Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,32
bundled up tight, from her killer suit to her intricate updo.
“The Royal Schedule did have to be rearranged some, yes, Your Majesty,” she says. She smiles then, but it’s not a nice smile, and at my side, I feel Flora tense up.
“Oh, what a shame,” she says. “So sorry to have kept you from your usual Saturday of cutting ribbons and kissing babies, Mummy.”
It’s all I can do not to turn and gawk at her, but then, I guess Flora knows exactly how much she can get away with when it comes to her own mother.
The queen presses her lips together again, her hands folded in front of her. “Flora, one of the reasons we decided to send you to Gregorstoun was to curb some of your more . . . irrational behavior.”
“You sent me here as punishment,” Flora counters, and the queen sighs, just the littlest bit. It’s weird to think that in addition to running a country and being a ruler, she’s also just . . . a mom. A mom dealing with a daughter who doesn’t know how to stay out of trouble, I guess.
“I’m sorry you see it that way,” she finally says. “But I assure you that was not my intent. However, with the wedding coming up—”
“Oh, is there a wedding coming up?” Flora asks, widening her eyes with fake surprise. “I haven’t heard a thing about that. Has anyone alerted the media?”
The queen sucks in a deep breath. “Flora—”
“I’m not an idiot, Mummy,” Flora says, sitting forward, her fingers curled around the edge of the pew. “The wedding is why I’m here. You want me out of the way until it’s done.”
“And if I do,” Queen Clara counters, her voice suddenly gone hard, “can you blame me? After you’ve caused yet another scandal that’s embarrassed us all?”
The silence that falls feels heavy and awkward, and even Glynnis looks up, a little crease between her brows. Next to me, Flora goes still, and I see her knuckles turn white where she’s gripping the pew.
“No,” she finally says. “I suppose not.”
“What about Seb?” I blurt out, and everyone looks at me, the queen included.
My face flames hot, and I stammer out, “I—I mean, Prince Sebastian. Just. He did the actual punching and stuff.”
“Sebastian is being dealt with,” the queen says, “as are his foolish friends for allowing themselves to be . . . weaponized for your nonsense, Flora.”
I wrinkle my nose at that, glancing over at Flora. “What does that—” I start, and then I remember. Flora and Seb’s furtive conversation, her asking if all his friends were there. The way she whistled the boys over. Had she somehow engineered this whole thing?
“I, however, am not so foolish,” the queen goes on. “And while I’m sure you thought this was a flawless plan to get yourself kicked out of Gregorstoun and sent back home, I have been your mother far too long to dance to your tune so easily, young lady.”
Drawing herself up to her full height, the queen signals for Glynnis, who comes clicking over on her high heels.
“Dr. McKee has very graciously agreed with me that expulsion is hardly a fit punishment here,” the queen says as Glynnis types away on her iPad. “In fact, expulsion is simply out of the question for you full stop, no matter what other schemes you may plan. You are at Gregorstoun for the remainder of the school year, and that is final. If, however, you decide to test me on this . . .”
A subtle flick of Queen Clara’s fingers, and Glynnis is leaning over, the iPad offered to Flora, who’s still sitting on the edge of the pew, doing her best to look bored.
That expression falls right off her face when she sees whatever is written on the iPad, though, and I lean a little closer, trying to read it myself, but Glynnis pulls it back before I can.
“You wouldn’t,” Flora finally says, and her mother gives Glynnis another one of those finger snaps.
“I would,” she answers. “I will. A complete revocation of royal titles and privileges until your twenty-first birthday. A bit fairy tale, perhaps, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”
We all sit there, taking that in. Flora looks a little gray, and even Saks has gone somber and quiet. Personally, I don’t know what “royal titles and privileges” entail, but it seems intense.
Clearing her throat, Dr. McKee signals for us all to stand. “Well, I think that sorts things out,” she says.