Page 46 of Reign
Beatrice kept waiting for Teddy to say something, but he didn’t. He let her stroll along in contemplative silence—which should have been relaxing, since silence was what she wanted. But it unnerved her a little that he seemed to sense that. When had Teddy become so attuned to her moods?
They passed a marble plinth where a statue of King EdwardI used to stand, and Beatrice paused. In its place was a statue of a woman with long hair, her skirts twisting around her legs as she stared into the distance. She wasn’t smiling, yet there was something unmistakably playful about the arch of her eyebrows.
Beatrice stepped forward, wincing a little at the unsteadiness in her legs. The plaque beneath the statue readQueen Emily I, 1830–?, r. 1855–1855.
Emily, the one other woman who could claim to have been Queen of America, though she ruled for only a single day before she mysteriously vanished.
Beatrice had always accepted the general historical opinion that Emily was assassinated in a political coup, despite theromantics who claimed she’d run away from it all to live with a commoner. It had always sounded like fantasy to Beatrice.
Though she had to admit, it didn’t sound as outlandish as it used to, now that Samantha had done something similar.
“When did they replace the statue of EdwardI?” she wondered aloud.
“You did that,” Teddy said softly. “You said there were more than enough statues of EdwardI around this city, and it was time we recognized some other people for a change. Especially the women and people from marginalized backgrounds who had been erased from history.”
The statue of Emily seemed to be staring at her with a bold confidence that Beatrice didn’t share. She sighed. “It’s nice to know I did some good things while I was queen.”
“Don’t use the past tense. You’re still queen,” Teddy protested.
“Except I don’t feel like much of a queen.”
Beatrice turned aside, and as she did, her knees gave way beneath her. She started to collapse—
Teddy swept forward and caught her, bracing his hands beneath her elbows, pulling her ever so slightly closer to his chest.
For a split second they stood suspended like that, as immobile as the statue behind them. Despite their stillness, Beatrice’s heart was pounding, every nerve ending in her skin flaring to life. She saw the rise and fall of Teddy’s chest beneath his jacket, his breath as unsteady as her own.
Panic laced through her, and she stumbled back as if scorched.
“I’m sorry,” Teddy stammered. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”
“It’s fine,” Beatrice said tersely.
She saw a stone bench a few yards away and started toward it with ponderous steps. Teddy stayed close, but didn’t make another move to touch her.
When she lowered herself onto the bench, Beatrice drew in a ragged breath. The air burned in her lungs. “Look, Teddy, I just can’t do this.”
He was silent in the long, drawn-out way that meant something. When she finally looked up, his expression was pained. “What do you mean?”
She tore her gaze away. She stared everywhere else—at Franklin, running in circles farther down the path; at the wintry skies overhead; anywhere but at the piercing blue of Teddy’s eyes.
“You and me. I don’t…,” she fumbled, unable to finish the sentence.
“I know you don’t remember, Bee. It’s okay.” There was something so soothing in Teddy’s voice, something about the way he saidIt’s okaythat made her want to believe it reallywasokay, despite all evidence to the contrary. “You’ll get your memories back,” he added.
“What if I don’t?”
Teddy was undaunted. “I want to help. We can look at photos of things we did together, visit the places we went. I know it might take a while, but if we jog your memory, it’ll come back—”
“Stop!”
The word had burst out of her, just one short syllable, but it might as well have been a gunshot. Teddy broke off abruptly, and she winced.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember, okay? The things that happened between us…it’s like they didn’t happen for me. Right now I just need to focus on getting better.”
She couldn’t handle any of it right now—the expectant, hopeful way Teddy was looking at her; the weight of a one-sided history. There was too much to process without adding another person’s emotional burden to the mix.
“Are you saying you want to break up?” Teddy’s question came out hoarse.
