Wednesday, November 25
8:10 A.M.
Royal Limousine to the Train Station

Francesca is so excited that I’m going somewhere with cold weather, she could hardly contain herself while packing.

“You can finally wear those boots we bought for you in Paris, Your Highness!” she cried. “And that adorable faux-fur zip-up vest!”

I’ve actually been to cold-weather places since finding out I’m a princess. My dad, Helen, Rocky, and I took a fishing trip to Iceland over the summer for Dad and Helen’s honeymoon. I’ve just never been skiing.

Francesca somehow managed to cram everything Snowball and I needed (because of course I’m bringing Snowball with me. I don’t trust anyone to take proper care of her while I’m gone—not with two newborn babies in the palace!) into only two suitcases, which I thought was pretty good … especially when the footmen came downstairs with Grandmère’s luggage. She had seventeen individual valises.

“Mother,” Dad said, looking down at Grandmère’s pile of Louis Vuitton suitcases. “You’re only going away for a couple of days. What on earth are you taking with you—your silver high tea set?”

“You know I must have my things about me, Phillipe,” Grandmère said, tugging on her mink-lined gloves. “I can’t stand to be without my things. Now, Amelia, are you certain you can do without us, especially at such a trying time?”

Mia was standing high above us at the top of the Grand Royal Staircase with her daughter in her arms. Michael was holding his son. Both babies were being quiet for once, but this was quite unusual. In the past twenty-four hours or so since they’d come home, unless they were sleeping or eating, one of them was always crying, which usually started the other one crying, and then they’d both be crying.

It didn’t matter where you went in the palace—which I used to think was quite large—you could still hear them, even if you put in the earplugs the Royal Genovian Guard use for target practice.

There isn’t anything wrong with them, either. They are both perfectly healthy.

It is the worst.

“It will be hard,” Michael said to Grandmère. “But we’ll try to get on without you, Clarisse … at least until the christening, and the bris, of course. But that won’t be until next week.”

“Oh, dear lord, the bris,” Grandmère murmured. “I’d forgotten.”

“What’s a bris?” Rocky asked loudly, but everyone shushed him for fear he’d wake the babies.

“You’re sure you want to do this, Clarisse?” Helen Thermopolis asked Grandmère worriedly as the footmen loaded our luggage into the back of the limo. “Because you don’t have to go, you know. We could get all of you a set of rooms at the Ritz, or the Four Seasons.…”

“Don’t have to go?” Grandmère tossed her head loftily. “I most certainly do. The national pride of Genovia rests upon my shoulders! I cannot allow the children’s school to be defeated by The Royal Academy in Switzerland! We must win victory for the righteous.”

I’ve never won victory for the righteous before. I’m not even completely sure what it means.

But I’m looking forward to finding out, I guess.