward an enormous painting of a turkey flying through the sky.
“We’re looking at this turkey?” Teddy asked, puzzled.
The turkey’s wings were stretched out proudly, its feathers a brilliant array of reds, oranges, and golds. And even though the painting made no sense, there was something unexpectedly charming about the determined expression on the bird’s face.
“King Benjamin painted this.” She pointed to the signature in the bottom corner of the canvas. Two letters, BR for Benjamin Rex. The same monogram as hers.
Teddy’s brow furrowed. “Is it a Thanksgiving painting?”
“It’s meant as commentary on political symbolism. Because Ben Franklin wanted the turkey to be our national bird, and he got outvoted by the other Founding Fathers—but that’s not the point. The point is that King Benjamin painted it at all.” Beatrice had learned all of this from the book Samantha had insisted she read. “Benjamin became obsessed with painting after his riding accident.”
“What riding accident?”
“He fell off his horse in 1885 and was in a coma for weeks. When he woke, he’d forgotten the past few years.”
“What?” Now Teddy was starting to understand. “Oh my god, Bee, that’s…”
“Just like my accident,” she agreed. “When he recovered, Benjamin was different. He was missing memories, just like I am, but he also wanted to be an artist.”
Teddy stared at her, waiting for her to continue.
“I asked Dr. Jacobs about it. Apparently the brain is a very resilient organ. If you injure part of it, the brain will try to rebuild its pathways in the undamaged tissue, which means your neurological wiring fundamentally changes. For instance, you might suddenly consider yourself an artist when you’ve never cared about art in your entire life.”
“This happened in 1885?” Teddy asked, and Beatrice saw him doing the math in his head. “Benjamin ruled another twenty years.”
“And he painted the whole time. He did over a hundred works. The rest of them are all stored in the archives.” Beatrice fought to keep a straight face. “This was the only one they could hang in the palace, because the others are…not suitable for public consumption.”