After all, who would expect Princess Ann of Adria to be standing on a sidewalk in Paris, absolutely alone? It’s what I asked, but even I didn’t think she could do it—would do it. But she was my mother’s best friend. And now she’s one of the few people in the world who I might bring myself to trust.
“Are you … ?”
I look up and down the sidewalk, eager and afraid.
“It’s safe, Grace.” She takes a step toward me, then stops, as if she’s afraid to move too fast, as if she already knows how far and how fast I will run if given any excuse.
“I’m alone,” the princess says, but I’ve already seen them, the two men who linger at the end of the bridge. I spin and spy two more on the opposite side. I turn on Ann, glaring.
“I’m as alone as I can be,” she clarifies. “I have men with me, it’s true. They are my personal guards, Grace. They’re Dominic’s men. He trained them. He trusts them. I literally trust them with my life. Please let me trust them with yours.” I wait a minute. Silence. “There’s no way I could come alone. It was bring them or not come. So I brought them. I thought it would be okay to bring them.”
She seems so sincere, so sad and so … scared. She’s one of the most important people in Europe and she’s afraid, I can tell. At least I’m not the only one.
“Trust is harder than it used to be,” I say, and Princess Ann slips closer.
“And it never was easy. Was it, sweetheart?”
My mom used to call me sweetheart. Ann doesn’t have the right, but I can’t say so. When I brush away a tear I didn’t know I’d cried, I’m just surprised that I still can.
“Grace.” She’s closer than I realized. She’s almost touching me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I shake my head and take a step back. “I’m okay,” I say, bristling. I need to make myself as small as possible. Even here. Even now. I vow to never be a full-sized target ever again.
“Grace,” she snaps, pulling me back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” I tell her. It’s like she’s asking me if I’m sure I don’t have any homework. But no one ever asks me that. Ever. They’re too busy inquiring if I might need any more stitches.
“I’m fine,” I say again, but Princess Ann doesn’t look like she believes me. Maybe my bathroom hairstyle isn’t quite as convincing as it seemed at the time.
“And Jamie?” the princess asks. “Where is he?”
She looks up and down the length of the bridge. She scans the river’s banks.
“He’s not here,” I say, and I can see she’s honestly surprised and … something else. Disappointed?
“Then where is he?” she asks.
“Not here,” I say again, as if that really should be answer enough.
“Grace—” There’s a tension in Princess Ann’s voice as she steps forward. She isn’t the smiling, docile doll that the world assumes her to be. She’s practically humming with tension—a string that has been pulled too tight. “Where is he? Take me to Jamie, Grace.”
“He’s …” The wind blows my hair in my face. It sticks to the corner of my mouth, and I pause. I think. I had a plan, but for a second I wonder if I should change it. I wonder …
“Grace?” Ann snaps.
“He’s dead,” I blurt. I don’t even have to try to make my voice crack. It’s a scenario that I’ve imagined too many times. It’s far too close to the truth to have to make believe.
Ann physically recoils. “Is that … is that true?” she asks, then yells, “Is it?”
The guards at the end of the bridge fidget, wondering if she needs them, but they don’t move any closer. She and I are still alone when I say, “Mom found Amelia. Did you know?”
The change of subject startles her. She shakes her head, almost stumbles. “What?”
“Princess Amelia,” I say, as if people bring up two-hundred-year-old dead princesses every day in conversation. “You and my mom and Karina Volkov were looking for her, weren’t you? Well, Mom found her. Or who she was, I guess I should say. The name the Society gave her after the coup. The name she grew up with.” The princess’s eyes are shielded behind her dark glasses, but I swear that I can see through them.
I can see straight into her soul.
“Mom learned the names of Amelia’s descendants.”
Ann shifts and glances back at the guards who linger at the mouth of the bridge. She’s starting to shake in frustration. It’s something that happens a lot to the grown-ups who have to deal with me, but with Ann there’s something more.
“Grace, the last time I saw you, your brother was bleeding all over the palace floor. Now tell me, is Jamie okay?” She’s not quite shouting, but her voice carries on the wind.
My words are almost a whisper. “Did you know that Mom found Amelia?”
Ann shakes her head. Frustration comes off of her in waves.
“Grace, your mother and I were obsessed with that as girls. We hadn’t talked about it in ages. I haven’t thought about it in—”
“Stop lying. I know she told you what she found. She probably couldn’t wait to call her best friend. Were you surprised? Was she? Or did my mother always think she might be Amelia’s descendant?”