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I cross my arms. “That’s what we’re here to do.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t let loose a little bit.”

“I don’t need to do that.”

“Come on now. Where’s that girl who wasn’t afraid to race around the halls with me?”

The familiarity in which he’s speaking with me feels comfortable, despite the fact that we really don’t know much of each other anymore. As children, sure, we played together when our families got together. But any true, quality time or conversations since we were young teenagers? None.

“You don’t know me at all actually. That girl you think you remember? She died the day Beatrice died and the expectations our families had for her fell onto me.”

It’s the cold, bitter truth. I could’ve said it nicer, but he needs to understand that he doesn’t know me. Memories he had of me at seven years old do not reflect the current, twenty-three-year-old Briar.

Understanding washes over his face, dimming the playful glint in his eye. Like he knows what that’s like. A future that very well at any day could be his if something were to happen to Lock. He toes a loose rock, looking down at his feet. “Well that’s a shame. I liked that girl.”

Me too.

My phone buzzes the moment I walk through the door to my flat. I groan. All I want is a moment to decompress after a day of nonstop socializing.

I debate letting it go to voicemail, but she’ll only call back. Or worse, stop by.

“Hello, I just got home. Can I call you later?”

“Why was Lockwood on the news visiting with military officials, and Beauford was seen doing a sack race at the event today?” My mother doesn’t bother answering my question, instead spitting ones of her own at me. “Did Juliette seem surprised? Your father just got off the phone with her, and she’s insisting she had no idea, but that’s a very large detail to have been switched around!”

The arches of my feet ache as I kick off my heels. The wood floors are cool against my bare feet. I pad over to the couch and lie down, staring up at the ceiling as I continue listening. She seems more distraught about the change than I was, and she’s not even directly involved.

Finally, my father’s voice breaks through hers. “Briar, sweetheart, I think what your mother meant to ask you was, how did it go today?”

The two of them have a hushed exchange before I hear a sharp exhale from my mother and she drawls, “Yes, how was it?”

I send a silent thank-you to my father and fill them in on the day. My father perks up as I compliment everyone on Juliette’s team, since he had a part in hiring most of them. He’s been retired for a few years now from farming and sits on the board for the Caulfield-Penner Scholarship.

“Mr. Katchum was there,” I add, my parents well aware of the highest profile lawyer in Ashrya. “I spent a deal of time chatting with him. He says he hadn’t realized that the King was a part of the charity.”

“Don’t believe a word he says,” my father grumbles. “Only a fool wouldn’t think that the Caulfield-Penner Scholarship didn’t have anything to do with the Caulfield’s. That old bastard never gives anyone a toss. Don’t spend too much time on him if you see him at future events. He’s probably there just sniffing around to see who wants to sue someone for something.”

Juliette had the same sentiment toward him. Said he often attends charity events around the country to make face but keeps his wallet zipped tight.

“Well, maybe he just hasn’t found the right cause to support.” I fiddle with the pendant on my necklace.

My father mumbles something I don’t catch, and it’s my mother who speaks next. “Now, do you know why Beauford was there today?”

“He said Lock sent him in his stead. That he’s pulled away on other business, and Beau will be representing the Crown over the next few months at the events.”

“The next few months?” Her voice is borderline hysterical. “Briar Anne, are you saying that Lockwood isn’t going to be attending at all?”

“Louise—” my father says.

“Don’t Louise me, Frank. If Lockwood isn’t going to be attending, then how are he and Briar supposed to get to know each other? He’s made no effort over the last year to get this courtship started, and now if he’s not doing this anymore, when is he going to start?”

Her words give me pause. The last year? Was Lock supposed to have been reaching out to me for the last year? “What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I’ll talk to Harold about Lockwood’s intentions,” my father says in a soothing tone.

“Have there been conversations I should be aware of?” It’s hard to keep the bite out of my tone. I’m aware everyone is playing matchmaker, but if Lock has been in the loop, then I should be too.

But again, my questions are ignored. “You better. And the fact that he sent Beauford in his place? That’s not the face we need representing alongside Briar. Did you not see the tabloids last week? He could barely stand as he was carried out of that grimy little pub.”