Chapter Text
The King’s private study was cloaked in silence, grand and heavy with history. Gilded frames lined the walls, portraits of rulers who had never asked permission to live their lives. The air smelled of old wood, smoke, and expectation. Lottie stood near the doorway, small against the towering shelves and stone fireplace. Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to speak.
The fire crackled behind the King, casting his figure in silhouette, making him seem even more distant, even more untouchable.
“I’m not asking to run from the crown,” Lottie said, voice sharp with restrained emotion. “I just want one more year at university. One year to finish what I started. To live like a normal person for once.”
Her hands trembled at her sides, knuckles white with the effort of holding herself together. The King didn’t look up from the document he was annotating; the scratch of his pen louder than her breath. “You are never off duty,” he said eventually. “The crown doesn’t pause for sentiment. It demands everything.”
Her fists clenched at her sides. “I’ve given it everything. Since I was a child, I’ve followed every rule, smiled at every camera, buried everything that didn’t fit the image you wanted. I just want to know what it feels like to live without eyes on me. Without guards shadowing my steps. Without needing to be perfect.”
“I’m twenty-one. I’ve never gone to a concert without a security team. I’ve never kissed someone without worrying it would make the tabloids. I’ve never been allowed to fall apart in private. Can you even imagine what that’s like?” She took a step forward, desperation rising in her chest like a wave. “I just want the chance to be normal. Even if it’s temporary.”
He set down his pen slowly, finally meeting her gaze. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with something colder than disappointment calculation. “And if something happens again?” he said. “If the press finds you? If someone recognizes you? If you fail?”
“Last year, you left Cambridge for a reason. You can’t afford to let the pressures of normal life sway you, especially now. If you want to keep playing at being a student, fine. But you’re still a princess. And now well, now it’s even more dangerous for you to pretend otherwise.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. "You can’t afford another mistake like that."
Lottie swallowed, her heart beating faster. She could feel the anger rising within her, but she kept it buried, letting the cool mask of control settle over her. “I’m not pretending to be anything,” she said, her tone clipped. “And I didn’t make the decision to leave Cambridge lightly.”
Her father’s expression softened only slightly, but there was no mistaking the underlying strain in his voice. “You didn’t have a choice. You had to be removed from the spotlight. Your health was–”
“Health?” Lottie interrupted, her voice hard.
The King’s face didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened. “You were unraveling. We couldn’t allow that to be public. Not with the press circling. Not with the succession being whispered about already. It was a matter of national stability.”
“I was twenty,” Lottie said, voice rising now, her composure splintering under the weight of memory. “A twenty-year-old girl locked in a palace wing with therapists I didn’t choose and doctors who reported to you.”
“That was for your protection.”
“No, that was for yours,” she snapped. “So you wouldn’t have to explain to Parliament why the heir to the throne wasn’t picture-perfect. So no one would ask if I could handle it. God forbid they see me as a person instead of a symbol.”
“You think I wanted that for you?” he asked quietly. “You think I wanted to see my daughter collapse under the pressure?”
Lottie swallowed hard. She wasn’t expecting the flicker of something human in his voice, regret, maybe, or shame, but it didn’t matter. It was too late for softness.
“I don’t think you saw me at all,” she said. “Not then. Maybe not ever.” He didn’t reply. The silence between them stretched until it became unbearable.
“Mom would have wanted this for me,” she said, her voice cracking. “You know she would have. She told me once, when I was twelve, that she wanted me to see the world as mine, not just my duty. She wanted me to fall in love, to make mistakes, to know who I was before I had to become Queen.”
The King’s jaw tightened, barely, but it was enough to make Lottie press on. “I know I know she wouldn’t want me suffocating in this palace for the rest of my youth. She’d want me to go.”
Silence settled like dust in the space between them. The King studied her, his face a mask of cool detachment, but there was something in his eyes flickering, fleeting that hinted at memory. Loss. Perhaps even guilt. He set down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands.
“If anything happens,” he said, his voice quiet but ironclad, “there will be no more second chances.”
Lottie nodded, breath catching in her throat. “I understand.”
He gave a slow, reluctant nod. “One year.” Relief flooded her chest, but it didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like a favor she would never stop owing. A small victory in a war she hadn’t chosen, laced with invisible terms.
“You’ll have a security presence,” he said. “At all times. Discreet, but armed. Your schedule will be monitored and reported. If anything suggests instability or threatsocial, political, or personal, you return immediately. No discussion.”
She swallowed hard. “You expect me to live like a normal student with a shadow tracking my every step?”
“You will never be normal,” the King said flatly. “But you may pretend, if you follow the rules.”
She shifted her weight. “Then let me choose who follows me.” He glanced up, measuring.
“Go on.”
“Travis,” she said. “He’s trained. He knows the protocols. But he also knows me. He won’t make it worse than it has to be.”
“He’s twenty-two.”
“He’s good,” she said quickly. “He’s calm. And if I have to be followed, I want it to be by someone who actually looks my age.”
The King was quiet for a moment, then gave a single nod. “Fine. Travis will go. He reports to me daily. One misstep, and you come home.”
“I understand.” Lottie took a breath. “I also want to bring Mari.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Mari. The girl you used to sneak out with when you were thirteen.”
“She’s not like that anymore,” Lottie said. “She’s steady. She’s the only person I trust to tell me the truth without wrapping it in protocol. She makes me feel like I can breathe.”
Another pause.
“She may go. Same rules.” Lottie allowed herself a tiny breath of relief. But before she could speak again, the King added, “And Tai will join you.”
Lottie blinked. “Tai?”
“She’s already briefed. She knows the press strategy. She’ll ensure your image remains clean, consistent, and quiet. The crown cannot afford a repeat of your last year.”
“She’s not my friend,” Lottie said quickly. “She’s not even someone I trust.”
“You don’t have to trust her; I do. You just have to tolerate her. She will handle the media, the messaging, the fallout if this fails. This is not optional.” Lottie clenched her jaw. Of all the people he could have picked, of course it was Tai the polished handler who never looked her in the eye unless a camera was involved.
“Travis is with you at all times and you will listen to Tai,” the King said, final and unbending. “That is the team. That is the deal.”
Lottie didn’t move. The study felt colder than before. But she nodded. “Deal”
Lottie found Mari sitting by the window, her legs tucked up beneath her, the light from outside softening the edge of her profile. She wasn’t scrolling her phone or reading like she usually was just sitting there, looking out at the sky like she was trying to make sense of it.
When Lottie’s footsteps reached her, Mari turned her head slowly and raised an eyebrow. “Well?” Her voice was quiet, curious, but still steady. Lottie stopped a few steps away.
“He said yes.” Mari didn’t respond right away. She waited. “And... I get the year,” Lottie added, her voice a little smaller now. “To finish school. But it’s not as simple as I thought.”
Mari rolled her eyes, a sarcastic grin tugging at her lips. “You thought your dad would just hand over a free pass to live like a normal person? Please. You should’ve known better than that.”
Lottie’s shoulders slumped. “It’s not just that, Mari. He's forcing me to have a security detail, and Tai’s going with me too. I’ll never have a moment to breathe, never feel like I’m actually living.”
“Wow, sounds like a real nightmare, huh? Cry me a river.”
Lottie frowned. “I’m serious, Mari.”
“I know,” Mari said, her voice softening, but only a little. “But you’re always serious. You think that means you get to whine about it? You don’t. If you’re going, then go. Don’t sit here and complain about the rules. If you don’t like them, make your own life. You’re a princess.”
Lottie clenched her jaw, frustration bubbling in her chest. “I can’t even make a decision without my father pulling the strings. Every move I make, there’s someone watching me.”
Mari narrowed her eyes. “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re smarter than that. You have one year, Lottie. Don’t waste it letting someone else call the shots for you. If you really want to live, stop making excuses.”
Lottie took a deep breath, but she didn’t argue. Mari was right; Mari was always right. It was maddening how easily she could cut through the noise in Lottie’s head and land on the truth.
Lottie chewed on that for a moment, then looked up. “You’re coming with me, right?”
Mari gave her a look like she was the last person who needed to ask. “Duh.”
Lottie couldn’t help but let out a small, relieved laugh. “You make it sound like I’m not asking for a major favor.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not going to let you screw this up by yourself,” Mari said, grinning. “Besides, who else would I complain about the lack of good coffee with?”
Lottie smiled, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “I’m not going to lie, I was kind of worried you’d bail on me.”
“Bail?” Mari arched her brow. “I’m your unpaid emotional support. The least I can get is free international travel and a snazzy apartment if Tai has anything to say about it.”
Lottie stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the delicate bracelet on her wrist. It was gold, thin, understated: a gift, Tai had said, sent from home with a note from her father. For luck. For protection. She’d rolled her eyes at the sentiment, but worn it anyway.
Travis leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with a strange expression. “You know that’s not just a bracelet, right?” he said casually.
Lottie froze. “What do you mean?”
Travis shrugged, straightening. “It’s a tracker. Same tech they used when you were a teenager. Hidden in the clasp.” He said it like it was obvious, like she should’ve known. Her stomach dropped.
“You’re kidding.”
“I thought Tai told you.” When she didn’t respond, his jaw tightened. “You didn’t know.”
“No.” The word came out sharp. Her fingers flew to the clasp, ripping it off. “He put a tracker on me? Without telling me?”
“It’s for your safety.”
“It’s a violation.” She turned on him, voice rising. “I’m not a child. I’m not a fucking dog. I’m a person. He doesn’t get to track me like this.”
“Lottie-”
“I’m done with this,” she muttered, sharp and low. “I’m done with him. Every time it’s the same thing. The crown, the duty, the optics. Like I don’t exist beyond the headlines.”
