Let me go.
His expression crumbles, hope disintegrating into bitter resentment. And I know, even before his mouth opens again, that what comes next will be catastrophic.
“I GUESS TWENTY YEARS OF FRIENDSHIP MEANS NOTHING, NOW THAT YOU’RE ROYALTY! YOU’D CHOOSE A FATHER WHO REFUSED TO CLAIM YOU OVER YOUR BEST FRIEND? IS THAT IT, EMS? OR SHOULD I CALL YOU PRINCESS EMILIA, NOW?”
The wordprincesssets off a detonation the likes of which the world has never before seen. The press goes nuclear — a mushroom cloud of outrage and speculation rising up into the sky, the fallout incalculable.
And Owen is ground zero.
I see guards closing in on him, dark looks on their faces as they take him into custody. Simultaneously, I watch as at least two dozen reporters circle him, hurling questions rapid-fire, desperate for his story. Unfortunately, the rest of them — at least three or four hundred, all with voice recorders at the ready — are staring at me.
Correction: screaming at me.
“That’s her!”
“Emilia, look this way!”
“Is it true you’re the princess?”
“Can you comment on your connection to the Lancaster family?”
My wide eyes swing around as a bombardment of camera flashes blind me. I feel like a bug trapped beneath a magnifying glass, being slowly burned alive.
“King Linus! Is it true? Can you confirm she is your daughter?”
“Is she a legitimate heir?”
“Does Germania have a hidden princess?”
There’s a screech of tires as the limo squeals away from the steps, whisking Linus, Octavia, Simms, and the Sterling parents from the scene. The rest of our group hurries toward the second vehicle, but I can’t seem to move fast enough to keep up. My feat have turned to anvils on the steps of the abbey.
“Emilia! Look this way! Princess Emilia!”
Emilia!
Emilia!
Emilia!
Suddenly, there’s a warm hand on the small of my back and a towering male silhouette shielding me from the crowd. I know it’s Carter without looking up at him. Even now, with my senses screaming for relief and my eyes glossed with tears, my body recognizes his.
Somehow, we make it into the limo. The door closes behind us with a slam, cutting off the worst of the screams, but there’s no escaping the thundering crowd as they surround us on all sides, frantic to get their photographs even through the tinted glass.
I press my eyes closed with the heels of my hands, as though that will somehow make them disappear. I don’t open them again until we’re several blocks away, racing out of the city at nearly twice the legal speed limit.
Chloe, Carter, Ava, and Alden are all staring at me, a mix of shock and concern etched on all their faces. To my great surprise, it’s Alden — quiet, composed Alden — who finally breaks the silence. His cultured voice is thick with incredulity.
“Anyone care to explain what the actualfuckjust happened?”
* * *
It’sa question that will be repeated — with varying amounts of profanity — over and over by every news outlet on the planet in the next few hours. Because from Germania to Gibraltar, America to Argentina, Morocco to Malaysia… everyone’s wondering the same thing.
Who is the secret princess?
In a world of social media and twenty-four hour news cycles, it doesn’t take long for the rest of the world to piece together the story of Emilia Victoria Lancaster. Or, at least, their shiny, fairy tale version of it.
Ordinary girl becomes royalty overnight!