Page 110 of American Royals II: Majesty
“Actually…there is something you could do for me,” Beatrice said slowly.
“Name it.”
“Will you do the royal tour that Teddy and I were supposed to go on?”
Sam blinked. “You aren’t going on your newlywed tour?”
“As much as I’d like to spend the summer traveling, I need to stay here for a while, figure out how to actually startdoingmy job.” Beatrice’s eyes were bright. “Besides, I think you’re overdue for a royal tour, given that you’re my heir.”
“I doubt anyone really wants to meet with me,” Sam began, but Beatrice shook her head.
“They do, Sam. You inspire people,” she said urgently. “Not just because you’re with Marshall—though it would be nice if our family looked more like the nation we’re supposed to unify.”
Sam bit her lip but couldn’t bear to interrupt.
“The monarchy is over two centuries old, and I’m thevery firstwoman to ever be in charge of it. The world keeps getting more diverse, but our family is changing at a snail’s pace! We can’t go on like this. If we want to survive into the next century, we’re going to have to find a way to stay relevant,” Beatrice insisted. “I needyouto help forge our way forward. You’re the one who realized that I should walk down the aisle alone. You’re changing the way people view our family. You can see problems that I’m too removed to see.”
Sam shifted her weight from one foot to the other, dazed. “Are you sure I’m ready? I never finished Robert’s lessons.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Forget Robert’s lessons. The important thing is that you do exactly what a princess is meant to do.”
“Which is?”
“Help people believe in themselves.”
Sam shook her head. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Of course you do. You did it with me,” Beatrice said gently.
Sam had always thought of herself as the black sheep of her family. The one who took a perverse delight in breaking the rules, just to prove how pointless the rules were in the first place.
Was it possible that all her rebellious energy could actually beuseful?
“I’ll do it,” she said hoarsely, excitement blossoming in her chest—though it was edged in regret, when she thought of Marshall.
Seeing Sam’s expression, Beatrice stepped forward. The great volume of her gown moved with her, its hem hissing smoothly over the floor. “Is something wrong?”
“Marshall. We…got in a fight before the wedding.”
Beatrice put her hands on her sister’s back, giving her a gentle push. “Well then, what are you waiting for? He’s probably still here.”
Sam rushed through the sea of people flooding the halls. Now that Robert had confirmed the wedding wasn’t taking place—at least, not today—the guests seemed eager to get outside, as if they still didn’t quite trust that the palace was safe. When Sam didn’t see Marshall in the crowds, she stumbled out onto the front portico.
And there he was, about to step into one of the palace’s courtesy cars.
“Marshall!” She hurried forward, still wearing her narrow-cut ivory dress. “I need to talk to you!”
His head darted up at the sound of her voice. “Sam, no.”
There was only one thing for her to do.
Sam ran around the front of the car to the driver’s side. She hoped she wasn’t visible to the flocks of people gathered outside the palace gates, murmuring confusedly about the wedding.
“Get out,” she commanded the chauffeur.
“Your Royal Highness, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Sam drew herself up taller, adopting the imperious, queenly tone she’d heard Beatrice use. “That was a direct order.”
