At two o’clock that afternoon, Carly stood in front of her grandmother’s grave. Her Royal Highness, Princess Isabelle Emilia Alexandra Valmont was engraved on the elaborate headstone. The grave next to it belonged to her uncle, Sir Walter Valmont. Visiting these graves was even stranger than the times her mom had taken her to visit her dad’s grave back in Ohio. At least she’d occasionally thought about her dad, imagined what he was like. She had no frame of reference at all for this dead grandmother and uncle.
“Can I ask how Arthur’s dad died?” Carly said to Lord G, who stood beside her. She pointed to Sir Walter’s headstone.
“Car accident,” said Lord G grimly. “Walter was a walking stereotype to the very end. Much like his son.”
The words hit Carly like a bucketful of ice. How can he talk about his own son that way? “What does that mean?”
Something over by the cemetery gate caught Lord G’s attention. “It means you’d better look serious and somewhat grief-stricken because the photographers are here.”
Carly whipped her head around to follow his gaze.
“Don’t look at them,” Lord G said irritably. “That defeats the purpose. Just carry on as you were before. You were doing very well.”
Carly glared at him. “I wasn’t pretending.”
“Even better. Carry on with that. It’ll be good for the public to see you paying your respects.”
It boggled Carly’s mind that Lord G seemed so comfortable with the paparazzi intruding on this private moment. More than that: he’d invited them. And he seemed to think it was Carly’s job to perform for them.
Carly stepped to one side so that Seton blocked her from the photographers’ view.
“None of that,” said Lord G. “Seton, give us some space.”
“You’re supposed to protect me,” Carly hissed at Seton.
“Protect you from actual threats to your life,” said Seton. “Not from your life itself, your highness.”
Her bodyguard retreated to a spot about twenty feet away from them.
This is ridiculous, Carly fumed silently. This whole day is ridiculous.
And it wasn’t even over yet.
***
The prime minister of Evonia smiled at Carly across yet another plate of scones. Carly felt like she had eaten at least thirty scones today. She picked up another one.
“How lovely that you’re finally seeing Evonia,” said Prime Minister Clement. “And are you in finishing school?”
“Am I—finishing school? Yeah, I’ll be starting my senior year in September—”
“No, dear,” Lord G cut in. “Finishing school is a type of boarding school for young ladies. You’re attending a public school in the United States, yes?”
“Oh. Yes. Not a boarding school, no. But it’s a good school. I mean, my teachers say I have a good chance of getting into a top college.”
The prime minister looked intrigued. “You plan to go to university? That’s interesting. Most of the Valmonts don’t. Do you know what you plan to study?”
The honest answer was no. She hadn’t settled on anything, had been too torn by everyone else’s different expectations for her. But when she opened her mouth, she realized a different answer was on the tip of her tongue. “I—well, I think I might major in something like international studies in undergrad. And then maybe go to law school after that.”
“Very interesting,” said the prime minister. “What sparked your interest in law?”
“I like researching things,” said Carly, perking up. “And convincing people to agree with me.”
The prime minister grinned. “A highly useful skill.”
“Yeah. And . . .” She set her scone down, choosing her words. “I’ve always liked fixing things that aren’t fair, or things that just don’t make sense. For example, when I was twelve, my brother Rafe wanted a pet rabbit, but my mom and stepdad weren’t on board with that. I came up with a list of reasons why it would be a good idea. Rafe would take care of the rabbit, so he’d learn to be more responsible. And we’d get it from an animal shelter—rescuing a rabbit that needed a home.”
“Did it work?” the prime minister asked very seriously. Carly appreciated that he was actually listening to this slightly silly story.
She grinned. “It did. Rafe still has that rabbit.” She saw Lord G raise his eyebrows at her. Clearing her throat, she added, “Anyway, that kind of educational background could be useful for me down the road.”
“I suppose so,” said the prime minister cautiously. “Though it would be more useful for someone with my job. Your career is going to be in public relations, really. Managing your image, your family’s image.”
The half-digested scones in Carly’s stomach suddenly felt very heavy.
“Oh, but I’m not downplaying it,” the prime minister assured her. “It’s very important that royals know how to behave. And it’s not as easy as it looks.”
“Yeah,” Carly sighed. “I’ve picked up on that.”
