Chapter 5

Flora

Two people who change everything enter my 18th year of life.

Paris Fashion Week has always been a dream of mine. In one of her rare attempts to meet me where I am, my mother books us a trip.

As royals, we’re used to receiving gifts from designers, jewelers, and artists worldwide. However, what greets us at our Paris hotel room is not a few dress boxes but a rack of outfits and gowns accompanied by the designer herself.

“Your Majesty. Your Highness.”

The woman with black hair, fire-engine-red lipstick, and the energy of a caffeinated tornado gives a quick curtsy and introduces herself as simply Sable.

“We don’t have much time,” she says. “An army of stylists are on their way here with glorified potato sacks for your first event, and trust me, you don’t want that. Lucky for the both of you, I’m here to help.”

My mouth gapes. Of course, I’ve heard of this person. I’ve been following her and her designs on social media for years.

Meanwhile, my mother side-eyes our security detail. I know that look. Someone’s about to be fired.

“How did you find out where my daughter and I are staying?”

Sable mumbles a response like “Lucky guess” as she winks at the bellhop. “Well, will you let them into the rooms, or should Her Majesty the Queen change clothes in the hallway?”

Something about Sable makes everyone around her jump into action. Or maybe jump in fright.

Even my mother gradually gives in to the tiny dynamo, and before we know what’s happening, Sable has us outfitted in two of the most elegant looks we’ve ever sported.

As for me, I feel grown for the first time. “I love it!” I say, gazing in the floor-length mirror at my deep vee neckline and twisting around to admire my scandalously bare shoulder blades.

Mother is so clearly conflicted. One minute, she’s taken aback by someone telling her what to do, and the next moment, she’s preening in the mirror. She wears an all-white suit that hugs her still-girlish figure. A diamond necklace accents her banging cleavage.

“You look hot, Mother!”

She chuckles as someone comes at her with a makeup brush. “Perhaps I should send your father a selfie.”

I don’t think I’ve heard my mother utter the word “selfie” before, and I kind of need to lie down.

Sable is only a few years older than me, and we quickly hit it off like old friends. My mother is so charmed with her that by the end of our time at Fashion Week, Sable is making plans to move into the palace as a permanent stylist.

The clothes, shoes, and all the styling advice are pretty great for an 18-year-old girl. And so are the tens of thousands of new followers thanks to royal watchers and fashion bloggers suddenly taking notice of my carefully curated looks.

But what I love best of all? Now, I have a texting buddy other than my brothers.

This is how I learned about the other significant change in my life.

Sable: Have you seen your new security detail?

Me: … We’re getting new security?

I’m preparing for bed on this particular night, feeling sad that Callum and I missed each other. I waited and waited at our favorite spot, and then I left. As I slip into bed, disappointed, Sable replies.

Sable: So, the queen cleaned house after the Paris trip. She’s restructuring the whole department. There’s a new head of security, and he’s personally responsible for escorting you and the queen on your outings.

Me: A personal bodyguard?

Sable: Yep. Really intense, too. Wears a kilt, never smiles, has the nerve to be taller than everyone else on staff.

Me: How do I not know these things?

Sable: Maybe because the palace staff is a bunch of basement-dwelling gossips and you spend most of your time on walks in the woods like a lovesick Jane Austen heroine.

She couldn’t be more spot-on if she tried. Am I that transparent? That’s all I need, for palace staff to figure out what’s happening and someone to snitch everything to my family.

I roll onto my back and sigh while typing my reply.

Me: I’m not lovesick!

Sable: Sure. Anyway, the tabloids will lose their minds over this hot security guy. And I think a certain gamekeeper might also lose his shit.

Me: Why would Mr. Black care?

Sable: You know damn well I’m referring to his son. I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. When you see Kilt Man, there’s no hope for Forest Boy.

That’s what she thinks.

I’m about to set my phone aside when I get another text.

Unknown sender: Your Highness. It’s Callum.

My heart beats in my throat.

Me: How do I know if that’s really you?

Unknown sender: I’m the idiot who missed a date with the princess.

Me: Date?

Unknown sender: I had it all planned. A boat and a picnic were secured.

Me: Sounds nice.

Unknown sender: Worst of all, I missed my chance to kiss my girlfriend.

Okay, now I know it’s Callum. He’s been calling me that since the day we first kissed. I secretly love it, but I don’t respond likewise by calling him my boyfriend. I remind him that we must be careful what we say out loud. People will find out, and people talk.

I add him to my contacts. Despite my warnings about keeping our relationship under wraps, I add a heart emoji next to his name.

I can’t help myself.