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TWELVE

ROSE

Our history professor, Mr. Sheffield, apparently decides it isn’t necessary to provide us with a warning before he announces he wants us to pick a partner for next fortnight’s presentations on Henland’s role in World War II.

He gives us two minutes to pair up amongst ourselves. Molly, Eleanor, Danni, and I look awkwardly between us. This is the first time we’ve been directed to choose partners this school term. It seems as though the most logical arrangement would be Eleanor with me, and Molly with Danni. This would suit me well enough; however, I’ve been getting to know Danni lately. And the more time I spend with her, the more I want to.

And so, when nobody else speaks, I do. “Would you like to be partners?” I ask Danni directly. “I might have a biased take on history, but I do have access to an impressive array of primary sources, so it all tends to balance itself out in the end.”

Danni glows noticeably at the invitation. “You’ve gone from offering to tutor me to wanting to work with me?” she asks. “You know I don’t know any of this stuff.”

“Are you volunteering to be the face of the operation?” I ask. “How are you with public speaking?”

“Terrible.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I say, and with that, we’re sorted.

Molly stares at Danni with a look I can only describe as betrayal. I hadn’t thought she would especially mind, given she and Eleanor are on perfectly good terms. Although, now that I think of it, maybe it’s less that she minds being with Eleanor, and more that she minds Danni being with me.

“You and me, baby,” Eleanor says to Molly, either unaware of Molly’s displeasure or choosing sagely to ignore it. “The dream team. We’re going to ace this.”

Molly gives Eleanor a sharp side-eye. “You’d better pull your weight.”

“Since when do I ever not pull my weight?”

“So, you’ll start working on it with me tonight?”

Eleanor recoils. “Well… I’m busy tonight. Actually, I have a thing I need your help with. All of you. Can you come to my room after class?”

Molly starts to pack up her school bag. “I’ll come. I’ll start my portion of the presentation while I’m there.”

After home group and end-of-day prayers, the four of us meet in the hall and make our way to Dewitt. Eleanor’s room is all the way up on C-floor, where she gets sweeping views of the college courtyard from her window. As we ascend, we run into Harriet. She brightens as soon as she sees Danni. She always does.

“Hey,” she says to Danni, as though the rest of us aren’t here at all. “Where are you off to?”

“Eleanor’s,” Danni says. “We have a mystery activity.”

“Ooh, a mystery?” Harriet looks at the rest of us now, eyebrows wiggling. “That sounds intriguing.”

“It’s really not,” I say sharply. Molly’s irritability appears to have rubbed off on me, because my tone is quite uncalled for. At the same time, though, it feels nice for some reason. Especially when Harriet takes the hint and resumes her way downstairs.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” she says. “But promise to tell me what the mystery was when you come back down, okay?”

“If I can.” Danni smiles. “Leave your door open and I’ll come by? If you’re still around, that is.”

“Oh, I’ll be around.”

I suddenly, inexplicably, wish I’d been even ruder to Harriet. What are they doing right now, flirting ? It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest on Harriet’s part, because she’s been patently obsessed with Danni since day one, and there was a rumor in second year that she and Nellie Henry kissed behind a tree during school camp. It was never proven, and it eventually died down, but I haven’t forgotten it, because it’s the first time I’d ever heard of anyone else potentially being Like Me.

But if it is flirting, and Danni’s participating, what does that say? Does that mean she likes girls? If so, does she like Harriet? Why?

No, I decide. More than likely she doesn’t like girls at all. Danni is just one of those people who gets along with everyone because she’s kind, and sweet, and a touch too eager to be liked. I can’t relate to one bit of it, even if I do grudgingly admire it.

In Eleanor’s bedroom, I throw my cape on the ground, while Molly sets up her laptop on Eleanor’s desk and Danni pulls out her phone and sits on the bed. I consider sitting beside her, but before I can, Eleanor takes the remaining bed space. So, I sit crossed-legged on the carpet directly across from Danni.

“By the way,” I say, while I have everybody in the one place. “You’re all invited to my mum’s birthday. It’s at the palace this year, so it’s not too far to travel.”

Eleanor nods absentmindedly as she fiddles with her television remote; she has attended Mum’s birthday gatherings yearly for as long as I can remember now, as has Molly. Danni, however, looks positively terrified by the invitation.

“Wait, seriously?” she asks. I imagine, now that I think about it, it’s quite an intimidating prospect for her. The palace, my parents, the distinguished guest list.

“Seriously,” I repeat. “If you would like to, of course.”

“Oh my god, no, definitely. For sure. I’d love to.”