She stopped and turned to Travis, eyes bright with fury. “I’m not just an heir. I’m a person. And I’m sick of being treated like I’m nothing more than a job title.”
Travis stayed leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, like he was more interested in the floor than the fire coming off her. His face was neutral, practiced.
“He’s always been like that,” he said eventually. “It’s not about you. It never really was.”
Lottie let out a sharp breath, fists clenched. “That’s supposed to make it better? That it’s never been about me?” She stepped closer, her voice cracking around the edges. “You know what? You’re his guy. You work for him. So pass along a message, would you? Tell my father to go fuck himself.”
Travis arched a brow, unimpressed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll pencil that in right after I schedule my public execution.”
“I’m serious.”
“You want me to tell the King to fuck himself? No way.”
“You say worst to me all the time.”
“That’s different. You won’t have me thrown in a dungeon.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He gave a lazy shrug, that signature half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Look, if it helps, I think he’s a royal ass most days. But I like having a head. It’s grown on me.”
Lottie just stared at him, the anger still there but cooling into something more tired. “You’re such a coward.”
“I’m a professional coward,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.” She rolled her eyes and turned away, rubbing her temples.
“The second I’m queen,” she muttered, “you’re so fired.”
Travis grinned. “Guess I better start brushing up on my resume then.”
“Oh, you’ll need more than that,” Lottie said, glancing at him over her shoulder. “You’ll need a whole new identity. I’ll make sure your next job is in sewage.”
Travis snorted. “Still better than guarding a drama queen.”
“I heard that.”
“I meant for you to.”
Lottie narrowed her eyes at him, but her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile. The fire had dimmed. The walls didn’t feel quite as close. “You know,” she said, softer now, “just once, it’d be nice if you took my side without hiding behind sarcasm.”
Travis met her gaze. Something flickered there, not quite guilt, but close. “I do take your side,” he said. “Every day. You just don’t always notice.”
Lottie didn’t reply right away. Then, with a quiet sigh: “You’re still fired.”
The apartment was by normal standards stunning. Hardwood floors, tall windows that let in golden late afternoon light, a velvet couch that cost more than most students’ monthly rent, and framed art that looked suspiciously like it had been shipped over from a gallery in London.
It didn’t scream royalty, but it definitely whispered it. Everything was tastefully arranged, the kind of curated “lived in” look that involved three decorators, a moving crew, and Mari physically threatening to throw out anything that looked like it belonged in a palace drawing room.
Lottie stood near the window, a glass of sparkling water in hand, surveying their new home with a cautious kind of pride. The city buzzed below: louder, brasher than anything back home but she liked that. It felt like the world here moved without waiting for her, without bowing. She could breathe. Tai had picked out the apartment. She had said it was secure and close enough to campus that Lottie could walk. Except for the fact that Travis occupied next door with another agent and would follow her everywhere.
“Alright,” Mari said, tucking her legs underneath her. “We’re officially unpacked, decorated, and no one has cried in at least two days. I think that makes this a home.”
“You cried when we couldn’t find the duvet covers.”
“Like you haven’t cried over comfort before.”
She glanced around the room again, trying to see it the way someone else might. “It’s nice here,” she said finally. Lottie pulled her knees closer to her chest. “Feels weird, though. Being just... Lottie.”
“Isn’t that the point?” Mari asked gently. “That you get to decide who you are here?”
“I know.” Lottie hesitated. “It’s just... I’ve always been Charlotte. Even at Cambridge, I was still Charlotte, the princess. This time I’m going to be just Lottie. Lottie’s just... nobody.”
“Lottie is my best friend. She’s smart, and sharp, cries at dog commercials, and occasionally a little dramatic, but she’s real. And honestly?” She smiled. “I like her more than the princess.”
Lottie blinked, then smiled, eyes a little glassy.
Lottie stood hesitantly by the café entrance, glancing around. It was packed with students laughing, chatting, and bouncing between the clatter of coffee cups and the hum of casual conversation. She wasn’t used to being in a place where no one recognized her, where no one cared who she was. It felt both freeing and a little intimidating at the same time.
As she approached where Van was sitting with a girl she didn’t recognize, Lottie could already tell that this would be one of those moments where she had to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
Van waved her over, and Lottie made her way toward them with a soft sigh. Van grinned at her. “Lottie, meet Nat.” They gestured to the girl sitting beside her, who was leaning back with her arms crossed with a look of casual disinterest. “Nat, this is Lottie, the international student.”
Nat didn’t even look up when Lottie approached. She was dressed in an old band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and had her blonde hair messily tied back. The whole vibe was effortlessly rebellious, and it made Lottie’s carefully put together appearance feel even more out of place.
Nat looked Lottie up and down for a moment, her expression neutral, almost unreadable.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice direct and steady.
Lottie smiled, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you too.”
Instead of shaking her hand, Nat simply nodded, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly, almost as if she was trying to decide something about Lottie.
“Don’t mind her,” Van laughed, sliding back into the booth.
There was something about her, something sharp and mysterious that made Lottie want to know more. Maybe it was the way Nat didn’t feel the need to make small talk or the way she didn’t give off the usual vibe of wanting to impress people.
She was just… there.
They all sat down, with Van taking the seat next to Lottie, and Nat sitting across from them. The conversation flowed, mostly between Van and Lottie, with Nat chiming in every now and then, her tone always measured, her comments insightful but brief. Lottie couldn’t help but notice how easily Van and Nat seemed to play off each other, like old friends who knew exactly how to keep each other entertained without trying too hard.
Lottie, on the other hand, felt a little out of step with the flow of the conversation. She was still getting used to being at university, still adjusting to being away from the world she knew, the expectations that followed her every move. “So, what are you studying?” Lottie asked, turning to Nat after a pause.
Nat glanced up from her coffee, meeting Lottie’s gaze head on for the first time. Her eyes were sharp, but not unkind, more like she was evaluating the question, and maybe the person asking it.
“Sociology,” she said, voice even.
There was a slight curve to her mouth, like maybe she found the whole thing a little funny, or maybe she just liked keeping people guessing.
Lottie nodded, trying not to overthink her next words. “That makes sense. You seem like the type who notices everything.”
Nat shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. “Not everything. Just what people are trying to hide.”
Lottie froze for half a second, caught off guard. But Nat didn’t push, didn’t even seem to notice the way her words landed. “I’m studying history,” Lottie said, recovering quickly. “It felt… expected.”
History had always been something she gravitated toward, not just because it interested her, but because it was something that made sense given her future. Her father had always emphasized how understanding the past was essential to leading the future. She had to know the lessons of the past if she was going to be a good queen one day. But she couldn’t say that, not here, not yet.
Nat tilted her head. “Expected by who?”
Lottie hesitated. “I guess... just the way I grew up. There was a lot of talk about tradition. About legacy. It felt like the right choice.”
“Huh,” Nat said, watching her. “So you’re one of those rich girls.”
Lottie blinked. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not an insult,” Nat said lightly. “You’re clearly not like the others. You’ve got the posture, but not the attitude. Yet.”
Van snorted. “This is what Nat’s bonding looks like, by the way. Just thought I’d clarify.”
The conversation shifted as Van started talking, but Lottie found herself distracted by Nat. The way she spoke: so grounded, so sure of herself. It was so different from Lottie’s own quiet tension, the constant feeling of being watched, of being molded for a future she wasn’t sure she could fit into. Nat didn’t seem to care about any of that. She was just… herself.
The lecture hall buzzed with restless energy as students packed up after another long winded monologue from Professor Arden. Lottie sat near the middle, perfectly upright, notebook open, pen still in hand. She liked structure, even when the class, Social Inquiry , felt maddeningly vague.
“Before you go,” Professor Arden called over the hum, “group project assignments are going up on the screen. You’ll work together for the next four weeks on your final. Groups of four, randomized.”
Groans rippled through the room. Lottie blinked up at the projector. She hadn’t known they’d be assigned randomly. She was already running through worst case scenarios in her head. What if she got someone who never showed up? Or someone who asked too many questions about her background?
The names appeared. Two names that she didn’t know, but one that she did.
Nat.
They weren’t strangers anymore: a few casual lunches with Van, a late night at Van and Nat’s apartment, a shared look across a too loud party when someone said something idiotic. But there was still distance. Nat looked at her like she hadn’t quite decided if Lottie was worth trusting. Or maybe she’d already decided and was just being polite.
“Figures,” she said flatly, walking over. “Let me guess. You already made a Google Doc ready to be shared?”
Lottie blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… yes.”
“Of course you did.” Nat gave a dry, humorless smile. “That’s just your whole thing, isn’t it?”
Lottie frowned. “My thing?”
Nat shrugged, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “You’re the one with the packed schedule, right? Volunteer work, museum events, history club, that kind of thing?”
There it was again. The unspoken rich girl read. Lottie smiled without showing her teeth.
“I like history. I grew up around it.”
“I grew up around car exhaust and moldy drywall. Doesn’t mean I majored in it.”
“This group’s gonna be chaos.” Nat smirked. “It’ll be fine. Lottie’s got us. She probably color codes her notes.”
Lottie opened her mouth, closed it again, then said, “...You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I like being prepared,” she said finally. “It doesn’t mean I think I’m better than anyone.”
Nat arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t say you did.”
Lottie gave her a long look. “But you think I do.”
Nat looked away for a second, then shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve worked with girls like you before. You’re used to things going your way. I’m not really interested in doing someone else’s project for them.”
That one hit. Lottie drew in a slow breath. “I don’t expect that,” she said, quieter now. “I’m not just here to cruise through school on charm and privilege.”
