Page 10

TEN

ROSE

When I ask Danni Blythe to take a walk with me, her face is knowing as she nods. I’m not sure if she suspects my intentions—to grill her about Molly, mostly—or if she’s simply grateful to escape Harriet’s play-by-play explanation of the game. The world’s most uncharismatic commentator.

Harriet and Florence both watch me closely as Danni and I stand up, but I’m careful not to meet either of their eyes, lest I give them the impression I’m inviting them to meet me elsewhere. It’s long been a tradition of ours to slip away from school games, Eleanor and Molly included, to meet in the nearby woods and smoke.

Harriet and Florence in particular were aggrieved when I told the group I would be partaking in no such activities in the future. Although both Bramppath and Ashford have introduced a zero-tolerance policy toward drug and alcohol use this year in response to Oscar’s death, the new policy clearly wasn’t enough to discourage my friends. So, I blamed the press, explaining that if I’m caught partaking at school, my situation will become ever-more precarious, but in truth it’s only half that. The other half is that I promised Molly at Oscar’s funeral that I would change.

Even if it’s a promise I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep for long.

With Sidney following behind us, we descend the stairs. Danni has an iron grip on the handrail, I’m pleased to note. My back is still smarting from the last time I saved her life.

“What are you taking me to do, exactly?” she asks, as we head in the direction of the woods. They’re still technically part of the college grounds, though they’re rarely occupied.

“Escape the game.”

She snorts. “Gotcha.”

There’s nobody in sight, luckily. Still, we aren’t really meant to be wandering the grounds during games, optional attendance or not, so it might be best to come up with an excuse. I turn to Danni. “Do you have any idea what we might say we’re doing if we’re asked?”

She thinks for a moment. “You’re taking me to the nurse’s office. I did just fall down the stairs.”

“You fell down a step,” I correct, and Danni fights a smile. “You don’t have to limp,” I whisper. “It’s overselling it a bit.”

“I’m not faking it, I hit my leg before.”

“What, really? Are you going to sue?”

“I—no? Why would I sue?”

“Isn’t that what Americans do? Sue everyone all the time?”

“That’s offensive,” she says dryly. “It’s a harmful stereotype.”

“Is it? My apologies.”

“That was really problematic of you, actually. Aren’t you meant to be trained in foreign relations?”

I remember this version of Danni. This is the version I met at Molly’s party, before the overwhelm of Bramppath forced her into nervous withdrawal. All at once, I recall how she piqued my interest that day. I’d almost forgotten.

The forest floor is slick with mud and sodden leaves, and the air is brisk and thick with the scent of rain. Strolling weather it is not—I have to engage my core just to prevent myself from skidding on the sludge beneath my feet—but at least it’s secluded here. If you don’t count Sidney, anyway, but he’s holding himself at a distance.

I clear my throat, and find myself hit by an unfamiliar spray of nerves. I’m not sure if Danni is causing that effect in me, or if it’s the fear of how she might reply to the question about to leave my lips. Before I can verbalize it, though, she breaks the uncomfortable silence with, “So, Molly tells me you’re into snow sports?”

Unfortunately, the aforementioned adrenaline has taken over my speech entirely, and I have to ask my initial question. I was already committed. “How is Molly?” I ask. “Is she okay?”

Danni seems taken aback. “Uh, okay then, enough about snow sports. She’s okay, I guess.” I nod, and she goes on. “I mean, as okay as you can expect her to be.”

So, she knows about Amsterdam, then. The death. I thought surely she must, but it wouldn’t have come as a surprise to find out she didn’t. His name is never brought up, not even in a whisper. While I’m certain his absence must be acknowledged at Ashford from time to time, other than the assembly addressing his death at the end of last term, Bramppath has continued on as though our brother school is as full as it ever was. I don’t know what I expected—Oscar never attended Bramppath, after all. But somehow, it feels as though he’s been forgotten by everybody but our little group.

“Will you check in on her from time to time?” I ask. “If you haven’t been already, of course. She obviously needs a lot of support right now, and she isn’t the type to ask for it. And she’s made it quite clear she doesn’t want it from me.”

“Yeah, of course,” she says, eyes widening. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Relief surges down my spine, relaxing my shoulders. “I would sit beside her, but…”

“You’re not her favorite person right now. Gotcha.”

My eyebrows flash up, and Danni takes note.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “But no, totally. I’ll hang with her. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Of course.” With that, I feel much better. I’m about to suggest we return to the game, when Danni gives me a searching look.

“How about you?” she asks. “Anyone checking in on you?”

I wave a dismissive hand. “There’s nothing to worry about on my end. I’m perfectly fine.”

The corner of her mouth lifts into a wry smile. “I sort of think it’s a red flag if you feel perfectly fine after going through that, though. Don’t you?”

