Page 87 of Reign

“Hi, everyone.” Sam lifted a hand in an awkward wave, then remembered she didn’t have a title, and they did. Slowly, she curtsied—first to Beatrice, then to Jeff and her mother, then to her grandmother.

It was one of the more excruciatingly quiet moments of her entire life.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Jeff said haltingly.

“I invited her.” Beatrice swept forward. “Congress may have stripped Samantha’s titles, but last I checked, they haven’t stripped her from our family. We aren’t the British, who exile their relatives to Paris and never speak to them again. We need to stick together.”

“Thanks, Bee.” Sam ran a thumb nervously along the strap of her purse, as if it were a life jacket keeping her afloat.

Slowly, everyone’s conversations started back up. Sam felt Aunt Margaret’s eyes boring into her, questioning and sharp. Of course Aunt Margaret was curious; she was the one who’d helped Sam escape to Hawaii in the first place. Sam made a mental note to thank her for not telling everyone where Sam had been.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” Beatrice looped an arm through Sam’s and began tugging her in the direction of Daphne and Jeff.

“Merry Christmas,” Sam said feebly, unnerved by Jeff’s silence.

He must have sensed Sam staring at him, because he finally looked up from his drink, seemingly at a loss. “Um, yeah.”

Um, yeah?That was all she got from her twin brother at the holidays?

The realization of just how much distance yawned between them hit Sam like a physical blow.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, then whirled on one heel and started blindly down the hall. When she saw the double doors to the library on her left, she pushed them open.

She almost never came in here; the library was one of the rooms open to the public, a favorite of tourists with its black lacquered panels and inlaid wood floor. Slowly, Sam began wandering the bookshelves along the wall, trailing her fingers over the spines as she blinked back tears. When she found the nineteenth-century history section, she grabbed a volume and plopped into an armchair.

There was a creak of doors being pushed open, and Sam glanced over. “Beatrice?” Part of her had hoped it was Jeff.

“Hey,” her sister said cautiously, coming to sit in the neighboring armchair.

Sam leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined Christmas. Do you want me to go?”

“Sam, you didn’t ruin Christmas.”

“No one really wants me here,” Sam started to say, but Beatrice talked over Sam’s protests.

“If Christmas is ruined, it’s because Dad isn’t here. Not because of you.”

Sam nodded, unable to speak.

“Remember how much fun Christmases were before Dad became king? Like that time we went to the mall and rode tricycles around the empty toy store?”

“I remember that,” Sam said slowly. “The photographer asked you to talk to the elves, but you kept insisting that you had to speak to Santa himself. Pulling rank, even at a young age,” she added, slightly teasing.

Beatrice reddened. “I just wanted to make sure Santa got my Christmas list. The elves looked kind of…untrustworthy.”

“What about the year we sent all the staff home and tried to cook our own dinner?” Sam recalled.

“Everything was so burned! It’s a miracle we didn’t set the palace on fire.”

“The only thing that wasn’t destroyed was the mashed potatoes, and they were…”

“Lumpy.”

“Inedible.” Sam grinned. “Didn’t Dad try to order pizza to the palace, and the delivery guy refused to come because he thought it was a prank call?”

Silence fell between them again, but it felt softer than before, its edges sanded down to something smooth.

“Sam, you’re not the only one who feels lost. It feels like every time I start to get my footing, there’s another twist or setback,” Beatrice said quietly. “What if my memories never return?”