Nat laughed under her breath. “Didn’t say that either.”
“No, but you think so.”
They stood there in silence for a moment. The tension was sharp but not quite hostile. Not anymore. Nat looked at her again. This time her expression was more curious than skeptical.
Nat tilted her head just slightly, as if seeing Lottie clearly for the first time. “You surprise me sometimes,” she said.
Lottie blinked. “Is that… a compliment?”
“Maybe,” Nat said, mouth twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Or maybe it’s just an observation.”
Lottie picked up her bag. “Well, I’ll take it either way. We’ll figure out a schedule. I’ll send out some time options.”
“Of course you will,” Nat said, but it came with a softer tone this time, almost amused. As they walked toward the exit, a quiet stretch fell between them, not awkward, just… quiet.
“Do you always assume the worst of people?” Lottie asked without looking at her.
“Only when they wear shoes that cost more than my rent,” Nat replied. But then she sighed, and glanced over. “Look. If I’m off about you, I’ll own it. Just don’t expect me to be impressed by good posture and time management.”
Lottie laughed, surprised by how warm she felt under the teasing. “Deal,” she said. “But I should warn you, my note color coding system is genuinely impressive.”
Lottie was early, of course, and had already staked out a quiet table in a corner near the window. Her laptop was open, a neat stack of reference books beside it, tabs already marking potential sources. She checked her watch. Five minutes past the meeting time. Nat still wasn’t here. Neither were the two others in their group, which didn’t surprise her as much as it irritated her.
Travis was at the table next to her, pretending to study. His posture was casual with elbow resting on the arm of his chair, fingers flipping through the same page of a textbook for the third time, but Lottie knew better. He wasn’t reading. He was watching.
She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye, subtle but pointed. Travis responded with the faintest shrug, like What do you want me to do?
Before Lottie could come up with a clever internal retort, a familiar voice cut through her thoughts.
“You’re early.” Nat dropped into the seat across from her like it was an afterthought, not an intention.
“I’m on time,” Lottie corrected, gesturing vaguely at the clock on the wall. “Everyone else is late.”
Nat glanced around and nodded. “Figures. Group projects always end up being a two person show.”
“You’re not disappointed?”
Nat gave her a look. “I don’t know yet.”
That should’ve annoyed her. Somehow, it didn’t.
“Let’s see your notes, color queen,” Nat added, leaning forward and gesturing to the organized stack of materials like she was approaching a museum exhibit.
“You mock, but it’s efficient.” Lottie narrowed her eyes.
“Never said it wasn’t,” Nat said, reaching for one of the color coded folders.
Lottie actually smiled at that. Travis, still pretending to study nearby, glanced over and raised a brow, but she ignored him. “I was thinking we could trace housing zoning policies and the socio economic fallout in marginalized communities,” Lottie said, finding her footing again. “Start with mid 20th century zoning laws and lead into present day impacts.”
Nat flipped through a few pages. “Let’s show how it actually screws over real people. Maybe pull in a current case study? Tie it back to lived experience.”
Lottie paused, then nodded. “You want to make it more personal.”
“I want to make it matter,” Nat said.
Across the room, Travis turned a page with exaggerated slowness, like he couldn’t believe he was witnessing a productive group meeting.
“So,” Nat said, tapping her pen against the edge of the table, “are we good with splitting the sections? You do the older research, I dig into the interviews and data?”
“You’re actually going to do your part?” Lottie asked, raising an eyebrow.
Nat smirked. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
Lottie studied her for a moment, something warm flickering just under the surface.
Later that week, Lottie could feel Nat watching. It had started subtly, just glances at first, but now it felt like a steady presence. Like Nat was trying to understand something that didn’t quite add up. Travis had always been discreet, or at least he used to be. Lately, his presence felt heavier. He wasn’t doing anything overt, but he was always there. He stood just close enough when she was talking to someone. He never laughed, never let his guard drop.
And Nat noticed.
Of course she did. Nat noticed everything. That afternoon outside the library, Lottie caught the look in Nat’s eyes. She was watching Travis again. Watching the way he moved just as Lottie stepped away from her friends, slipping effortlessly into step beside her like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Not to Nat. The question came sooner than Lottie expected.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
Lottie almost stumbled at the question. She turned to Nat, who was walking beside her now, arms crossed and gaze fixed ahead like she hadn’t just lobbed something that made Lottie’s chest tighten. Lottie almost stopped walking. “Travis?” She forced a laugh. “God, no.”
Nat shrugged, pretending to play it off. “Just seems like he’s always around.”
Lottie forced a laugh, but it felt thin. “He’s just protective. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Nat said, not quite looking at her. “You don’t even have to ask. He just moves with you.”
That part stung. Because it was true. Because that was the point. “He’s... loyal,” Lottie said quietly. It was the safest word she could think of. Not honest, but not a lie. Nat gave her a quick glance.
“To you?”
Lottie nodded, swallowing the answer she couldn’t give. “Yeah. To me.”
They walked a little farther in silence. Lottie’s heart was still pounding. She wanted to tell Nat it wasn’t what it looked like. That there were reasons. That she didn’t have a choice in any of it. But the truth sat behind her teeth like glass. Too sharp to spit out.
“You ever get tired of that?” Nat asked after a while. Her voice was soft, not accusing. Just curious. “Having someone always watching out for you like that?” Lottie paused.
“Sometimes.”
“I don’t know,” Nat continued, her voice softer now, but still uneasy. “It just feels like... control. Like you’re not allowed to make your own decisions. Not with him around.”
Lottie didn’t know how to respond to that. The truth about who Travis really was and why he hovered so close was something she couldn’t even start to explain. Not without everything falling apart.
“I know what it’s like,” Nat said, quieter now, almost to herself. “To have someone control everything. It’s not fun.” Lottie’s heart clenched. She wanted to reach out, to tell Nat how much she understood. But instead, she forced out a tight smile, pretending that everything was fine.
“I know,” she said, her voice soft. “But it’s not like that.”
Nat watched her for a long moment, her expression unreadable, and Lottie hated the way it made her feel so exposed. “I’m just saying...” Nat added, her voice sincere, but with a note of warning. “If it gets to be too much, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”
Lottie smiled, but it felt weak. “Thanks, Nat. I appreciate that.” As they continued walking, Lottie tried to push the conversation from her mind, but it kept circling back. The way Nat looked at her. The way Travis hovered, and how Nat wasn’t just seeing it she was seeing through it.
Mari arrived first, of course, striding into the café with her usual confidence. She spotted Lottie immediately and made a beeline for her, greeting her with a playful grin and a raised eyebrow. “What’s up, princess? Big date or something?” she teased, sliding into the booth across from Lottie without waiting for an invitation. Lottie laughed, shaking her head.
“Don’t get any ideas. Just a casual hangout, trying not to completely embarrass myself.”
“Embarrass yourself?” Mari scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Please. You know I’m the one who keeps you from being a complete mess?”
Lottie felt a little nervous as she glanced toward the door. Just as she did, Nat and Van stepped inside, Van’s bright smile making their way toward their booth while Nat followed a bit more cautiously, scanning the room as if trying to figure out where she fit into this strange mix.
“Hey!” Van greeted warmly, leaning in to hug Lottie before settling into the booth beside her. “I see you’ve got the good taste in hangouts,” they said, glancing around.
Mari gave a lazy wave as if she couldn’t be bothered to get up. “Yeah, Lottie was all about keeping this a low-key thing. I’d probably be a lot more fun if she wasn’t so uptight,” she said, flashing a mischievous grin.
Before Mari could fire back with a sarcastic remark, Nat took a seat beside Van, giving a polite nod toward Mari. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice low but calm. Mari leaned in, her grin widening, clearly not one to shy away from making things a little more interesting. “Nice to meet you too. I gotta say, Lottie’s been keeping you so mysterious. She usually is only reserved when she likes someone.”
“Mari, shut up,” Lottie exclaimed, her face going hot as she shot Mari a sharp look.
Mari just held her hands up innocently, her grin still in place. “What? I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”
Van burst out laughing at the exchange, clearly enjoying Lottie’s discomfort. “Oh, this is good,” they said, leaning back in their seat.
Lottie buried her face in her hands, trying to will the heat from her cheeks. “Can we not do this?”
Nat, who had been quiet up until now, gave a small, almost amused smile. “It’s fine. I don’t mind,” she said softly, clearly not bothered by Mari’s teasing.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t mind,” Mari replied with a wink. “You look like the type who can handle a little sarcasm.”
Lottie groaned again, but this time, it was accompanied by a real smile.
“I swear, you’re the worst.”
“Yeah, but I’m your favorite worst,” Mari shot back, leaning back in her chair smugly.
As the banter continued, Lottie couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, her nerves easing despite the teasing. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Lottie spotted Nat before Nat spotted her leaning against a tree, talking animatedly to a girl with a septum piercing and a clipboard. Lottie took a steadying breath and crossed the grass. Nat’s face shifted the second she saw her. Surprise first, then something more cautious.
“You came.”
Lottie offered a small smile. “You invited me.”
“I didn’t think you actually would.”
“I wanted to.” She glanced around. “Besides, I’m interested in what you care about.” Nat blinked, like she wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“Cool,” she said finally, but her voice was a little gentler than usual. “We're just getting started. There’s a short speak-out, then a march down to the admin building.”
Before Lottie could respond, someone approached from behind.
She was about to ask a question when something pricked at the back of her neck. That feeling she’d grown too familiar with the wrong kind of attention. Her eyes scanned the crowd automatically. A man stood near the edge of the green, just beyond the dim line of light from the library windows. He was alone, not holding a sign, not engaging, just… watching. Lottie swallowed, carefully turning her body so he was in her periphery. He wasn’t dressed like a student. Late thirties, maybe older, leather jacket, hands in pockets, still.