A red flag? Hardly. I’ve never understood people’s obsession with dwelling within their negative emotions. As though it’s somehow a sign of strength to wallow in sadness and hurt for weeks or months. Who does that help? Certainly not the person hurting. I understand, though, that it’s different for me. I’ve been raised knowing that my life is to be used in the service of my country. What I do and don’t need doesn’t—and could never—measure up against the needs of the masses. And what a privilege that is, to be in a position to help so many.

A red flag is a future monarch who crumbles at a hint of adversity. Henland doesn’t need me out of action any time a friend or family member passes, or a loved one pushes me from their lives, or I make a mistake that’s exposed to the world. It needs me to focus on all the things bigger than me, and perform my duties without faltering. Every day I can’t is a day I’ve failed everyone, including myself. And I’ve already failed enough for a lifetime.

“I’m resilient,” I say simply. Danni seems unconvinced.

Something falls on my cheek. At first, I think it’s water dripping off the tree leaves above me, but then I realize it’s a sprinkle of rain. It’s so light it’s practically weightless, the droplets catching glints of white-gold sunlight as they fall. Danni pulls the hood of her jacket over her hair, but I have no such option. I hurry to take shelter beneath a nearby tree.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Danni says, ducking in beside me. The branches aren’t doing an awful lot to protect either of us, and her jacket is already speckled with raindrops. “All those articles. I think that would destroy me.”

“Ahh, you saw some?” I ask brightly. “Lively reads, aren’t they?”

“They’re harsh. And you don’t feel any way about them?”

I suppose it depends which articles she means. The media has been writing about me incessantly since six months before my birth. The coverage was positive enough until I was around four years old and started crying during a military air show, at which point it was decided I was rather ill-behaved. My delinquency only continued from there. Insider sources informing the papers how rude I was in the classroom when I was seven, photos of me yawning without covering my mouth at the midnight Christmas mass making the front page when I was nine, a major story about me getting a detention when I was twelve for laughing with Molly in history class.

My parents were never too concerned about these articles, and nor was I. It’s common for princes and princesses to be examined, they told me. Even more so in my case, as I have no siblings to distract from me. When I began to truly test the rules at Bramppath, I half expected the papers to immediately know every detail. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, drinking and smoking in the woods, skipping school events. Somehow, they never did find out. Until Amsterdam, of course.

I shrug. “I can hardly expect Amsterdam to be brushed past, can I?”

“I guess, but they’ve made their point, and then some. Hopefully they back off soon.”

My smile is tight. “Honestly, I’m not sure what’s going to happen now. If I’m perfect, it’s ignored. If I’m not, it’s condemned. Not a lot seems to be in my power at the moment.”

A rare flush heats my cheeks at that. What an inappropriately intimate thing to say. I’m certain Danni doesn’t want to hear me whine about my public image. She was only asking to be polite. Maybe it’s the way she keeps looking at me, long and intense, as though she sees something I’ve endeavored to keep hidden. It’s hard not to sink into a false sense of ease when you’re speaking to someone who looks at you like they know you to your bones.

She doesn’t know me, though.

The rain drizzles to a stop, and we start to walk back to the field, side by side. “So,” Danni muses as we walk. “Last year, a few girls really had it out for me. One, especially, used to bully me pretty much every day, calling me ugly, and dumb, and anything else she could think of. She’d laugh at me if I ever had to do presentations, or if it was my turn to run in gym, or if I answered a question in class. Then one day, she told the whole class that I was bullying her, and everyone turned on me, and everything I did was wrong all of a sudden. It was like everyone hated me. Everyone believed her, even though I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

It seems to me that she’s opening up to match my intimacy level. A vulnerable anecdote for a vulnerable statement. If she’s trying to make me feel less exposed, she’s succeeded. Perhaps she’s more perceptive than I gave her credit for. “What did you do?” I ask. “Did you set the story straight?”

“No one believed me when I tried. I just sort of waited it out, I think. People got bored and moved on, then they forgot.”

Suddenly, I realize there’s an extra layer to why she’s telling this story. “Thank you. It’s not the same thing, though.”

Danni looks horrified. “Oh, totally. It was a ridiculous analogy. Mine was just a little… whatever, who cares. Yours is huge. I don’t even know—I can’t even imagine. I shouldn’t have tried.”

Goodness. I’ve never flustered her this badly before, and I wasn’t even trying to tease her. “I just meant,” I say when she finishes, “your situation was different because you didn’t deserve it.”

Danni gives me a sharp sideways glance. “And you do?”

I trail my fingers along an ash tree trunk as we pass it. “Well, everything they’re saying is the truth. I should have known better. I shouldn’t have been drinking, and I shouldn’t have been doing drugs. I should have been protecting my friends. I failed on every count imaginable. They expect more from the future leader of their country. And so they should.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the queen yet.”

“I’m the crown princess.”

“I mean, yeah, I know that. But you’re also a teenager. You’re gonna screw it up sometimes, and then you’ll hopefully learn from it and figure your shit out as you go like the rest of us. Mistakes happen; you’re still a good person.”

