Page 74 of Thrones We Steal

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I wake with my first ever hangover, arguably a mild one. The empty champagne bottle taunts me from the table beside the bed. I sit up and rub my temples gently so as not to disturb the beast.

My phone lies on the table next to the bottle, and the embarrassing amount of phone calls I made last night trots across my memory. Drunk Celia makes a lot of really dumb decisions, and I suspect she’s not done making an idiot of herself. I delete Henry’s number from my contacts and erase my call log and our text thread. Call it saving me from myself.

I’m in love with a fantasy. The Henry that fills my head is nothing but a projection of my desires onto a phantom that looks an awful lot like him. The real Henry is selfish and manipulative and breaks hearts like he breaks the tops of his soft-boiled eggs for breakfast.

I can’t do this anymore. Wesbourne isn’t worth it.

I drag a large suitcase from one of the numerous cupboards in my dressing room and foist it onto the bed. It’s time for a strategic retreat.

When I answer the door to find my sister on the other side, the suitcase is nearly full and awaits only a few more items until I’m ready to leave. I let the door gape open and return to my task.

“Where are you going?” Bea asks. She’s followed me into the bedroom.

Until she voices the idea, I haven’t given it any thought. “I’m not sure. Maybe New York? It’s large enough to get lost in, right?”

“And you want to get lost because …?”

“Because I’ve had enough.” I toss a pair of sneakers into the bag. Not much use for heels when you’re hiding from society. “I need to get out.”

“You’re running? For how long?”

I slam the lid of the suitcase and zip it shut. “Indefinitely.”

To her credit, Bea looks stunned rather than gleeful. “I don’t understand,” she says.

“That makes two of us.”

“You’ll be back in time for the coronation, won’t you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“But—”

“I’m sure Parliament will figure something out. They always do, don’t they? Maybe they can find another victim to throw at Henry.”

Her eyebrows draw together, and for a second, I see our father reflected in her face. “Does this have something to do with him?”

I turn away to grab a few books from the nightstand, even though I gave up reading them weeks ago. I’m not sure how much I can trust my face and its propensity for honest expressions right now. “Why would it be about him?”

“Because you’re acting strange?”

“I’m perfectly normal.” To prove my point, I look at her chin and smile. It’s the kind of smile you give your great aunt June when she kisses you for the third time and tells you that you remind her of a cat she once had and you wonder if her mind is getting foggy or if you should be concerned about the vibe you’re giving off, so you plaster a smile on your face that you hope conveys not a single one of the thoughts in your head at the moment.

Bea points to my suitcase and the shoddy job I did packing it. A bra strap and several shoe laces peek out between where the zippers meet. Several items escaped the tornado of my manic packing and are still on the bed.

I lift my shoulders then let them drop. “I’m in a hurry.”

“You’re not following him, are you?”

I meet her eyes for the first time. “Following who?”

“Henry.”

“Why would I follow him? Where’s he gone?”

“The last I heard, Monte Carlo.”

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