Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,31

pub hadn’t just been a local village scandal, but apparently made it into the papers as well. I haven’t bothered to look because the last thing I want to see is a blurry creeper shot of me cowering in the booth as punches and pint glasses were thrown. We’d made it back to the school okay, but the very next morning, Flora, Sakshi, Perry, and I had all had notices to meet Dr. McKee in the chapel.

Seb and his friends are long gone, of course, happily consequence-free, I bet.

Meanwhile, I’ve spent the entire morning trying not to throw up, visions of me being booted onto the next plane to Texas running through my head. How could I have been so stupid? I should’ve just stayed in my room.

Except, I remind myself, I did it for Saks. My folly was noble at least.

I turn to her now and whisper, “Guess the whole ‘marry Seb’ thing is out the window now, huh?”

To my surprise, Sakshi shakes her head. “No, but I realize now my plan will need some recalibrating.”

“Right,” I reply faintly before turning my attention back to Dr. McKee.

She’s standing in front of the altar, her hands clasped, her shoulders straight, and next to me on the pew, Flora sighs.

“This is so dramatic,” she says in a low voice. “So very like Mummy.”

And that’s when I realize this little meeting that I thought would just be with us and Dr. McKee is much bigger than I’d understood.

“Wait, ‘Mummy’?” I ask Flora, my eyes going wide. “As in your mother? As in the queen of this freaking country?”

Turning to me, Flora raises an eyebrow. “Why do you think we’re in here?” she asks. “This is the only part of the school that can be accessed without going through the rest. My mother hardly wants to advertise her presence.”

Saks is sitting on the other side of me, and now she leans all the way across me to grab Flora’s shoulder. “We’re having a meeting with Her Majesty?”

Shrugging off her touch, Flora rolls her eyes. “She’ll be here in a Mum capacity, not a royal one.”

Sakshi’s eyes are huge, and she looks down at her lap. “This isn’t even my best uniform.”

“All our uniforms are the same,” Perry says, but Sakshi shakes her head.

“No, Perry, I have one for regular days and one that I had tailored to fit better. This isn’t the tailored one, Perry. This isn’t the tailored one!”

Before Sakshi can have a total breakdown, the side door to the chapel opens, and a woman walks in, trailed by two men in suits and sunglasses. Just behind them, there’s a woman in a bright red suit and the highest, thinnest heels I’ve ever seen, tapping away on a tablet.

Saks, Perry, and I all scramble to our feet, but Flora stays slumped in the pew, her arms crossed over her chest.

Queen Clara looks a lot like Flora and not much like Seb. Same golden hair and whisky eyes, same way of looking at you like you smell bad.

I fight the urge to give myself a quick sniff check, and instead stand very still as the queen moves forward, holding out her hand to Dr. McKee.

The headmistress takes it, giving a quick curtsy that I try to memorize. One foot behind the other, a kind of quick up-and-down bob where she never bends at the waist but does lower her head. It comes naturally to Dr. McKee, but when the queen approaches me, my knees tremble so much that just standing feels like a challenge, never mind pulling off a freaking curtsy.

Honestly, I’m a little surprised to be this rattled. I’ve dealt with rich kids here for the past couple of weeks, made friends with two very rich kids, and my roommate is a princess. But they’re still all just kids, like me. A queen, though? That shakes me up.

Perry bows his head. Sakshi executes a flawless curtsy, and while mine is nowhere near as good, I try my best.

Apparently my best is not that great because the queen’s lips thin slightly as she gestures for us all to sit.

She stays exactly where she is, ramrod straight at the end of the pew.

“This is not what I had intended to do today, Flora,” she finally says. “In fact, I had all sorts of plans, didn’t I, Glynnis?”

The woman with the iPad glances up and scurries over, her footsteps tiny, probably because the skirt she’s wearing doesn’t allow for anything more. Everything about her is