A startled laugh bubbles out of my mouth before I can stamp it down. A good person? Clearly, Molly didn’t tell her everything about Amsterdam, or she would never call me something so boldly off base. I suppose one might make the argument that I’m good if you ignore that, along with my abrasiveness, and disinterest in the lives of acquaintances outside my circle of friends, and the drinking and drug use. Along with the laundry list of more minor flaws the papers enjoy reminding the country of daily.

As I said. Danni doesn’t know me at all.

When I pull myself together, I lift my chin and face her. “No, I’m not,” I say, quiet but firm.

She holds my gaze. “Well, you could be,” she says. “If you try.”

I want to latch on to her words and hold them close. There’s a promise in them. That the future is within my control. That there’s a version of me—a version that actually likes herself—I may become if I can simply make the correct choices moving forward.

“We should get back to the game before my absence makes the front page,” I say.

“Very fair. Time to go back and be judged.” She sighs.

“Yes, quite,” I mutter, but then I catch myself. “Wait, you? I know why I’m being judged, but what have you done to anyone?”

Danni grabs her jacket by the zipper and shakes it. “Notice anything?”

“Lovely parka.”

She breaks into a grin. “So you can be tactful. I knew you had to have it in you somewhere.”

Right. The students were laughing at Danni’s jacket, were they? That simply won’t do. When Molly claimed her, she became one of us. And nobody laughs at us. I take a piece of material between my finger and thumb and examine it. Danni catches her breath in surprise at my closeness. “It’s green,” I say. “Close enough.”

“Yeah, army green.”

“Excellent stitching, nice… solid material.”

“Uh-huh,” she says flatly.

“Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” I say brightly.

She doesn’t take me seriously at first. “Oh, sure, and I’ll just freeze.”

“No, you can take my jumper. We’re about the same size, I’d say.”

Danni laughs shortly and starts to walk forward. “Yeah, okay.”

I pick up my pace to get ahead of her and walk backward, facing her. “Really. Let me wear it.”

“Why?” she asks. She sounds tired. “So you can cosplay as middle class?”

I suppose I deserve her suspicion, after the amount of poking and prodding I’ve sent her way over the last fortnight. So when I reply, I take care to remain perfectly serious. “Because I would just love to see those snobs attempt to judge me. I dare them. In fact, I dare them to ever judge you again. If anyone says a word to you, you let me know. Okay?”

Danni smiles hesitantly, and I hold out my hand for it.

“Besides,” I say, fighting a grin. “Like I said. It’s a lovely parka.”

I don it as we walk. “I ski,” I say, after a period of silence.

“What’s that?”

“You asked me about snow sports. I ski. And I skate, a little.”

“Oh.” Danni looks rather pleased at this. “I love skiing.”

“There’s a senior snow trip next year. Don’t expect Molly to join, though, it’s her worst nightmare.”

“Noted.”

“I’ll be there, though,” I add. Why did I say that? To let her know a fact? Or to imply she’ll have a friendly face there if she joins?

Danni locks eyes with me. I get the sense she’s trying to search for the answer to that very question in my gaze. “Noted,” she says again, somewhat quizzically.

When we return to the game, Danni, who’s now wearing the same jumper as everybody else, gives me a grateful glance before joining Molly’s side. I seem to be attracting a number of curious and confused stares in my new attire, and it’s rather difficult for me not to break into laughter. Especially as I start making eye contact with everyone looking and they avert their gazes to the ground one by one. Honestly.

Molly flips the camera to Danni. “And Danni’s back from wherever she went,” she crows, as though I’m not here at all. “Just in time to completely miss the incredible final try of the game.” She lowers the phone and beams at Danni. “We won, by the way.”

“What are you wearing?” Alfie asks me as I sit.

“Do you like it?” I ask.

“It’s…” He seems lost for words. I wonder if he’s remembering our discussion at the state banquet regarding his judgmental streak.

“A lovely parka,” I fill in for him pointedly.

“A lovely parka,” Alfie agrees, shaking his head and smiling.

Now that I’m no longer concerned about Molly’s well-being, I find it much easier to pay attention to the girls’ match. As the game winds to a close, and the players shake hands, a thought occurs to me. I unlock my phone and pass it behind me to Danni, dragging my gaze from her eyes to the phone.

Danni takes it and, hardly missing a beat, starts entering her number. I believe today we’ve come to an understanding. The two of us care for Molly, and it appears we’ll be much better able to look out for her if we’re in contact.

Besides, I’m starting to understand what Molly sees in Danni. I don’t think I would mind hearing from her outside of classes every now and then, if she feels so inclined. When she passes my phone back to me, I tuck it into my pocket and rest my hand over it.

Both Molly and Harriet quite obviously notice our silent exchange.

Neither looks entirely pleased.