“Yeah,” says Danni. “I think the Spectator sent some people over when they found out I’m getting expelled.”

“I think they may have told a few of their friends as well,” I say wryly. And then, I draw a deep breath, and cock my head to beckon them. “Come with me,” I say, already walking.

They follow.

The thing is, I am not naturally suited for this role, not the way my parents are. The way Alfie is—an opinion I only hold more firmly now that I’m aware of the extent of his ruthlessness. On the topic of Alfie, he isn’t wrong about me, either. I am impulsive, and selfish, and shortsighted. I would prefer to be around my close friends than a room full of strangers, and small talk makes me shudder, and I don’t always know the right thing to say. I’m sarcastic, and I don’t see the best in everybody, and I struggle with my emotions far more than I should.

But, for better or worse, I am a symbol. And I think, in many ways, I can do more for this country if I allow that symbol to represent who I truly am, rather than a curated lie. Because I want to be good, and I want to serve my country without fear or vulnerability to manipulation. I want to make choices for the benefit of others, not simply to save my own reputation. And I cannot do that if I’m forced to lie under duress until my deathbed.

Students are already gathering at the gates to speak to the journalists. The rumors of Danni’s expulsion have undoubtedly traveled through the school grapevine. The crowd begins to scream my name when they see me cross the courtyard, sticking their arms through gaps in the fence as though it will help them reach across the meters that separate us. It’s an eagerness that borders on hysteria. A new development to an existing story is news enough on a slow day, but a quote from the princess would bump up the story’s importance significantly. More than likely, they’re hoping I’ll say something quotable enough to push things to the front page.

Well, won’t they just love me in a few minutes?

The guards that stand stationed by the gates hurry over to me, standing between me and the crowd. I turn to Danni and place a hand on her shoulder. “Stay here,” I tell her, before pushing my way through the crowd of students. Molly and Eleanor follow me.

As I open the side gate, the guards dart toward me, alarmed at the action. But the reporters back off, as I knew they would. There is an unspoken agreement here: they will give me space, and I will give them a story. I walk through the gate with the guards at my heels, and they drop back, leaving me alone.