***
The sun had set by the time they got back at Mortmain Castle. Carly had eaten so many scones that she’d barely touched her dinner. Being at a fancy restaurant with strangers—another noble family that was vaguely related to her—hadn’t helped. She felt totally drained as she trudged inside with Lord G and Seton.
In the front hall, Lord G pointed to the portrait at the top of the staircase. “Queen Charlotte the First. I like our painting better than the crown prince’s, personally.”
Carly crossed her arms and studied the portrait. Charlotte the First was middle-aged in this one, swimming in jewel-studded gown with puffy sleeves and a puffy neckline. She’d been younger in Prince Humphrey’s portrait. Younger and less bored-looking. “Well, it’s bigger.”
Before Lord G could reply, Arthur’s voice echoed across the hall. “Hail the conquering heir to the throne,” he called from the top of the stairs.
Lord G let out a loud sigh. “I’m going for my nightly walk. Charlotte, Arthur, I’ll see you both in the morning.”
As soon as he was gone, Arthur came down the stairs, blocking Carly’s path.
He held up his phone. “Looks as though you had a good day. If the media can be trusted. You’re all over the gossip sites. I suppose you do look good from a distance.”
Carly bit the inside of her mouth for a moment. Then she said calmly, “I think I look just as good up close, not that it’s anyone’s business.”
“Wrong on both fronts,” said Arthur smugly. “First of all, up close it’s clear that you’re unpolished and ignorant. You don’t know anything about Evonia. You don’t have a clue how to be a princess. The charm of your outsider act is going to wear off fast.”
Carly sucked in her breath—but clearly Arthur wasn’t finished.
“And secondly, it’s every Evonian citizen’s business. You’re going to represent them to the world someday. They own you, and you have to give them as much of yourself as they ask for. Pictures, interviews, parades where you stand on a balcony and wave. That’s your job. You stay in your lane, or you get disgraced. And do you know what the Valmont family does with its disgraces? Erases them.”
For a long moment, he just glared at Carly, silently daring her to come up with a retort. Which she couldn’t. Bet he spent all day working on that speech, she thought furiously.
He sauntered past Carly, leaving the stairway clear.
***
Alone in her bedroom, Carly got out her phone and messaged her family. Miss you all. How are you doing?
But it was still Monday morning back in the States, so she didn’t expect to hear back right away. Her parents would be at work. Her brothers would be sleeping late.
She pulled up a web browser on her phone and typed Charlotte Valmont Evonia into the search engine.
A picture of her cemetery visit popped up immediately, under the headline evonian princess pays respects at grandmother’s grave. Carly clicked on the brief write-up and scanned the comments.
I’m from Evonia originally and this warms my heart!
What a lovely girl—looks like Princess Isabelle!
She looks like a true princess!
Can’t wait for this poised young lady to become queen. She’ll put Evonia back on the map.
Lord G had gotten what he wanted: good publicity. And Carly felt vaguely gross. It was so weird that people who knew nothing about her were weighing in about everything from her appearance to her future.
She thought for a moment and then typed Arthur Valmont into the search engine.
Headlines from European news sites filled the results page.
arthur valmont punches waiter at restaurant
princess isabelle’s out-of-control grandson
arthur valmont sets fire to boarding school athletic field
evonian queen’s great-grandson crashes car . . . again
“arthur valmont trashed his hotel room and i had to clean it”: a maid’s story
Well, no wonder everyone kept saying that it was important for royals to know how to behave. And no wonder Lord G wanted Carly to make the family look good.
Her phone buzzed. Rafe had just sent her a message. Hey sis! Does Evonia RULE? Get it? Sorry, I’m still mostly asleep. Not at the top of my joke game.
Out of nowhere, tears pricked at Carly’s eyes. She wanted to be home in Ohio. She wanted to talk to her mom and Sal and kid around with her brothers and eat ice cream from Frozen Paradise instead of a thousand bad scones.
She didn’t want to have to hold all of this Evonian drama in her brain and try to figure out how to feel about it. How to be okay with it.
But it looked as if she would have to. As Arthur had said—it was her job. Just like it had once been her dad’s job. If her dad had handled it, she could too.
I’ll show Arthur, she thought fiercely. I’ll prove that I can do this. I’m not going to let him scare me away.