Molly doesn’t say a single word. I might as well have invited the curtains for all the reaction I receive.

Eleanor puts the remote down, and on the television, an episode of her favorite fantasy series, Thorns of Berry and Briar, begins to play on the lowest possible volume. That’s the usual state of affairs when we spend time in Eleanor’s room—she must have watched this show a dozen times from beginning to end, and more so if you count the times she uses it for white noise.

“Okay. How does this sound?” Eleanor asks. She gets to her feet, leaving Danni with an empty space beside her ( Why did she sit there in the first place, then? ), takes her place in the center of the room, and lifts her chin as though she has a spotlight shining upon her. Then she grabs her cape in a handful by her heart, and bellows: “ Your hand, your tongue. Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it. ”

“Context would be nice here,” Molly says wryly, head down.

Eleanor lets go of her cape, looking quite deflated. I fear she may have expected a standing ovation. “I’m auditioning for the play.”

Molly looks up from her work, brows furrowed. “… Why?”

“Because Dad says I need to beef up my resume before university applications next year. It’s not enough to be a straight-A student anymore.”

“A point which is highly relevant to you, as a straight-B student,” I say, raising a single eyebrow.

“Um, I get As in math, thank you very much,” Eleanor says. “Molly, back me up.”

Molly does not back Eleanor up. I suppose because she would have to acknowledge my presence to do so.

“Is Santi in the play?” Danni pipes up.

I hadn’t thought of it until the words left Danni’s lips, but of course this is about Santi. Everything is with Eleanor these days. As far as plans to court and marry the poor soul go, this one at least has more promise than her previous approach of staring at him across a crowded room and hoping for the best. Danni’s eyes flicker toward me, and we share a look of amusement.

“I’m not sure,” Eleanor says airily. “Couldn’t tell you what Santi’s doing. We haven’t even had auditions yet. Anything could happen.”

I don’t believe a word of it.

“Rose, I have a proposal,” Eleanor says, brandishing the script at me.

Glancing up, I raise my eyebrows. “Eleanor, we’re far too young for marriage, I must respectfully decline.”

She wisely ignores me. “I propose that when you’re queen, you introduce a law that if a lover needs something reasonable to happen in order to potentially win over her soulmate, she can demand it. Like, say, under the lovers’ law, if you needed a place in the school play, you could just… cite the law discretely and, boom, you’re in.”

“The ‘lovers’ law’?” muses Danni, looking to me for my reaction.

I pretend to consider it. “Fine. I’ll add it to the list of future legal alterations.”

Danni perks up at this. “You can do that? Can you change it to a four-day work week, too?”

“Danni,” I say, “for you, I’ll make it three and a half.”

Molly apparently runs out of patience with the amount of joy and frivolity in the room, because she actually deigns to acknowledge my existence at this. “Rose can’t change any laws,” she says, dropping her phone to her lap. “Not now, not ever. We’re a parliamentary monarchy.”

I want to be put out that she destroyed my fun, but I’m far too busy reveling in the fact that I am, as it turns out, not invisible to her.

“Wait, really?” Danni asks, deflating. Oh, bless her, she thought the queen could change the law willy-nilly? I would have thought she’d have learned better than to believe a word that comes out of my mouth by now. It’s very endearing, though. “What do royals do, then?”

I shrug. “Not a lot, Danni, not a lot.”

I’m half joking. We certainly can’t change the law to our will, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have plans for my working life, which starts as soon as I leave school. There will be royal duties, certainly—appearances, speeches, general attendance. But in less than two years, I will be able to start working on my own causes. I have already discussed my hopes to open a foundation providing a range of services for victims of domestic abuse with my parents.

More recently, though, I have decided to expand my plans to include support services and housing for unhoused young people. I’m interested in helping youth, certainly, though I’ll admit I’m especially eager to do what I can to assist queer youth facing family violence. I would be unable to run a foundation specifically for this cause, given the royal family is expected to remain politically neutral, but it would encapsulate it nonetheless.

Setting aside the irony of my being “politically neutral,” when in reality my very existence would be considered a political issue by many.

Eleanor jumps in. “That’s not true. You’re a symbol.”

“I saw an article call you a sex symbol the other night,” Danni says, apparently without thinking, because as soon as the words leave her mouth she turns crimson and her eyes widen so much they become almost perfectly round. Eleanor bursts out laughing, and even Molly has to fight to keep her mouth still.

And I, never being one to let an opportunity to tease pass me by, clasp my hands together in my lap and lean forward with interest. “You did, did you? May I ask what you were searching to stumble across that result?”

