Almost ten years ago, when I was seven, the country held a referendum on whether to abolish the monarchy altogether. Though clearly the monarchy was maintained, the vote was far too close for comfort as far as my parents are concerned. Especially when it became clear from the numbers that many municipalities within Henland are distinctly anti-royalist. Though the theme of my life has always been the importance of maintaining the royal line, the urgency increased enormously following the referendum.

Well, it’s bloody lucky for me that I’m historically such a natural at keeping within the lines and winning over the public, isn’t it? It would be rather awkward if I were so prone to misstepping that I single-handedly prompted the abolition of a six-hundred-year-long line of royalty, now, wouldn’t it?

Yes, thank goodness being perfect comes easily to me. If it didn’t, I might be under the kind of pressure that could make someone crack, right now.

The Hennish prime minister, Urmila Kapoor, falls into step behind me when we leave the balcony. She’s a short woman with an explosion of chestnut curls and a beauty mark just below her left eye. “Rose, how have you been?” she asks. “Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

Urmila isn’t the type to take digs at people, at least, as far as I know. So, chances are, she means the question innocently. It’s hard to take it that way, though, when it’s approximately the twentieth time someone’s asked me something along those lines today alone.

“Doing my best,” I say with a gritted-teeth smile.

“That’s all anyone can ever do,” she says.

Back inside, the approximately 150 attendees are milling about in formalwear while a string quartet provides ambiance. I spot Alfie with his parents, but I don’t approach him yet. If I don’t work the crowd a little, Father will be out for my blood, especially after yet another failed balcony appearance.

So, I find Mr. Cloughton, whose father was close friends with my grandfather, and I ask after his family, and he asks me if the drink in my hand is nonalcoholic. And I check in with the Spanish ambassador, and she recommends a therapist she says helped her son immensely when he was going through a troubled phase of his own. And I greet Lord Oliphant and his wife, and they ask me if my parents are speaking to me yet—as a joke, of course, just a lark, of course. And I laugh, and they laugh, and Alfie rescues me before I shatter the flute of alcohol-free champagne clenched in my fist.