My response prompts a new flurry of questions, but Anne stands and announces the time for questions has ended.

“You did well, Princess,” she tells me as we exit the media room.

The brief flash of emotion drained me even further. “Thank you,” I reply bleakly. “I’m sorry about the last question. I just couldn’t… after everything he did.”

“We’ll handle it,” Anne assures me. “The wedding segment will play well. They should focus on re-airing clips from that.”

“Okay,” I respond.

“We’ll need to start preparing for the interview with Charles,” Anne says hesitantly. “But that can wait for a few days.”

“Okay,” I say again.

I trudge upstairs to my room, pausing just outside the door. Finally, I push it open. He’s everywhere. Sprawled out on my bed, perched on the window seat, emerging from the bathroom.

I shed my clothes and step under a hot spray of water. Pulsing liquid eases some of the stress from my muscles. I emerge from the shower and change into a pair of pajamas. I don’t bother to brush or dry my hair. I just climb under the covers, spreading my sopping wet hair across the pillow Jace slept on. I lie there until the silence becomes defeating.

I grab the remote from my bedside table and turn on the television. It’s set to the news, and I groan as I see they’re playing a video clip of me sitting at the table with Anne. Reluctantly, I unmute the television.

“Princess Vivienne, the only child of King Robert and Queen Evelyn, has had little public exposure over the years aside from scheduled public appearances or prepared speeches. She’s always appeared cool and collected. However, over the years, reports from her school instructors have described her as ‘spirited,’ and multiple classmates have characterized her as intimidating. Today we may have seen our first glimpse of the real Princess Vivienne. Despite repeated reports her relationship with the American football player Jace Dawson has ended, the princess did not take kindly to accusations Mr. Dawson may be using his association with her to further his own interests. We’ll show you the clip of her heated defense…”

I switch the television over to an episode of my favorite show. A few minutes later, I hear a knock on my door.

“Yes?” I call out.

My mother opens the door, and I sit up in shock. “Mother? Is everything all right?” I can’t remember the last time she’s come to my room.

“I was going to ask you the same,” she replies.

“Oh. I’m fine,” I respond. “Just tired.”

She nods. “Okay.” She glances over at the television. “What are you watching?”

“Just some reality show I stumbled across. It’s terrible.”

“Really?” My mother looks amused for some reason. “Well, I’ll let you get some rest, then.”

She lingers for another moment before finally leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

I flop back down against the pillows and try very hard not to think.