That night was just before we broke up. “So, you’re telling me that right around the time you figured it out, within days, someone else realized we were dating and reported us to the palace?”

“Yeah, I think that’s exactly what happened, from what you’re telling me, because—”

I laugh in her face. “Oh, well, in that case I’ll leave you alone then, shall I? So sorry for the misunderstanding!”

“Rose,” Harriet says over me. “I told Alfie.”

“I—” I stumble over this, confused. “You what?”

She averts her eyes to the wall behind me, angry and blushing. “You were going around kissing him in public, remember? I thought maybe if I told him, he’d confront you and you’d end things with Danni before they went any further, and maybe I’d have a chance with her. I’m a terrible, selfish person, and I’m sorry I did it. But I’m not a liar.”

I flounder, unable to grasp what she’s just told me. Or, rather, unwilling. “Did you tell anyone else?”

“No. Just Alfie. I promise.”

I back away, frowning. Somehow, I believe her. And that terrifies me.

“He told the palace about you two?” Harriet asks. “Is that why Danni’s getting expelled?”

I study her. She’s certainly telling the truth. Any doubts I had are erased by the earnest concern on her face.

Reeling, I stagger down the hall and into the courtyard, where I sit by the fountain to collect my thoughts. In the distance I can make out a crowd outside the gates. I squint. It’s a crowd of reporters. I suppose the story about Danni’s expulsion has been leaked. Perhaps William even leaked it himself in an attempt to place pressure on the school. He truly is happy to go above and beyond for me, now that I’ve promised to give him what he wants.

I take out my phone to check my messages.

There are a couple from Danni, which I remind myself to read in a few minutes.

William, informing me he’s on his way.

And Alfie, informing me the same.

FORTY-NINE ROSE

I text Alfie to meet me in the courtyard.

He’s wearing his school uniform like a model student. His shirt is a bright white, his blazer crisply ironed. His hair is immaculately styled, clean and smooth and immobile. It’s as though he’s auditioning for the role of my husband. That’s a silly thought, though. His audition is complete. And it was conducted with far more secrecy and skill than I could ever have anticipated.

He approaches me at the fountain. A prompt response to my text. He must have already been on the grounds.