Page 21 of Reign

Sam could only nod as he headed back into the hallway. The group of assistants materialized as if from nowhere, falling into step alongside him and immediately peppering him with questions.

When they were gone, Sam collapsed into the chair by her sister’s bed, hanging her head in her hands.

If only Beatrice could wake up and make everything right. Her sister had always been the peacemaker among the Washington siblings, the one with a calm mind and steady hand. There was a blade of steel beneath Beatrice’s softness, unwavering enough to withstand any force bearing down on her. Beatrice was resolute when it mattered. That was what made her such a good queen.

Sam often felt like she was the opposite: sharp on the exterior, with an angry, prickly shell that hid the sensitive beating heart beneath.

Maybe she should just go back to Hawaii. At least everything felt simple there.

“Oh, Bee. I’ve really made a mess of things.”

It felt a little silly, talking to Beatrice when she probably couldn’t hear, but it was better than silence.

“Remember when you told me to ‘go all in’ on my relationship with Marshall? Well, I did. We ran off together to Hawaii. I chose love over duty, just like we talked about.”

Was it her imagination, or did Beatrice’s hand move? Sam grabbed it, wrapping her warm palms around Beatrice’s cold one, willing her sister back to health.

“I left you a letter, actually; you may have gotten it before you—before your accident. I had no idea,” she hurried to add. “I’ve been gone for a month, and I never knew you were here, hurting. I hate that I abandoned you.”

With each word, Sam felt the weight pressing down on her chest lighten a bit. So she kept talking.

She told Beatrice everything that had happened since the League of Kings final banquet. She described Hawaii and the boat and the funny little kitchen with its red tiles, her efforts to cook breakfast that had ended in burned toast, and nearly a burned house. She off-loaded her worries about Jeff and her insecurities about the future. It was such an overwhelming relief to let the words pour out, to admit her flaws and shortcomings to the one person who would always forgive her.

Sam had no idea how long she sat there, holding tight to her sister, but eventually the words ran dry. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, holding Beatrice’s hand to her forehead as if asking for a benediction.

She couldn’t leave.

No matter how much simpler things were in Hawaii, no matter how desperately she missed Marshall, she couldn’t go back. She might not be a princess anymore, but she was still Samantha Washington—and she would stay here and fight for her family.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, still clutching tight to her sister’s hand. “But it’s not the same without you. Wake up, Bee—please. I miss you. We all need you.”

“Wake up, Bee. Please.”

“Just five more minutes,” she said automatically, snuggling closer to Connor.

This had become their morning routine lately: Connor would stir first, only for Beatrice to drag him back under the covers and ask for more time.

She kept telling herself that they should stop, that the next time Connor snuck into her room she would send him away. There was no possible future for them, and they both knew it. Yet Beatrice, who had always lived by logic and reason, found herself acting irrationally.

She and Connor might not have forever, but she could give them right now.

“I miss you,” he murmured, which was strange.

“Miss me? I’m right here.” Beatrice tucked her head into Connor’s shoulder, letting her hands trace over his tattoo. She was getting braver, now, about touching him—though he was still wearing his boxers, because she wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

She felt the rumble of Connor’s voice in her chest as he replied: “We all need you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Bee…”

She squinted, disoriented. The lights were too bright, oversized fluorescent bulbs glaring down at her.

“Bee?”

Samantha was in a chair next to her bed, looking disheveled as usual, mascara ringing raccoon circles around her eyes. And what had she done to her hair?

“Oh my god.” Sam’s hands flew to her mouth in momentary shock; then she stumbled to her feet and began shouting hoarsely. “Doctor! Someone! Come quick—Beatrice is awake!”