Page 16 of Reign

“I have to go.” She turned and started back toward the party, fixing her perfect princess smile to her face once more.

Later that evening, Daphne sighed, leaning her head against the tinted glass of the palace’s courtesy car.

She hadn’t gotten a moment alone with Jefferson until after the festival. When she finally found him, he’d smiled: a weary, automatic smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, Daph. Are you okay if we move up the engagement announcement?”

“Of course.”

She’d expected him to say more, but he had just kissed her on the forehead.

The driver cleared his throat, stirring her from her thoughts. “Miss Deighton?”

Daphne looked up—and cold panic set in.

The street crawled with media vans. Reporters stood before the Deightons’ townhouse in hastily applied red lipstick, talking eagerly into their microphones. The news vans’ spotlights made the area as blindingly bright as the stage of a rock concert.

Ohno.Had something else come to light, something even worse than her father’s behavior?

What if Gabriella had finally violated the terms of their unspoken truce, and told everyone that Daphne sold her own photos to the tabloids?

“Park down the block, please,” Daphne managed.

There was an alley behind all the townhouses on this street, too narrow for a car. Daphne pulled up the hood of her jacket and walked down the alley as fast as she could, stumbling around the occasional stray tricycle or hissing cat. When she was safely at her family’s back gate, she entered the code on the electronic keypad and slipped inside.

Then, her hands shaking, she pulled out her phone.

Its screen was lit up with dozens—no, hundreds—of messages and missed calls. Blindly, Daphne clicked on the only name that mattered.

I’m sorry,Jefferson had written.I tried to hold the announcement until tomorrow, but Anju overruled me. She had to tell the press about us to distract them from thinking about Sam. Call me when you can?

Daphne tapped over to her web browser and, as she had done countless times before, searched her own name. The screen immediately filled with headlines, all variations onPrince Jefferson, Officially Off the Market!orThe Royal Wedding We’ve All Been Waiting For!

She clicked on the first link, which led to the palace website’s official press release:His Royal Highness Prince Jefferson is delighted to announce his engagement to Miss Daphne Deighton. The wedding will take place in Washington in the coming months. Both families are thrilled by the joyous news.

Typical of a Washington Palace press release, short and to the point.

The panic that had seized Daphne released its hold, and blissful relief flooded through her chest.

At long last, it was really happening.

Daphne could have hugged Samantha for coming home unannounced. The media must have gotten wind that something was going on, because a good reporter could always sniff out a story brewing. So, to keep the press from digging into Samantha—to keep Samantha hidden as long as possible, while they figured out a way to handle her—the palace had thrown out the news of Daphne and Jefferson’s engagement. Daphne was a human smoke bomb, sent out to distract the media with glitter and wedding gowns while the palace dealt with its prodigal ex-princess’s return.

Things were working out even better than she could have planned.

When Sam stepped onto the plane’s staircase, a black SUV appeared at the edge of the jetway. Moments later, it pulled up before her, and one of the back doors flung open.

“Sam!”

Then Nina was sprinting forward, throwing her arms around Sam in a fervent hug.

Sam stopped trying to hold back the tears. She stood there, hugging Nina, letting it all wash over her in a wave of regret and self-recrimination.

When they pulled apart, she dabbed at her eyes. “I didn’t know you were coming to meet my plane.”

“She insisted on it,” another voice cut in. Sam looked over to see Beatrice’s chamberlain, Anju, who shot her a level stare. “Welcome back, Samantha. We’re all glad you finally decided to rejoin the land of the living.”

Sam followed Anju and Nina into the car. As they headed out into the city, she kept staring in shock at the skyline, so different from the golden seclusion of Hawaii. It seemed impossible that the world looked so normal—people streaming in and out of the metro, office buildings honeycombed with light from employees working late, cars honking as if nothing was wrong. As if the entire world hadn’t been brutally, viciously upended with Beatrice’s accident.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Sam told Anju, who wasperched in the front seat. “We’re going straight to the hospital, right?”