Page 9 of The Midnight Princess

I wince against the light. “You make it sound common.”

Ella shrugs. “You’re a person first and a princess second. A break-up is a break-up is a break-up. Stop trying to fight it, and surrender to the process.”

I give the smallest, tightest laugh. “The process?”

She taps away on her keyboard. “You cry your eyes out until your face hurts, and when that stops, you’ll think you’ve ascended to another astral plane—the one populated with all the Stoic philosophers. It’s very ‘Happiness isn’t found in a man butin Virtue alone.’ Then you’ll go somewhere with an open bar…” She waves a hand at my hangover.

There’s something reassuring about being on a well-trodden path with familiar checkpoints. I’ve always been a star student. Passing through the remaining phases should be easy.

“And then?”

“At some point you’ll decide to get your groove back.”

My brow furrows, and I want to take notes. “How?”

“The usual.” Her eyes sparkle. “Dance clubs. Low-cut dresses. Making out with strangers. I, for one, can’t wait.”

Blood rushes to my face, and I grip the coffee cup with both hands. There was a dance, I was in a low-cut dress, and I kissed a stranger. I’m flying through these phases.

Memories of last night flicker against my eyelids. There was nothing soft about him except the way he held me. I recall the touch of his hands, and a shiver of desire works across my shoulders.

Dominanstid. I squeeze my eyes tight and count slowly in my head.

One, two, three…

It was the champagne. That feeling of intense attraction wasn’t real, and when I open my eyes, I expect it—and this hangover, too, as long as I’m asking for the moon—to be gone.

…four, five, six…

It was the fireworks, whistling and booming, shaking the windows.

I can almost feel his lips.

“Alma?” Ella prods me.

My eyes snap open, and I blink against the lights. “I’m fine.”

I am. I am fine. I take a small sip of coffee and grimace. It’s little wonder I can’t stop thinking about last night. The whole thing is appalling. I kissed someone who might take his storyto the press. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I try to work out the best wording for an apology.

To: The Personal Aide of the Crown Prince of Vorburg

Concerning: The kiss I begged you for in the palace orangery

Dear Sir—

That’s as far as I get before another groan escapes me.

Ella looks up, eyes narrowing, and I head off her inevitable questions. “How do you know so much about getting over a break-up? You haven’t had a boyfriend in—”

“Don’t start with me,” she snaps.

I manage a smile. “What are you up to this morning?”

She tilts the screen around. “I’m updating my app for the state visit.”

Ella is a princess, but she’s also a computer genius. She’s written an app that quizzes us on titles, modes of protocol, biographies, and faces—helping the royal family navigate tricky social situations with ease.

She taps the keys and grunts. “He may as well be a ghost.”