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I can’t imagine what he’s playing at,Esme had seethed the morning after that appearance, slapping her hand on the stack of newspapers beforeher.An accusation like this is so easily disproven. What a fool.
That night Amalia had stood in her rooms, finally alone after along day forever surrounded by courtiers and aides, fussy ministers and the occasional subject. And she’d thought it soundedlovely to grow up on a farmin a place like Kansas, which she knew chiefly fromTheWizard of Oz—a filmshe’d watchedat least a hundred times on her own. She’d gazed out of her window,looking out over the sparkle of Ile d’Montagne’s royal citywithits blue roofs and white buildingsby day and gleaming lights by night. And she’d thought,Wouldn’t that be funny, if Mother was the wicked witch after all?
But she hadn’t really thought it could be true. How couldshe be someone else when there had been battalions of tutors and aides and ministers to make sure she was exactly whoshe was supposed to be? Always and forever?
Then had come the blood tests—then several repeats of the same blood tests. There had been endless speculation in the press. Amalia had tracked the inconceivabletruththrough Esme’s growing distance. The Queen became too busy in her mornings to break her fast withAmalia. And then, aftera while, Amalia had been sent out on a deeply uncomfortable meeting with Delaney Clark,Kansas farm girl turned future queen, to show that the crown accepted reality. And did so with grace andself-deprecatinghumor, Amalia’s specialty.
Amalia had seen Esme alone only once more.The Queen hadcalled her into her formal rooms, where heads of state cameto pay their respects and underlings were dressed down for all manner ofslights and missteps. Amalia was treated as a member of the latter group and made to stand some distance away. Asif they had never been anything to each other.
And the woman she still thought of as her motherhad notmade the slightest attempt to reach out to her or comfort her in any way. Then again, Esme had not been big onreaching outor offering comfort the past twenty-five years, either. That was not one of her strengths.
You will always be cared for,Esme had told her, stiffly. Maybe that was her version of comfort.You need have no worries in this life, Amalia. I will guarantee you that. I am deeply cognizant that nothing that has occurred is any way your fault.
That would be a long game indeed,Amalia had said quietly, her gaze respectfully lowered in thepresence ofthe sovereign, no matter the churn of emotions within her.Especially if I started said game at three days old.
Once, Esme would have pounced on a comment like that. That day, when Amaliasnuck a look,the Queen’s eyes had been cool and she had only smiled that tight smile she mainly used to stop courtiers atten paces.
It wasn’t that Amalia had expected a hug. Esme was not tactile, asshe liked to tell dignitaries from effusive countries when they attempted to get too close. Amalia knewbetter thanto hope that might change...but she did anyway.
Nonetheless,Esme had told her frostily, clearlynot in any kind ofhuggingmood,it has been decided that it would be best if you took a step back.
Of course,Amalia had said, because what else could she say?I serve at your pleasure. Or do not.
It was the last time she sawher mother. Because Her Majesty the Queen was always too busyfor anyone not deemed essential.Andwasn’t that abit of a shock? To discoverthat after all these years, all she’d given—and more, had given up—she could behustled awayand thrust out of sight so easily?
It wasn’t only Esme. When Amalia was feeling charitable, she rather thought thatthe Queen didn’tknow quite what to do. What was there to say or do, after all?The reality of those blood tests had tohave shaken the proud Queen to the core. Because Esme hadn’t noticed that her baby had been replaced. She hadn’t noticedthat she was raising an imposter. Surely that said more about her than the daughter she was now distancing herself from.
The newspapers certainly thought so.
Amalia went from having twoextra mobilesmanned entirely by staff—so they could handle the endless influx of calls—to barely needing her own, private mobile atall. Since no one called her. Because no one knew whoshewas. They only knew she wasn’t the Princess.
She wasused to having parades of men circling around her, jockeying for positionbecause one of themwould bechosen—eventually—by the Queen to become the CrownPrincess’shusband. And would therefore one day be King.Amalia had always found these men irritating, so it was a surprise to discover that she noticed their absence so keenly. Even though Esme hadfinally narrowed it down to two acceptable suitors in the past year. And while Amalia had really never cared much forthose two, both of vague royal blood in one way or another, theyhad been so solicitous. So generous and thoughtful.
Yet neither one of them had bothered to reach out once the news broke.
It was clarifying.
And perhaps this was a gift, she tried to tell herself as she waited, stuck in limbo until theQueen decided it was time for her to exit quietly. One she would look back on someday with gratitude. Because she hadalways wondered how much she truly mattered to anyone, taken apart from her bloodline. And now she knew.
Like it or not, she knew.
“Justa few moremoments,” the aide beside her said now, her fingers on the earpiece she wore. “Then you can be on your way at last.”
As ifAmalia was setting offon a pleasant holiday. And not being shuffled out the back door in disgrace. That it was none of her own making was neither here nor there.
The palace had planned her exit carefully.The Queen was welcomingCayetanoArcieri and the new Crown Princess of Ile d’Montagne—his wife, Delaney—with a grand reception now that the two of them had returned to the island after an extended honeymoon.It was the first time an Arcieri had set foot in the ancient palace since the famous feud between his people and Esme’s had begun.
No one would pay the slightest attention to Amalia as she faded off into the night. Which was precisely how everyone wanted it.
Amaliawas to simply...disappear.
Her Majesty has seen fit to provide you with a most generous situation,her mother’s most fearsome minister had told her. He was the one who did the talking, though he’d comeinto the meeting with a phalanx of palace attorneys to back him up. As if, Amalia had thought, she had been attempting blackmail instead of just...reeling.The expectation is that you will handle these unforeseen developments with grace.
My mistake,Amalia had murmured.I thought the Queen was taking care of me because I have trained my whole life to be a person that I am not. I didn’t realize it was a bribe for future good behavior.
The minister had gazed at her with a certain amount of steely forbearance.Her Majesty is cognizant of the fact that you might have a number of feelings concerning recent events, Amalia. So do we all.
Amalia had spentthe previous few weeks overseeing the packing up of herthings. Which had involved a great deal of thinking about what wasactually hers. Because so much of what she considered her own was in fact her mother’s.Or the palace’s. Or, more properly, belonged to the people of Ile d’Montagne.