Too still.
Across the lawn, Travis appeared, not close, not alarming, but she knew his walk. Casual. Strategic. He was watching the man, too.
“You okay?” Nat asked, frowning at her sudden silence.
“Yeah,” Lottie smiled, eyes flicking back once more to the man near the trees. He was gone. Travis was still there. Still watching.
Nat followed her gaze. “Is something going on?”
“No,” Lottie said softly. “Just… not used to being looked at.”
Nat nodded subtly toward Travis. “The guy you’re always with. The one from that night at the party. The one who-” She cut herself off, jaw tightening. “You don’t have to lie, Lottie. If something’s going on… if he’s hurting you, you can tell me.”
The words hit like a slap. Lottie’s stomach dropped.
“No. Natalie, it’s not-” She lowered her voice, stepping closer. “It’s not like that.”
Nat crossed her arms, expression unreadable but guarded. “You disappeared with him the other night at the party. You came back looking like you’d been crying, and he was hovering like, like someone who needed to keep control.”
Lottie froze. That had been after the press leak scare. Tai had called an emergency meeting. Travis had gotten her out before anyone saw her break down.
“It wasn’t what you think,” she said quietly. “He was helping me. He always helps me.”
Nat’s eyebrows lifted, just barely. “That’s what a lot of people say. When they’re scared.”
“I’m not scared of him.” Lottie hated how her voice trembled. “He’s not… it’s complicated.”
Nat’s expression softened slightly, but the suspicion lingered in her eyes. “If you say so. But if he ever crosses a line… you can come to me.”
The weight of it lodged in Lottie’s throat. She wanted to say thank you. She wanted to tell her everything. Instead, she gave the smallest nod, holding Nat’s gaze longer than she meant to. The girl with the clipboard called Nat’s name from the mic stand.
“I have to go,” Nat said. “Stay if you want.”
She turned and jogged back toward the group, her boots hitting the grass hard. Lottie watched her go, heart pounding. Then she glanced again at the man by the library; he was walking off now, into the shadows. Travis didn’t move, just kept his spot, eyes following.
Everything was fine. For now.
But she knew Travis would tell Tai.
Lottie sat on the floor of her apartment, her back against the wall as she stared at the papers scattered around her. Her father’s messages were relentless, reminding her of royal duties, events, and obligations she couldn’t escape, no matter how badly she wanted to.Tai had told him about the protest and he was upset that she was even there. Even being across an ocean wasn’t enough space for her to be free from the crown.
It was all too much. She could feel the weight of it pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. Van sat next to her, leaning back against the wall with a quiet understanding. After a long silence, Van’s voice broke through the quiet, softer than usual. “You’re allowed to be tired, you know.”
Lottie sniffed, her eyes a little red. She wiped at her face, a shaky breath escaping her lips. “It’s too much.”
Van’s shoulders slumped, and they let out a long sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah. It is. But you’re gonna do it anyway.”
Lottie swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Because I have to?”
Van turned to face her, their voice unusually gentle as they spoke. “No, because you’re you. And you don’t give up. It’s annoying, but it’s why I’m still here.”
Lottie gave a weak laugh, leaning her head against Van’s shoulder. She couldn’t just walk away from it all, no matter how much she wanted to.
“I hate you.”
Van grinned, nudging her playfully with their shoulder. “Hate you more, princess.”
Lottie smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth pulling up just a little. She closed her eyes, taking comfort in the presence of someone who didn’t expect anything from her other than just to be herself. Even if that meant being a little broken sometimes.
The room was quiet, save for the quiet rustle of papers and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The assignment was looming over them both, but it felt like neither of them were truly focused. Lottie stared out the window, her eyes distant, her thoughts somewhere else entirely. Across the table, Nat worked quietly, scribbling away at her notes. Lottie’s mind was elsewhere, weighed down by thoughts she didn’t know how to express, not even to herself.
The pressure of the day, the week, the whole semester, felt like too much, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. Nat glanced up, her gaze catching Lottie’s distant expression. “Lottie,” she said gently, almost teasing, but there was a softness to her voice. “You’ve been staring at that window for ages. You alright?”
Lottie blinked and turned back to her. She offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, just tired,” she said, her voice more detached than she intended. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “I don’t know. Just a lot to handle, I guess.”
Nat tilted her head, her expression one of quiet concern. She didn’t push, but she wasn’t about to let Lottie off the hook so easily. “You sure? You’ve been off all night.”
Lottie hesitated, then leaned back in her chair, letting out a heavy breath. “It’s just… a lot,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t bring herself to explain further not the royal expectations, not the constant pressure, not how she felt like she was drowning and no one could see it. Instead, she kept it vague, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
“I get it,” Nat said softly, not pushing but sensing there was more beneath the surface. “Life gets heavy sometimes. You don’t have to go into it, but if you want to talk, I’m listening.”
Lottie hesitated. She had spent so much of her life hiding behind walls, carefully curating who she let in and what she let people see. But there was something about Nat’s quiet understanding, the way she didn’t seem to judge or expect anything, that made it easier to open up, even just a little.
With a long exhale, Lottie finally spoke. “It’s just… the pressure. From my family. They expect so much from me, and I’m just trying to keep up. It’s like... every decision I make is under a microscope, and I can’t make a wrong move. My dad has been bad lately..”
Nat leaned back slightly in her chair, staring at the ceiling like she could avoid the weight of what she was about to say. “My dad used to be like that. Real big on control. Rules. Consequences. His way of showing love was... making sure I never forgot who was in charge.”
Lottie blinked. She hadn’t expected that. Nat rarely talked about her family. She barely mentioned them at all. Nat shrugged, but there was tension in her shoulders, a tightness in her jaw.
“He used to call it ‘tough love.’ Said it was for my own good, that I’d thank him later.” She let out a bitter breath. “Turns out, you don’t always grow into the person they want, no matter how hard you try. And eventually, you just... stop trying.”
Lottie sat up straighter, her own heart aching now for reasons she couldn’t quite name. “Is that why you don’t talk about him?”
“Partly.” Nat’s gaze flicked to her. “Mostly because people always think they need to fix it. Or fix me. I hate that.”
“I’m not trying to fix you,” Lottie said quietly. “I don’t think you’re broken.”
Nat looked at her then, really looked. And something in her expression softened further, the armor dropping for just a breath. “You’d be the first.”
Lottie didn’t say anything. She just reached across the table and laced their fingers together. Not just brushing. Holding. A flicker of warmth that had nothing to do with the assignment, and everything to do with the quiet understanding they shared in this space. Lottie felt seen. She didn’t have to wear her crown or her title or even the weight of her secret.
In that moment, she was just… Lottie, a student who didn’t know how to handle the world on her shoulders. And for once, it didn’t feel like a burden to be her.
Sometimes Lottie couldn’t help but feel like she was slipping back into the last few months at Cambridge.
Lottie hadn’t slept in days. She wasn’t sure how many, exactly. Time had stopped moving in a straight line. Her days blurred into late-night study sessions she didn’t remember starting, meals she forgot to eat, and hours spent staring at her bedroom ceiling, trying to quiet the hum in her head.
Every sound felt sharp. Every shadow felt close.
She had three essays overdue, a royal briefing to attend in London, and an op-ed to review that she couldn’t even bring herself to open. Her calendar buzzed with reminders she ignored. She was a princess, a future Queen, and she couldn’t make herself get out of bed. She hadn’t told anyone how bad it was getting.
Not even Mari. But Mari had started noticing.
She’d stopped joking about Lottie’s under-eye circles. She was showing up to her flat more often. She watched her now, like she was waiting for something to snap. That night, Lottie came back to her room shaking, heart pounding. She’d thought she saw someone in the quad again. A figure behind the old chapel, standing still in the dark.
She told herself it wasn’t real.
She told herself that a lot lately.
“You look like shit,” she said one night, dropping onto the couch in Lottie’s rooms, legs crossed, chewing a pen she definitely didn’t own. “When was the last time you slept?”
Lottie didn’t look up from her laptop. “I’m fine.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I have a paper due.”
“You also have bags under your eyes like a corpse and I’m pretty sure you haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Lottie’s fingers froze over the keys. She didn’t respond. Mari tossed the pen aside and leaned forward.
“Lottie.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Mari’s voice dropped, firm. “You’re not. You’re jumpy. You’re barely here. You flinched when someone knocked on the door this morning.”
“It’s just stress,” Lottie muttered, but even she didn’t believe it.
“You screamed in your sleep last night.” Mari’s tone wasn’t accusing. Just quiet. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to push. But this isn’t normal anymore.”
Lottie’s hands dropped into her lap. Her throat burned. She hadn’t told Mari about the shadows she kept seeing out of the corner of her eye.
Or the feeling that someone was watching her from across the quad. She hadn’t told her that she’d started avoiding mirrors, not because she was afraid of what she’d see, but because sometimes she thought she saw someone else there. She didn’t know how to say: I’m losing control and no one will let me stop . Hartley had reported her slipping grades and missed briefings to the palace without telling her.
Tai had started vetting her guest list for private dinners. Her professors pulled her aside constantly, concerned but tentative, not sure how close they were allowed to get to royalty unraveling. And the whispers around campus made it worse. Princess Charlotte misses class again.
The next day the entire illusion shattered. She had woken up at the edge of campus, a security guard bringing her back to her apartment, barefoot and bleeding. The next morning, Tai was waiting in the sitting room, still in her coat, tablet under her arm, hair pulled back tight. Professional as always, but her expression faltered when she saw Lottie.
