I enter my philosophy class just as the professor is starting to speak and give her an apologetic smile as I slide into the seat Katie has saved for me.

The lecture drags by slowly as the professor reviews the long list of topics that will be covered on the final exam.

“So, how was your weekend?” Katie asks eagerly as soon as class ends.

I pause, unsure how to respond. Every possible adjective could apply to some part of it.

We emerge out of the massive lecture hall into the crowded hallway. The surrounding noise and activity doesn’t distract Katie, who continues looking at me intently.

“It was bittersweet,” I finally reply.

“Bittersweet? What does that mean?” Katie looks puzzled.

“It means it contained some perfect moments I’ll never forget and some horrible moments I’ll never forget. Jace and I are over.”

“What?” Katie gasps, looking over at me in concerned confusion. “You guys broke up? Why?”

We’ve reached the tall wooden doors that mark the entrance to the building. I open my mouth to spew the lie about transferring, already knowing it will justifiably spawn a whole new series of questions I don’t want to answer. Before I can say a single word, we walk outside into a sea of bright flashes.

“Princess! Princess!”

“Princess Vivienne!”

“Over here, Princess!”

“It’s her! Princess!”

The cacophony of shouts assaults me as I stand there frozen, completely stunned. The sudden collision of my royal status and time as Vivienne Rhodes is too overwhelming to process. Paparazzi continue to clamor, unfazed by my impersonation of a statue as noise swirls around me.

“When will you become queen now that your father is ill?” a reporter yells.

That snaps me out of my daze. It’s one thing to be confronted with my true identity, but another entirely to hear a stranger casually question information that’s been carefully guarded. Dimly, I’m aware of Katie calling my name next to me, but I’m too overcome to think straight, much less respond.

I turn and fight back against the tide of students streaming out from the building behind us. My progress is slow thanks to the uproar the paparazzi are creating, but I eventually manage to get back inside the building. I duck into an empty lecture hall and pull my phone out of my pocket.

The absolute silence of the massive auditorium is eerie in comparison to the echoes of the shouts I can still feel reverberating in my mind.

I pull out my phone to see the screen is covered with notifications. I chastise myself for not having checked it right after class. Fingers shaking, I unlock the phone and tap on Thomas’s name. He answers before it even has a chance to ring.

“Where are you?” he asks urgently.

“One of the classrooms in Bryant Hall. Second floor,” I answer.

“We’ll be right there.”

I hang up and sit down in one of the empty seats in the front row. Resting my head in my hands, I try to quell the panic rapidly building inside of me. That many reporters, here at Lincoln, suggests the situation is well beyond the point of any containment.