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And, robustly, he announces, “Verity Sinclaire!”

Well, clearly I’ve gone crazy. Auditory hallucinations? I should really ask Sy about that tomorrow.

If it weren’t for the way everyone looks around, expectant and stunned, I might even go on believing that. Through the rising volume of cellos and clarinets, the realization grips me like a fist around my lungs.

Beside me, Gina turns, regarding me with slack-faced awe. “It’s you. You’re the Princess.”

Me?

It’s me.

All I can wonder is if they see the stain on my dress.

It takes a long time until I can get my limbs to work, frozen so stiff that my joints begin aching. With rusty joints, I lift my hand to remove my mask, looking around me at the shocked faces and confused stares.

It doesn’t happen all at once.

The first one to clap is an older man lingering at the front, his hands a blur as he frantically applauds. “Welcome home, Princess!” he cheers, and beside him, another man does the same, their mouths pulling into wide, exuberant grins.

The second round of cheers comes from the rest of the men, glasses raised jubilantly into the air. “Welcome home!” they all echo. “Our Princess!”

It’s only then that the confetti happens.

I’m not expecting it, even though it seems everyone else has a pocket of the stuff. Glittery gold is shot into the air, only to rain down on me, the rest of the attendees joining in the celebration.

And the thing is…

None of them lookmad.

All that injustice and anger I felt when the Princes had been announced is absent in all of their faces. One by one, their masks fall off, and they’re simply…

Smiling.

That must be why I smile back, laughing as another shower of golden confetti hits me. All around me, people are clapping, cheering, and when I’m swept up by two of the burlier PNZ members and hoisted on their shoulders, my squeal isn’t even born of panic.

I’mflying.

Hands reach out to touch me as the men carry me to the front, whooping loudly, and all I can do is reach back, grazing their fingers with my own. As I look down into their adoring eyes, I suddenly understand everything.

I get what it’s like to be Royal.

To be special.

To be wanted.

I’m so drunk on it, full to the brim of astonished joy, that it’s easy–so easy–to forget what it all means.

Until I’m carried straight through the doors.

As soon asthe doors close behind us, the cheers are gone.

I’m panting with exertion, still perched on the shoulders of two masked men as they walk me down a corridor, and it’s a shamefully long length of time before I hear the footfalls behind us. Twisting my neck, I see them.

Pace, Lex, Whitaker.

And Ashby.

Their eyes are all fixed straight ahead, none of them deigning to award me with a glance as I’m taken to a large set of wooden doors. Once there, one of the PNZ members performs some sort of intricate knock. After it swings open, the men ducking to carry me through, I regret not memorizing it.