Page 94 of Rivals
The rest of the vote went by in a whirlwind. The room had gone blurry, but Beatrice gritted her teeth and held her chin high, swallowing back her tears even though they burned at her eyelids. Louise had deserted her.
Louise, her confidante, herfriend,who’d taken Beatrice under her wing and made her feel warm and glowing and worthy. Louise, who’d begged Beatrice to come to France with her because she couldn’t bear to face her father alone. Who’d cried on her shoulder, told her secrets out under the stars.
Louise, whom she’d made the mistake of trusting.
Thenos cascaded after that, stacking one atop the other in a devastating landslide of rejection. Tsar Dmitri voted in favor of the accord, as promised—a Romanov always kept his word, didn’t he—but by then it didn’t really matter. The rest of them kept on denying her, one king or queen after the other.
Beatrice felt everyone casting avid, curious glances her way. Whispers rumbled through the room.Did you see her face?they were probably asking one another.She thought shehad the votes, and look how wrong she was. Even her best friend didn’t support her.
Not to mention that the newspapers would eat her alive. They would take this vote as more proof that Beatrice could never accomplish anything, that she couldn’t hold her own amid more experienced rulers. That she was flighty and young and irresponsible.
Beatrice kept her gaze resolutely forward. She couldn’t bear to look at Louise and risk bursting into tears at her friend’s betrayal.
She’d thought they were friends, but in the end, what she’d told Teddy all those weeks ago was true. Hers was a lonely and isolating job, one that didn’t really allow for friends. It had been a mistake, letting her emotions get in the way, thinking she could rely upon Louise.
Beatrice had never been able to rely on anyone but herself. She was in this role alone, and she always would be.
There really was nothing so wonderful as a formal state ball, especially one filled with the most glamorous and influential people in the world. It made Daphne feel almost dizzy, as if she were drunk, or at altitude—and in a way she was both. Drunk on success, and at altitude because she’d ascended to the highest of social heights: the League of Kings farewell banquet.
The last time this party had taken place, Daphne hadn’t been dating Jefferson yet. She’d still been a nobody, saving up to buy every last magazine at the newsstand and stare at the photos. The royals had all looked so breathtakingly untouchable: the men in jeweled sashes over the crimson or navy of their blazers, the women in tiaras and gowns that glittered like fire. And now Daphne was one of them, a character on the world’s stage.
“There she is,” Nina breathed. Daphne followed her gaze to where Gabriella stood across the ballroom.
Gabriella looked up as if she’d heard them. Her eyes darted in their direction, and she stared at them for a slow, smoldering moment before turning aside.
Daphne smiled, jubilant. Gabriella was wearing the purple gown Nigel had custom-designed for her; and even though it had probably cost a hundred times more than Daphne’s vintage find, Daphne’s was classic and tasteful. Unlike Gabriella’s, which was covered in flounces and had a plunging V-neck.
It just went to show thatmore expensivedidn’t always translate tobetter.
Daphne looked at Jefferson, who was chatting a few yards away with the crown princes of Austria and Greece. Daphne had apologized profusely for that fight at the End of Session party, and Jefferson had said not to worry about it, but she could tell that things were strained. She’d hurt him, publicly, and violated the most valuable thing she had—his trust.
She glanced down at the signet ring on her hand. Its weight felt reassuring, its goldWgleaming with promise and possibility.
She may have made a mistake, but she could still fix it. She had done worse to her relationship with Jefferson before, and she’d always managed to fix things in the end.
Daphne knew she should head over to where Jefferson stood. Yet as strange as it was, she found that she would rather stay with Nina than go out there and charm people.
If Daphne’s mother were here, she would have slapped her for her foolishness. But they had defeated Gabriella and saved her family’s title. Didn’t Daphne deserve a few minutes off from the endless, relentless climb that was her life?
“Do you know who all these people are, anyway?” Nina asked, glancing around the cocktail hour.
Daphne rolled her eyes indulgently. “Yes. And so should you.” She nodded toward the stately white-haired woman in a shimmering cheongsam. “That’s Empress Mei Ling. She’s anicon.They say she invented the evening bag.”
“That cannot be true. People have been using bags to hold their belongings since ancient times.”
Daphne sighed. “She was the first person to carry a clutch with an evening gown. It’s thanks to her that you’re wearing a cute bag right now, instead of an embellished fanny pack.”
Nina visibly brightened at the prospect of an embellished fanny pack, so Daphne hurried to continue. “That man withthe dark mustache is Sebastian, the King of Chile. He’s in some feud with the King of Bolivia, though no one knows precisely what it is. And that woman with the blond updo is Princess Louise of France.”
Nina stared at Louise with idle curiosity. “Sam says that Louise and Beatrice have been hanging out a lot.”
Daphne nodded to where Samantha stood with her boyfriend. “Speaking of hanging out, how are Samantha and Marshall?” For once, she wasn’t trying to fish for gossip. It had just surprised her how readily the two of them had broken up, then gotten back together.
“It hasn’t been easy on Sam. The whole situation is…complicated.” Nina glanced over. “I’m guessing you saw the most recentTimemagazine?”
Just yesterday, Sam and Marshall had been on the cover ofTimeunder the headlinewhat has happened to race relations in america?The article featured interviews with a number of thought leaders, who were fiercely divided between adoration of Samantha and Marshall—they believed that America was overdue for an interracial royal relationship, that it was a powerful and important symbol of the changing times—and outraged cries that the relationship was a symbol of oppression, since Marshall would have to sacrifice his claim to the duchy if he and Sam ever got married. This group clamored that Marshall needed to dump Samantha publicly—becausethatwould be an empowering gesture, far more than dating her would be.
Daphne couldn’t relate to the pressures Marshall was under. She didn’t have a position to renounce when she and Jefferson got married someday, and she certainly didn’t carry the weight of an entire community on her shoulders. She stood for no one, except maybe little girls who twirled around in princess costumes and daydreamed about marrying a prince.