“Sit,” she said quietly.
Lottie didn’t.
“You’re pulling me,” she said instead. Flat. No fight left in her voice. Just resignation.
“We have to.”
“Don’t I get to decide?”
Tai looked at her for a long moment. “No. Not this time.”
Mari stood at Lottie’s side, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched. “You’re just going to take her out like she’s a liability?”
“She’s not safe here,” Tai said. “You think we haven’t seen the footage? She’s out at night alone. She’s skipping her briefings. There are people watching her, and she’s too exhausted to notice. We’re past the point of it being her call.”
“I’m right here,” Lottie snapped. “You can talk to me, not about me.”
Tai nodded. “Then let me be direct. You’re not well. You’re hallucinating, aren’t you?”
Lottie froze. Mari looked over, startled, but didn’t speak.
“Who told you that?” Lottie asked, voice brittle.
“One of your aides called us,” Tai said. “You asked him yesterday if he’d seen someone in your room. No one else was there.” Lottie sat down. No one spoke.
Tai’s voice softened. “We’re going to say it’s a medical leave. You’ll go home. You’ll get help. You’ll come back if and when you’re ready.”
Lottie looked down at her hands. They were shaking again.
“I won’t come back,” she said quietly.
Mari’s head snapped toward her. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” Lottie whispered. “Once I leave, they’ll make it permanent. Lock me behind palace walls and pretend none of this ever happened.”
“They’re not-” Mari started.
“They will,” Lottie said, louder now. “Because a Queen doesn’t get to fall apart.”
Tai stepped closer, voice low and even. “Then let this be the thing that stops it from happening. You leave now, on your terms. We protect the narrative. You rest. You come back stronger.”
Lottie gave a soft, humorless laugh.
“There is no ‘stronger,’ Tai. There’s just... hiding it better.”
No one disagreed. Mari sat beside her, shoulder brushing hers. She didn’t say anything comforting. Just stayed there, quiet and present.
“I don’t want to go,” Lottie said, barely audible. interrupted
Mari answered first. “I know.”
Tai, this time, didn’t push. She just nodded. “The car will be here in thirty minutes.”
When Tai left, Lottie asked, “will you write to me?”
Mari scoffed. “Of course. I’m not letting you disappear into some royal bubble and rot. I expect weekly updates, your new therapist’s name, and at least three sarcastic comments about Tai.”
Lottie managed the smallest smile.
Mari pulled her into a hug, tight and protective. “Get better, okay?”
Lottie heard Nat’s soft gasp the second she stepped inside. She had tried to downplay the place. Kept the lights dim, threw a cardigan over the more obvious things like the sleek panel that controlled the alarm system, but there was only so much she could do. The flat was too polished, too curated, too expensive. The kitchen island alone looked like it belonged in a magazine, and the espresso machine could probably pay someone’s tuition.
Lottie hovered by the door as Nat wandered in slowly, eyes scanning the space like she was waiting for someone to pop out and explain the joke.
“This is your apartment?” Nat asked. Lottie tugged at her sleeve.
“I mean… yeah.”
Nat turned to face her, eyebrows raised. “It’s stunning. Like... designer stunning.” Lottie shrugged like she hadn’t heard that before.
“It came furnished.” Nat gave her a look, a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I rent a shoebox with black mold and a chair that I found on the street. This place has a sound system in the ceiling.”
Lottie looked down. “It’s not mine, technically. My family helped with it.”
That was all she said. She didn’t say estate-provided, or protected residence, or multiple layers of background screening. She didn’t say safehouse. Nat nodded like she was still trying to make the pieces fit.
“It’s just a lot,” Nat said finally.
“No, I get it,” Lottie said quickly. “It doesn’t feel like mine either. I’ve never picked out a couch in my life.”
Lottie had never picked out anything for herself like that. There had simply been options that they paraded around as choices.
She moved farther into the room, not quite comfortable, not quite a host. She hovered at the edge of the sofa, then sat with the kind of posture that made it clear she didn’t fully belong in her own home. Nat watched her for a moment, then crossed the room and sat beside her, not too close, but not far either. There was a long pause.
“I didn’t bring you here to impress you,” Lottie said. “I was trying to avoid... being around people.” Nat nodded slowly.
“It’s a good place to disappear in.”
“That’s kind of the point,” Lottie said.
Nat let out a soft laugh. “Well, it’s not exactly subtle. If you were trying to hide, this feels more like a Bond villain lair than a quiet retreat.”
“Great. That’s exactly the vibe I was going for,” Lottie smiled.
Nat looked around again, this time with a little less disbelief and a little more amusement. “I feel like I should have taken my shoes off. Or signed a non-disclosure agreement.”
“You’re fine,” Lottie said. “It’s just a flat.”
“This is not just a flat. My kitchen counter is held together with duct tape. Yours is probably Italian marble.” Nat gave her a look. Lottie tried not to flinch.
“I think it is, actually.”
Nat laughed again and wandered toward the bookshelf, her fingers brushing the spines of books that had been arranged more for aesthetics than use.
“It suits you,” she said casually. Lottie blinked.
“It does?”
“Yeah. I don’t know. I guess I already knew there was something about you. You just seem like someone who’s always been... a little out of reach.” Nat turned around, leaning against the shelf. Lottie felt her breath catch, but Nat’s voice was light, not accusatory.
“Not in a bad way,” Nat added. “Just like you belong somewhere I’ve never been.”
Lottie didn’t know what to say to that, so she reached for the only safe thing she could offer. “Want coffee?”
“Only if it comes out of that terrifying machine over there.”
“I think I can manage that.” She stood and made her way to the kitchen, punching in the sequence she had memorized. Her back was turned, but she could hear the soft sounds of Nat settling in on the couch again, pulling her legs up, draping a blanket over her lap without asking. Lottie brought over the coffee, handing it off with a proud little flourish.
“Not burnt.” Nat raised her mug like a toast. “To luxury.”
Lottie sat down again, this time closer, letting her knees brush Nat’s without moving away. “You really don’t mind?” she asked quietly.
Nat looked at her. “Mind what?”
“That it’s... like this. Fancy. Weird.” Nat shook her head.
“Honestly? It’s kind of cool. I mean, I’m not going to pretend I understand it, but if this is your life, it’s yours. I’m not judging.”
Lottie sat at the table, her textbooks spread out, but her mind wasn’t fully on the work in front of her. Her attention flickered between Van, who was casually scrolling through their phone, and Nat, who was trying unsuccessfully to get through a section of the assigned reading.
There was a sense of ease between Lottie and Van, something Nat couldn’t quite place yet. Van’s occasional smirks and knowing looks toward Lottie made her feel like an outsider in this little dynamic, though she didn’t understand why it bothered her.
“So, wait,” Nat spoke up, glancing up from the page she hadn’t actually read. “You two knew each other how again?”
Van raised an eyebrow and leaned back in their chair, an almost mischievous grin forming. “Summer camp,” they said, their voice teasing. “She tried to act normal back then, too.”
Lottie let out a nervous laugh, her cheeks flushing. “I wasn’t that bad,” she protested, her voice betraying her as she quickly glanced away.
Nat frowned, her confusion clear. “I don’t even know what that means,” she muttered under her breath, a hint of frustration creeping into her tone.
Van just shrugged, not bothering to elaborate. “Eh, nothing important,” they said with an easy grin, clearly uninterested in explaining. “So, anyway, how’s everyone holding up with this assignment?”
Lottie quickly jumped on the subject change, glad to avoid further questions. But even as the conversation shifted, she couldn’t shake the slight unease that had crept up on her. The briefest glance from Van, the one that seemed to say more than it should have, lingered in her mind.
Van had always been good at hiding what she knew. They’d met when they were seven, at some countryside summer camp Lottie’s mother insisted on. A “character-building experience,” she'd called it. Lottie had been miserable the first few days, surrounded by sticky name tags, bunk beds, and loud, normal children who didn’t understand why she flinched every time someone asked where she was from. Van had found her sitting alone behind the mess hall, pretending to read while actually trying not to cry. They'd plopped down beside her and asked if Lottie wanted to sneak marshmallows from the staff kitchen. No questions. Just instant mischief.
Lottie had shared a lot with them at camp, things she hadn’t told anyone else. She’d told Van that she was a princess, the truth of her identity slipping out in one of those late night chats by the campfire.
Van’s reaction? A smile, a laugh, and then they simply asked if they could still steal marshmallows together later. No judgment, no shock, just the kind of unbothered honesty that made Lottie feel like maybe she could breathe for once.
They wrote letters for years after camp. Birthday cards and inside jokes scribbled on paper. Lottie’s letters were on her official royal letter dress while Van’s were on different colored papers and with all sorts of stamps that Lottie kept in a scrapbook.
But Nat didn’t know any of that. Nat didn’t know the weight Lottie carried, and yet, Lottie found herself wondering if she ever would. If she could ever tell her the truth, without it changing everything.
The party was alive with chatter and laughter, the music blasting in the background as people danced and spilled drinks around the living room. Lottie stood near the kitchen, pretending to focus on the snacks laid out before her but mostly keeping an eye on Nat, who was talking to a group of people by the couch. It had been a strange night, one of those where Lottie felt out of place, like she didn’t quite belong in the whirlwind of the party. She had gone for a drink earlier, but now she just felt... disconnected.
After a moment, Nat caught her eye across the room and flashed her a smile, raising her cup in a silent toast. Lottie gave a small wave and returned the smile, but the more she watched Nat, the more she felt something was off. Maybe it was the way Nat was holding herself, leaning slightly against the wall, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Lottie excused herself from the snacks and made her way over to her.
