“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “But no, totally. I’ll hang with her. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Of course.” With that, I feel much better. I’m about to suggest we return to the game, when Danni gives me a searching look.

“How about you?” she asks. “Anyone checking in on you?”

I wave a dismissive hand. “There’s nothing to worry about on my end. I’m perfectly fine.”

The corner of her mouth lifts into a wry smile. “I sort of think it’s a red flag if you feel perfectly fine after going through that, though. Don’t you?”

A red flag? Hardly. I’ve never understood people’s obsession with dwelling within their negative emotions. As though it’s somehow a sign of strength to wallow in sadness and hurt for weeks or months. Who does that help? Certainly not the person hurting. I understand, though, that it’s different for me. I’ve been raised knowing that my life is to be used in the service of my country. What I do and don’t need doesn’t—and could never—measure up against the needs of the masses. And what a privilege that is, to be in a position to help so many.

A red flag is a future monarch who crumbles at a hint of adversity. Henland doesn’t need me out of action any time a friend or family member passes, or a loved one pushes me from their lives, or I make a mistake that’s exposed to the world. It needs me to focus on all the things bigger than me, and perform my duties without faltering. Every day I can’t is a day I’ve failed everyone, including myself. And I’ve already failed enough for a lifetime.

“I’m resilient,” I say simply. Danni seems unconvinced.

Something falls on my cheek. At first, I think it’s water dripping off the tree leaves above me, but then I realize it’s a sprinkle of rain. It’s so light it’s practically weightless, the droplets catching glints of white-gold sunlight as they fall. Danni pulls the hood of her jacket over her hair, but I have no such option. I hurry to take shelter beneath a nearby tree.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Danni says, ducking in beside me. The branches aren’t doing an awful lot to protect either of us, and her jacket is already speckled with raindrops. “All those articles. I think that would destroy me.”

“Ahh, you saw some?” I ask brightly. “Lively reads, aren’t they?”

“They’re harsh. And you don’t feel any way about them?”