“I, um, I—I don’t—”

“Do you often look me up?” I ask innocently, locking my gaze onto hers. “Or is it only in the night?”

Danni finally recovers enough to reply properly, though she’s still a very interesting shade of mauve. “I’m pretty sure it was just one of the news stories that day. You know, the ones that bitch about how you… um, how you…”

At least this time she catches the words before they leave her mouth. She looks at Molly, stricken.

“I know the ones,” I say gently.

Molly keeps her focus on her social media video, tactfully pretending she was so enraptured by the task she didn’t even hear the subject drift dangerously close to that night in Amsterdam. And Eleanor, ever the peacekeeper, jumps in just before the silence grows too loud.

“Danni, you perform and shit, right?” she says. “Like Rose said?”

“Uh, I play piano. I wouldn’t say I perform it.”

“Close enough. Would you go over my lines with me, please?”

In order to allow them space to practice, I have to shift from the floor to the bed, sitting on the still-warm spot left behind by Danni. From this position, I can see the television. Thorns of Berry and Briar is still playing. It’s a scene I remember well, in fact. King Aelorin is in the throes of passion in the wine cellar with his king’s knight, Aric. More specifically, they’re in an advanced state of undress, using a wine barrel in a very creative manner.

The first time I saw this episode was also in Eleanor’s room, back in third year. Eleanor, Molly, and I had crammed ourselves onto Eleanor’s tiny bed to watch the latest episode as it came out. As the other two made exclamations of surprise—and, if we’re honest, discomfort—at the very unexpected, very queer, turn of events—I was riveted. The idea of a secret affair, hidden within the confines of a wine cellar, intrigued me.

Until then, I had all but resigned myself to the idea that my future was going to look nothing like I’d imagined as a child. At fourteen years old, I had reached the conclusion that I was not, and could not be, romantically interested in boys. Not the way I was with girls. Back then, it seemed as though I fell madly in love with a new girl in class every few months. They would shoot me a special smile, or their hair would catch the light just so, or they’d give an especially witty answer to a question in class, and I would be done for. Not once had it ever happened like that with a boy. Not once.

And, likewise, I had come to the conclusion that this meant I would never know love the way I’d hoped. Platonic love, absolutely. Romantic, unrequited, aching love? Also not a problem. But requited, intimate, committed romantic love? How could it happen for me? It wasn’t allowed. It wasn’t even entertained. It simply isn’t done. The princess marries a man, they have children, they become king and queen. Generation after generation. Simple, predictable, dictated.

Somehow, the thought of a wine cellar hadn’t crossed my mind. And by that I mean, obviously the idea of a clandestine affair had occurred to me, but that a queen could maintain a committed lover over the course of years, and keep them close, to the knowledge of the palace staff, but with the general public being none the wiser? It was revolutionary to me. It was the first time I realized that perhaps I wasn’t the first royal in history to ever secretly stray from my dictated course. That perhaps I could, like King Aelorin, fall in love with someone, and keep them close, while still performing my royal duties as outlined.

That month, I came out to my parents. And they confirmed what were, at the time, my wildest hopes. My public perception was the only thing of importance, and whatever occurred behind closed doors was my business, as long as I ensured it remained only my business.

It felt like a crack opening to let light stream into the dungeon I’d been sitting in the center of for the past year. It felt like hope.

I have an absent smile on my lips as I tune back in to observe Danni and Eleanor practicing Macbeth . Danni, it turns out, is a natural. She delivers Macbeth’s lines with ease, barely even glancing back down at the script as she speaks. She holds herself with a confident air, and there’s a recognizable charm in her delivery. Once she sheds the self-consciousness, she speaks with the assuredness of a leader.

She glances at me, and she must notice the latent smile I’m still wearing, because as she turns back to Eleanor, the corners of her mouth lift as well, her eyes crinkling and her scripted laugh noticeably breathless.

For some reason, this makes me think of how Danni beamed at Harriet earlier, and my smile slips into a scowl until I retrieve it and wrestle it into neutral.

What a thing to be upset about. Danni is allowed to have friends who aren’t me. And Lord knows I don’t mind her being friends with Eleanor, or even Molly. Why is it her friendship with Harriet that jabs at my side like the Holy Lance?

The next time Danni turns to me, we don’t meet eyes at all. I can only see her in my peripheral vision, because my gaze is fixed determinedly on the wall.

At the back of my mind, I become vaguely aware that my scowl has returned. This time, I don’t have the wherewithal to correct it.