I smile gratefully and turn to head back inside.

CHAPTER TWO

The next few weeks pass in a predictable pattern. First, my days at Bridgemont Academy come to an end. Over the past eight years, the completion of classes and the following week of exams have become a familiar ritual. The only difference this year is the afternoon of pomp and circumstance the entire Royal Guard spent weeks preparing for in order to map out every possible scenario and contingency.

The week following graduation is when the annual tradition of tutoring begins. Each summer since I started at Bridgemont Academy, I’ve been required to focus on one academic topic and one outdoor activity over the course of the summer break to supplement my already rigorous schooling.

This summer is art history and tennis. Last summer was filled with French poetry and archery. I usually articulate a convincing argument to my parents, outlining why the summer tutoring is wholly unnecessary. My protests were particularly vigorous last summer, partly from a bout of teenage rebellion, and mostly because I found the topic of French poetry to be incredibly boring.

I welcome the tradition of tutoring for the first time. It provides a distraction from the constant worries I’m otherwise plagued with. It’s late at night, following dinner and a game of chess with my father, lying awake, listening to the owls and staring at the ornate chandelier in my bedroom, that I dread now.

Daily life continues within the palace with little indication anything at all has changed. I rarely see my father during the day, which was typical before, but surprises me now.

Through a mixture of snooping and eavesdropping, I discover his days are now spent mapping out the long-terms goals he’s envisioned for the country to determine steps that can be taken now and projects I will have to take over. No sudden implementations can take place for fear of drawing unwanted scrutiny from the public.

I also come across a document in my father’s desk that suggests he is still working to find a way around the marriage law. I try not to get my hopes up, now knowing he has unsuccessfully been trying to do so ever since he first learned my early arrival precluded me from its revision almost two decades ago.

My new reality sinks in more and more each day, and as it does, a sense of urgency grows that I’m squandering my days as princess before I become queen.

The feeling only increases when I wake up on Monday and realize the start of my studies at Edgewood College is now only six weeks away.

My mother brings the impending event up mid-way through dinner that night, which is uncharacteristic of her. She usually leaves logistical details for the staff to worry about. It’s quickly revealed the source of her interest in the topic is the wildlife preservation meeting she attended earlier. It was mostly spent gossiping, if the volume of information my mother managed to compile regarding my classmates is any indication.