After a deep breath, I climb the stairs with shaking legs, gripping the railing so I don’t fall. The interior of the plane is cream leather and polished wood. The royal crest is embroidered on the seats. A pretty flight attendant in a pressed uniform looks at my torn dress, bruised arms, mascara streaked down my face, and she frowns.
“Miss Cross, are you okay?”
“No,” I tell her.
“Apologies. Can I get you anything?”
“No,” I say, bursting into tears.
She doesn’t say anything else as I find a seat. Fighting is useless. I sink into the leather, wishing I had my phone so I could at least call Kendall.
“Can you tell me where I’m going?” I ask.
“New York,” she says, and I know by her reaction that she has no idea what I just went through.
A bitter laugh escapes me. Of course, the queen is shipping me back home.
The engines start, and the plane begins to taxi. I stare out the window as Montclaire slides past. I memorize the cliffs, the blue water, the lavender fields, and see the palace gleaming white on the hill. Somewhere down there, Louis is probably being escorted to the queen’s quarters.
The land shrinks beneath me until it’s just a green smudge against the endless blue.
Twelve hours ago, I was lying in his arms while he told me he loved me.
Now, I’m thirty thousand feet in the air, barefoot and bleeding in a torn ball gown, looking like a survivor of something terrible. Once we’re at cruising altitude, the flight attendant delivers a letter.
“Miss Cross, Her Majesty requested this be delivered to you,” she says, handing me a cream envelope with a wax seal stamping it closed.
I break the wax with trembling fingers and unfold the heavy cream paper with gold embellishments. The queen’s handwriting is elegant, and every letter is perfectly formed.
Miss Cross,
By the time you read this, you will be en route to New York. Your belongings have been packed and are with you. They will be unloaded and delivered to your loft in Tribeca.
I must confess, I underestimated you. The portrait was a bold move—one most wouldn’t have taken. I had been convinced you wouldn’t do something so risky. However, you had seen an opportunity, a weakness, and you exploited and seized it without hesitation. It’s admirable. In another life, I think we might have enjoyed becoming friends. You played the game better than I’d have ever expected from an American. But the game always ends, Miss Cross, and this one is over.
You are hereby banned from the sovereign territory of Montclaire. Permanently. Any attempt to return here will result in your immediate arrest and detention. Please understand that this is not a threat, and the order has already been signed.
I understand you believe my son loves you. Perhaps he does in his own way. Louis has always had a weakness for beautiful things that don’t belong to him. Let me remind you that this is not a fairy tale, and a crush is not enough to run a kingdom. It never has been. Louis will marry someone appropriate for him. He will immediately produce heirs. He will fulfill the duties he was born to fulfill. And eventually, you will forget each other.
You gave him a lovely summer with memories I’m sure he’ll think of fondly. But you were a temporary distraction, and that’s all you can be.
Don’t contact him. Do not write to him. Do not attempt to reach him through Delphine or anyone else in this family.If you do, I will make things very unpleasant for you. I trust we understand each other.
Go home, Miss Cross. Paint your gorgeous portraits. Please find a nice American who can give you a luxurious American life. Leave my son to his future.
You fought well, but you were never going to win.
I read it until the words blur. She banned me, like loving Louis is a crime.
I fold the letter carefully, matching the creases exactly, and slide it back into the envelope. My hands have stopped shaking. My tears have dried.
The queen thinks this is checkmate. She thinks she’s won, but she has no idea who she’s dealing with.
31
LOUIS
The guards haul me to my feet. There is copper on my tongue, and my lip is busted, but I don’t know when that happened. They pull my arms tight behind my back and march me toward the service entrance, knowing they’re not going to free me.