"Hey," Lottie said softly, stepping up to Nat as the conversation around them buzzed on. "You good?"
Nat turned toward her, her smile a little tighter now, like she was trying to keep it all together. "Yeah, just... you know," she said, shaking her cup slightly. "Same old."
Lottie watched her for a moment, a hint of concern in her eyes. She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way Nat was acting felt different tonight. She wasn’t being her usual carefree self, and Lottie didn’t want to let it slide. "You sure?" she pressed gently. "You seem a little... off."
Nat sighed, running a hand through her hair, her eyes momentarily flicking to the crowd around them. "I guess I’m just... tired," she said, taking a sip from her cup. "This whole party thing, it’s a bit much sometimes."
Lottie hesitated, trying to gauge if Nat was just saying that to brush it off or if she was actually feeling something more. The way she held her cup made her wonder if she was using it to mask something.
"Is it the drinking?" Lottie asked, her voice barely above the noise of the room. Nat paused, then shrugged nonchalantly.
"I mean, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a drink."
Lottie wasn’t convinced. "I’ve seen you drink more than that, though," she said, her tone softer now. "Are you okay with it?"
Nat’s eyes flickered to her, and for a moment, Lottie could see something flicker in her gaze, something almost vulnerable. "It’s just… I don’t know," she muttered, the words coming slower now. "I’ve been trying to keep it in check, you know? After everything, I… I don’t want to slip back into old habits."
Lottie frowned, her concern deepening. She had no idea what Nat was talking about, but there was something raw in her voice. "Old habits?" Lottie repeated, taking a step closer.
Nat looked around the room, her shoulders tense. She took another long sip from her cup before lowering it and meeting Lottie’s gaze. "Yeah," she said, her voice quieter now. "I’ve been sober from drugs for eight months. I just don’t want to go back to... that. Drinking’s fine for now, but I’ve gotta be careful, you know?"
The words hit Lottie like a punch to the stomach. She hadn’t known and hadn't even considered that there was something deeper behind Nat’s relationship with alcohol. It made sense now, the way Nat had sometimes hesitated or looked away whenever the topic of partying or drinking came up. Lottie’s heart softened, a surge of empathy washing over her. "I didn’t know," Lottie said softly, her voice filled with quiet admiration. "I think... that’s really amazing. Eight months is a big deal."
Nat gave a small smile, though it was tinged with something like embarrassment. "I’m not perfect," she said quickly, "and I’m not trying to be some inspirational story. I don’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it."
Lottie nodded, understanding more than Nat knew. "You’re allowed to be proud of it," she said gently. "You’re doing something really hard. Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t be proud."
There was a moment of silence between them, and then Nat chuckled softly, looking down at her cup.
"One step at a time."
Lottie stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door like it might move. Her arms were folded, her shoulders tight. The overhead light buzzed faintly, soft but grating. Mari was stretched out on the couch, ankles crossed, flipping through some political gossip magazine Lottie had meant to throw out weeks ago. She hadn’t said anything yet, but she could feel it. Lottie’s energy had shifted. Too still, too sharp.
“I heard something,” Lottie said finally.
Mari didn’t look up. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. A voice. Just for a second.”
That made Mari pause. She set the magazine down, slowly. “Where?”
“Kitchen. Thought someone was in there, but…” Lottie trailed off. She turned, walking to the window like she was checking the lock for the third time. “It was nothing. Probably the hallway.”
Mari’s voice was calm. “Did it say anything?”
Lottie hesitated.
“I think it said my name.”
Mari didn’t push. She nodded, once. “You want me to check?”
“No.” Lottie rubbed the back of her neck. “No, I already did. I know it’s nothing.”
“Okay.” She sat back down on the armrest of a chair, trying to pretend she wasn’t rattled. But Mari had seen it before. She knew the signs, not like Cambridge, not nearly, but still. Lottie’s tells were smaller now. Tight hands, restless pacing, a flicker in her eyes when she was trying too hard to be calm.
Back then, no one had said the words. Not a diagnosis, not even a question.
The palace didn’t allow room for that kind of uncertainty. The staff rotated, the briefings picked up, and Lottie had been sent home before anyone could put a name to what she was going through.
Even now, she didn’t talk about it. Not out loud. Mari stood and crossed the room, moving slowly like she didn’t want to spook her.
Lottie didn’t move away, but she didn’t meet her eyes either. Mari leaned a shoulder against the window frame beside her.
“It’s quieter when you’re around people,” she said, casually, like she was talking about the weather. “The stuff in your head, I mean.” Lottie let out a breath, sharp but quiet.
“It’s not like before.”
Mari nodded. “I know.”
“I’m just tired.”
“I know that too.” They stood there in silence, looking out at the empty courtyard. The moonlight threw long shapes over the grass, and Lottie tracked a shadow like it might shift again. It didn’t. She still didn’t speak. Mari glanced sideways.
“You haven’t told Tai.”
“No.”
“Good.” Mari’s voice was firm, not unkind. “You don’t have to. Not unless you want to.”
They stood there in silence. Outside, the wind moved the trees just enough to make the courtyard look alive. Lottie’s reflection hovered faintly in the glass, and for a second she studied it like it belonged to someone else. Mari glanced over, her voice gentler now.
“You want to sleep in my bed tonight? Or I’ll stay in yours. You just have to call it before I claim all the pillows.”
Lottie gave a soft huff of air that wasn’t quite a laugh, but close.
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
“I know, Mari’s expression softened. Then she nudged Lottie with her shoulder. “Still. You’re not scaring me. Just so we’re clear.”
“Yet.” Lottie’s mouth twitched.
“Please. I’ve lived with you for over a year. I’ve seen worse.”
“Name one thing.”
“You once cried because your toast burned and said it was a metaphor for your life.”
“That is classified information,” Lottie groaned, head dropping forward.
“And I treasure it every day,” Mari grinned.
Lottie let out a breath. “Okay. Maybe I’ll take the pillows.”
“Too late. I’ve already barricaded them. Royal decree or not, you're gonna have to fight me for them.” Mari was already moving toward her room.
Lottie didn’t follow right away. But the door stopped looking so threatening.
Lottie sat cross-legged, her shoes kicked off, the grass damp against her ankles. Nat lounged beside her, one knee up, squinting at the sky through her sunglasses.
“I’m just saying,” Lottie said, plucking at a stray leaf stuck to her skirt, “no one actually likes group projects. It’s a social experiment designed to punish introverts.”
“You say that like you’re not the one who ends up doing everything.” Nat smirked.
“Exactly my point.” Lottie leaned back on her hands. “No one wants the work, but if you actually care about the grade-” The wind picked up, soft but sudden. It tugged strands of Lottie’s hair loose from her braid and blew them across her face mid-sentence. She gave a sharp exhale, trying to huff them out of the way.
And then Nat reached over.
Casual. Unthinking.
Fingers brushed against Lottie’s temple, warm and careful, as Nat tucked the hair behind her ear. Just a simple gesture. Nothing dramatic. But it made Lottie go completely still. Her breath caught. Not visibly. But internally, something shifted.
Froze.
Lottie blinked. She didn’t flinch, she’d trained herself out of reacting, but her body registered the contact like a shock. Her skin tingled where Nat’s fingers had touched, warm in a way that lingered too long after. Nat was already pulling her hand back, already shifting her weight like nothing had happened.
“Sorry,” she said, offhand, as though she’d reached for a napkin or swatted away a bug. “That was driving me crazy.”
“Well, glad I could be an inconvenience,” Lottie forced a small laugh, trying to match Nat’s tone. Her braid suddenly felt too tight. The air felt too thin. Because that never happened. Not here. Not at school.
People didn’t touch her.
Even Mari, for all her bluntness and jokes, kept a kind of respectful distance, a line drawn by years of knowing what Lottie’s life demanded. Van hugged her, sure, but that was a friendly hug or shove. Travis only touched her when necessary. Tai never did.
But Nat… Nat didn’t know there was a line. So she crossed it, naturally. Effortlessly. Like Lottie was just a girl beside her on the grass, not a secret wrapped in rules and protocol.
And now Lottie couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Travis didn’t knock. He never did when he was in this kind of mood. The door clicked shut behind him and he stood just inside the entryway, arms crossed, watching her like he was waiting for her to explode first. Lottie didn’t look up from the pile of papers on her desk.
“Is this about earlier? Because if it is, you can save the lecture.”
“It’s not a lecture,” he said, stepping further in. “It’s a reality check.”
She set her pen down too hard. “Oh, great. I love those. Is that part of your training? Delivering reality checks like you’re my therapist instead of a glorified babysitter?” Travis didn’t flinch.
“I’m trying to keep you from blowing up your life.”
“By what? Watching me like a hawk every time I talk to someone?” He exhaled sharply, the kind of sound that wasn’t quite a sigh.
“I’m watching you because you’re reckless right now. You think nobody notices when you pull away from security, when you sneak out of events, when you spend every second with people who don’t know who you are.”
Lottie stood, the chair scraping against the floor. “That’s the point, Travis. That’s what I want. People who don’t see the crown first.”
“You think Nat isn’t going to figure it out? You think she’s not going to start asking questions when the palace starts making moves without telling you?” Lottie stepped closer, her jaw tight.
“You don’t get to bring her into this.”
“I do when she’s the reason you’re slipping.” That hit. Hard. Lottie froze for half a second, long enough for it to sting. Then her voice dropped.
“You think I’m slipping? You think I don’t know exactly how thin the ice is right now?”
Travis shook his head. “I think you’re lying to yourself because it feels good to be normal for once.”
“And what, you’d rather I be locked away like my life isn’t mine?”
“I’d rather you stay alive.” The silence stretched between them. Thick. Hot. Lottie stared at him, eyes burning, voice shaking.
“You don’t get to act like you care about me and then treat me like a mission.”
His expression didn’t change, but his voice did. It softened, barely. “It’s not that I care because of the mission. I care in spite of it.”
And that was almost worse.
Mari didn’t knock either. She stormed in like she’d been listening through the wall which, knowing Mari, she probably had.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped, eyes locked on Travis.
He turned, stone faced. “I’m doing my job.”
“Your job?” Mari laughed, short and harsh. “What part of your job includes emotionally gutting her in her own apartment?”
“She’s not thinking clearly,” Travis said. “Someone has to get through to her before she does something stupid.”
“Oh, good. Thanks for showing up just in time to play the emotionally repressed guard dog.” Mari stepped forward, all fire.
Travis’s voice dropped, defensive. “She’s about to inherit a country. This isn’t about feelings.”
“No,” Mari shot back, “it’s about control. Yours. The palace’s. All of you are treating her like a symbol instead of a person. Like she’s not allowed to want anything for herself without a briefing and a clearance check.”
“I’m trying to keep her alive.”
“By what? Choking the life out of her first? She’s not slipping. She’s surviving. And you should be the last person to forget what that looks like.” He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. He looked at Lottie, then back at Mari, jaw tightening but he said nothing as he stepped out the door and let it close behind him.
The room felt heavier for a beat.
Then Mari turned back to Lottie and exhaled, stepping close.
Lottie couldn’t resist. “I can’t believe you slept with him,” she teased, her voice laced with mock disbelief.
Mari froze, her eyes widening. “Oh, God, don’t bring that up," she started, but Lottie was already laughing, enjoying the rare moment of lightness. Mari buried her face in her hands. "I swear, it’s not my fault. He got hot after Cambridge, okay? It’s not my fault," she said, her voice muffled by her hands.
Lottie just grinned, shaking her head, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Despite the banter, her thoughts lingered on the tension with Travis. She hadn’t meant to snap at him. But something about the way he’d spoken, like she was incapable of handling herself, had hit too close to the core of everything she was trying to keep hidden.
“Anyway,” Mari continued, standing up and stretching, “I’m not the one who has to deal with him. You’ve got this, right?” Lottie exhaled, her shoulders slumping as the weight of everything settled back in.
“Yeah. I’ve got it.” But as she glanced out the window, the lingering feeling of being watched crept back, and she wasn’t sure if she had as much control as she wanted to believe.
Later, when the tension had settled, Lottie turned to Mari, her voice quieter than usual. "Thanks… for that."
Mari waved her off, her expression softening for just a moment. "Someone’s gotta keep him from being a complete asshole." She said it like it was no big deal, but Lottie could see the way she stood a little taller, the protective edge always there beneath her casual words.
Lottie felt a smile tug at her lips.
Lottie lay back against her bed, the weight of the day pressing on her chest. Mari’s voice cut through the silence, as usual, loud and relentless.
“If Tai sends you one more of those emails, I’ll just reply with ‘stop treating her like a child,’” she said with a laugh, tossing herself onto Lottie’s bed next to her. Lottie cracked a smile but didn’t have the energy to laugh along.
“I wish you would,” she muttered, staring at the ceiling. “But I can’t deal with that right now.”
Mari’s tone softened, just for a second. “You okay?” she asked, her gaze assessing Lottie’s exhaustion.
“You’re so close to losing it, I swear. I can’t handle it when you’re this stressed out,” she teased, but her voice was softer now, more concerned.
Lottie rubbed her face, her exhaustion finally catching up with her. “I’m just... tired, Mari,” she said, her tone carrying the weight of everything she’d been holding in. “It’s a lot. I’m trying to keep everything together.”
“You’re just... dancing around it, aren’t you?” Lottie stared at the ceiling, her thoughts swirling.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice betrayed her. Mari raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk forming.
“Oh, really? You’re not trying to figure out what’s going on with you and Nat?”
Lottie’s heart skipped. Her thoughts flickered back to the way Nat had looked at her earlier that week, how everything felt different now. “I–”
“Just admit it,” Mari interrupted, crossing her arms. “You’re into her, right?”
Lottie let out a sharp breath, feeling her face flush despite herself. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Mari’s grin widened.
“Oh, come on, Lottie. It’s so obvious. But you’re not letting yourself admit it because you’re scared of what that means. You think if you get too close to her, everything is going to blow up in your face”
Lottie was silent for a moment, her mind racing. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t expected to find someone who made her feel... something more than just another person in her life. Nat was real, untamed in a way that Lottie hadn’t allowed herself to be, and that unpredictability was both thrilling and terrifying.
“I don’t know what to do about it,” Lottie admitted quietly. Her voice was barely above a whisper, the vulnerability slipping through the cracks she’d worked so hard to hide. Mari didn’t press her, but she didn’t look away either.
“You don’t have to have it figured out right now,” she said softly. “But you can’t keep pretending it’s not there. You deserve to feel something real, Lottie. Whether you decide to act on it or not, just don’t shut it out because you’re scared. Don’t shut her out.”
Mari didn’t say anything else, but the look she gave Lottie spoke volumes. She didn’t need to say more for Lottie to know: she would fight for her, even if Lottie didn’t know how to fight for herself just yet.
The night air was crisp as Lottie and Nat walked side by side, the faint hum of the campus in the distance. The weight of the day had settled on them both, their eyes tired from hours of staring at books and screens. The tension between them was palpable, but neither of them knew how to address it.
Lottie glanced at Nat, her heart racing just a little. The way Nat walked, her easy confidence mixed with something more, made Lottie feel like she was standing on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she was ready to dive into. She cleared her throat, trying to focus on anything but the way Nat’s presence made her feel.
They were close now, standing just outside Nat’s apartment, the glow from the streetlamp casting long shadows. Neither of them moved to leave. Instead, there was a heavy silence, an unspoken question hanging in the air between them. Lottie’s heart pounded in her chest as she caught Nat glancing at her, her gaze soft but guarded.
For a split second, Lottie thought Nat might kiss her something in the air shifted, a magnetic pull that made her skin tingle with anticipation. But before she could move any closer, Nat pulled back slightly.
"I don’t get you, Lottie," Nat muttered, her words barely above a whisper. "You’re hard to figure out."
Lottie froze, her breath caught in her throat. Her mind raced, scrambling for something to say, but nothing came.
"I’m not... I mean, I’m not that complicated," Lottie stammered, her nerves making her words falter. Nat took a deep breath, shaking her head.
"It’s not that," she said softly, looking up at Lottie again. "It’s like there’s something you’re not telling me. I don’t know what it is, but it feels like you’re always holding something back."
Lottie opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. She couldn’t tell Nat about her royal identity, not yet, anyway. And even if she did, would Nat still want to be around her? Would things change? Instead of saying anything, Lottie offered a small, tight smile.
"Maybe I am," she said, her voice low. Nat seemed to study her for a moment, as if trying to read something in her eyes. Then, with a soft exhale, she gave Lottie a brief nod.
"Well," Nat said, stepping back toward her dorm, "maybe one day you’ll let me in."
Lottie watched her walk away, her heart pounding in her chest. It wasn’t a rejection, but it wasn’t an affirmation either. It was more like an open door waiting for Lottie to decide whether or not she was brave enough to step through it.
Lottie spotted him first. They had just stepped out of the history building, the late afternoon sun turning the stone courtyard golden. Students milled about in small clusters, backpacks slung over shoulders, the air full of chatter and the clink of takeaway coffee cups. Then she saw him.
A man standing near the gate, too still for a student. Middle-aged. Shaved head. Dark jacket zipped up despite the mild weather. He wasn’t doing anything, just leaning against the rail with a newspaper folded under his arm, watching the building. Not watching the building.
Watching people come out of it.
She stopped walking. Travis didn’t say anything, but he came to a halt beside her, his body language changing in a heartbeat. Calm but alert. Lottie didn’t look at him, but she felt it, the way he angled himself slightly in front of her. A shield.
“See him?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he said. “Been there a while?”
“Don’t know. Could’ve just arrived.”
Travis didn’t move. “Don’t look again. You already clocked him. That’s enough.”
Lottie nodded, but her throat felt dry. “He’s not press. Not the usual type.”
“No,” Travis said. “Shoes are wrong. Posture’s wrong. He’s casing something.” She swallowed.
“Me?”
“Could be.” They stood there a moment longer, just enough to look like they were debating dinner plans or gossiping about a class. To anyone else, they were just two students with too many tote bags and not enough sleep.
“I don’t want Nat to see him,” Lottie said quietly.
“She won’t,” Travis replied. “You’re going to keep walking. I’ll handle it.” Lottie looked up at him, and for a second, the weight of it all pressed in the way her life was split between normal and this. This constant shadow world that followed her everywhere.
Travis caught her expression and offered a faint smile. “Don’t worry, Princess. Go pretend you’re a person. I’ve got this.”
“Don’t call me that,” She rolled her eyes.
“Then stop looking like royalty every time you get spooked.”
Lottie sighed and turned away, walking slowly toward the main quad, the smile she wore a little too practiced. Behind her, she knew Travis would peel off and disappear, the way he always did. He’d either follow the man or make him leave. Probably both.
She didn’t look back. Not because she didn’t want to. But because she trusted him to see what she couldn’t.
Lottie leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on the window. The world outside looked distant and quiet, a sharp contrast to the weight pressing down on her. The air in the room felt thick. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the desk, each movement too quick, too anxious. No matter how hard she tried to steady herself, the storm inside wouldn’t settle. Across the room, Tai stood with her arms crossed, watching her closely.
“You’re not listening to me,” she said, calm but unyielding. “You can’t keep ignoring the risks. There’s too much at stake. You can’t go to protests without talking to me.”
"I’m not ignoring anything," Lottie snapped, her voice sharp, though her fingers kept drumming against the desk in a rapid, anxious rhythm. "I’m living my life, Tai. I’m not going to hide in some tower because of threats."
Tai didn’t flinch. “Every move you make is being watched. You think you can pretend all of this is normal? That none of it matters? You’re wrong.”
Lottie’s jaw tightened. Her stomach coiled with that familiar, choking anxiety. “I don’t want to hear it,” she said through clenched teeth. “I don’t care if I’m ‘special’ or whatever label you want to put on me. I just want to live like everyone else.”
“Normal isn’t an option for you. Not anymore. Maybe it never was. You didn’t get to be just a student, and you’re not going to, no matter how hard you try. If you keep acting like there’s nothing at risk, you’re going to walk right into something you can’t control. And people will get hurt. Maybe you.” Tai didn’t move, but her gaze sharpened.
Lottie’s hands trembled slightly in her lap. She clenched them into fists to hide it.
“I don’t need the reminder,” she whispered. “I already know.”
Tai’s expression softened, just enough to be human. Her voice dropped. “Then start acting like it.”
The room was quiet again, save for the faint hum of traffic outside the window and the muted click of the radiator. Lottie didn’t look at her. Her eyes were fixed on the glass, on the distant blur of trees and buildings. Anything but the present.
“I’m not trying to ruin this for you,” Tai said, more gently now. “I know what this means to you. The classes. Your friends. Her.”
That landed like a blow, even though Tai hadn’t said Nat’s name. Lottie turned her head just slightly, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m doing this for a girl?”
“I think,” Tai said carefully, “you’re doing this because it’s the first time in your life that someone doesn’t see the title before they see you. And I get why you’d want to hold onto that. But that doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
Silence stretched between them. Lottie’s hands had finally stopped shaking, but her whole body still buzzed with that awful, cold energy of dread. “She doesn’t know,” she said after a moment, barely more than a whisper. Tai nodded.
“And that’s the problem.”
“You’re playing with fire here, and I’m not just talking about your grades or your social life. This isn’t a game. If Nat finds out, if anyone finds out without the right precautions in place, without the NDA signed it won’t just be your reputation that’s on the line. The fallout will reach further than you can imagine.”
Lottie clenched her jaw. She hated hearing the blunt truth, but she knew Tai wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t just Lottie; there were people, laws, and expectations that kept her tied to her title, no matter how much she wanted to break free.
“She's not going to find out,” Lottie muttered, though even she didn’t believe it. Not fully. Tai let out a slow breath.
“You don’t get it. You can’t control when or how this all comes out. If someone leaks it, if the press gets ahold of it... It's not just about your little rebellion. It's about everything: your family, your position, your future. They’ll tear you apart.”
Lottie paced around her room, her thoughts a mess. The feelings she had for Nat had only gotten more complicated, and the idea of doing anything about it felt overwhelming. She wasn’t even sure where to start. Her life was already full of enough pressure, and the last thing she needed was to complicate it with something someone like Nat.
Mari, who had been lounging on the bed with her phone, gave a dramatic sigh, clearly annoyed. "So, your brilliant plan is to lie to the girl you like forever? Yeah, that’ll work,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lottie stopped in her tracks, her hands rubbing at her forehead as she let out a frustrated groan. “It’s not that simple, Mari.”
Mari shot her a pointed look. “Oh no, poor you, the hot, mysterious girl likes you back but you’re too busy being a tragic little royal to deal with it.” She paused, throwing a glare at Lottie. “Get over yourself and do something about it.”
Lottie flopped onto the bed with a frustrated huff, burying her face in the pillow. “You’re really bad at emotional support,” she muttered, her words muffled by the fabric.
Mari smirked, still not bothering to look up from her phone. “I support you by making sure you don’t make dumbass decisions. You’re welcome.”
Every time she thought about taking the risk, about being vulnerable with Nat, the weight of her royal identity pressed on her like a thousand pounds. It felt impossible to just be herself, even with someone she liked.
“Fine,” Lottie sighed, pulling herself upright. “I’ll think about it.”
Mari put down her phone, finally meeting Lottie’s gaze. “That’s the spirit. Now get out there and stop being such a coward. I mean, seriously. You’re a princess, you can’t hide behind that forever.”
Lottie groaned again, but the small push from Mari was all she needed. Maybe it was time to stop letting fear control her. But even so, the idea of it still made her stomach flip.
The library was nearly empty now, the late hour and the storm keeping most students away. Lottie and Nat sat across from each other, a small mountain of books and papers scattered between them. The only sound was the soft scratching of pens and the occasional rumble of thunder that vibrated through the walls. They had been working for hours, but neither of them seemed to want to break the silence until now.
“I can’t believe we’re still doing this,” Lottie muttered, rubbing her eyes. She felt a wave of frustration wash over her. “How do you manage to be so focused for so long?”
Nat looked up, her brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s called procrastination. I work best under pressure.”
Lottie gave a half-laugh, but it quickly faded. She glanced out the window, watching the rain pour down in sheets. The storm seemed to mirror the unease in her chest. It wasn’t just the work, the pressure to keep up appearances, or the endless cycle of responsibility.
It was Nat, the way she made Lottie feel like everything else in the world could slip away. There was a heavy silence between them now, as though neither could fully ignore the growing tension. Lottie swallowed hard, turning her attention back to Nat. The storm outside rattled the windows, but the room felt still, too still.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Lottie murmured, her voice soft but serious. “How do you just… exist, without worrying about everything else? How do you live without needing to hide?”
Nat met her gaze, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, she set her pen down and leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking between Lottie’s face and her hands. “I don’t know, Lottie. Sometimes, I just… stop thinking so much. I don’t have anyone telling me what I should be doing.”
Lottie’s heart fluttered in her chest. She could feel the weight of her own words, but it was more than that. It was the way Nat was looking at her, with something almost tender.
Something that made Lottie feel like maybe she didn’t have to carry the weight of her world on her shoulders all the time. “Must be nice,” Lottie said, a little quieter this time. “To not be watched. To not have to worry about everything I do being judged.”
Nat’s gaze softened, her voice quieter now. “You’re not just some… thing for people to watch, Lottie. You’re a person.”
Lottie’s breath caught in her throat at the sincerity in Nat’s words. Her chest tightened, and she leaned forward before she even knew what she was doing. There was no space left between them now. She could feel the heat radiating off Nat’s skin, the intensity of her presence making Lottie feel more exposed than ever.
“Lottie?” Nat’s voice was barely a whisper, as if she knew something was shifting, something neither of them was fully prepared for.
Lottie’s mind raced, but her body moved before her thoughts could catch up. Without thinking, she closed the gap between them and kissed Nat, pressing her lips to hers with a sudden urgency. It was impulsive, hungry, as if the months of tension and longing had finally found their outlet. Lottie felt Nat’s hesitation, felt the way her body stiffened at first but it didn’t last. And for the first time in her life, Lottie didn’t have to worry about who might be watching or what it might mean. There were no expectations, no roles to perform. She wasn’t kissing someone to prove a point or be seen, or to keep up appearances.
She just wanted Natalie.
Soon, Nat kissed her back, soft and slow, her hand brushing against Lottie’s jaw. Lottie pulled back, her breath coming in quick gasps. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered, her voice shaky with uncertainty, but the words felt wrong even as they left her mouth.
She knew that. She could feel it in the way Nat’s eyes searched hers, in the way their hearts were pounding in sync.
“We really shouldn’t,” Nat echoed, but there was no conviction in her voice. If anything, it only made Lottie want to close the distance again.
And she did. She kissed Nat again, slower this time, her lips lingering against Nat’s, hesitant but unwilling to stop. The storm raged outside, the rain a distant noise, but all that mattered was this: the warmth of Nat’s touch, the softness of her lips. The way it felt like they were both giving into something they had been denying for too long. When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, faces flushed. Lottie’s mind was a blur, but she knew one thing for certain: they hadn’t made this mistake by accident.
Neither of them had.
The next few weeks passed in a blur, a series of stolen moments and quiet exchanges. It wasn’t anything they talked about, not in the open, not even when their eyes lingered a second too long. They just… kept finding each other. In the quiet corners of campus, in hidden spots where no one could see them, their connection deepened with every kiss, every touch, each time they couldn’t pull away from the other. Lottie tried to tell herself it was just physical. No strings attached. No expectations. No complications. But the more they kept coming together, the harder it was to believe that. And the harder it was to pretend that she wasn’t starting to care.
At some point, the conversation had died down, leaving them both sitting in a sort of comfortable silence. But it wasn’t the kind of silence that made Lottie feel at peace. It was the kind that made her realize how much she’d been avoiding.
“What is this?” Lottie asked, her voice soft but full of unspoken questions. Nat turned her head toward her, eyebrows raised slightly in curiosity. “We keep… doing this. But we never talk about it. Like it’s just something to get out of the way.”
Nat didn’t answer immediately. She shifted a little, like she was about to pull away, but something in her seemed to stop her. Instead, she studied Lottie with an intensity that made her heart race.
“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it,” Nat said quietly, almost like she was talking to herself as much as to Lottie. “Maybe I don’t need to talk about it.”
Lottie swallowed, but her voice was steady as she asked, “So what is it, then? Just… something casual? Because that’s not what it feels like to me.”
A moment of hesitation passed between them, but Nat didn’t look away. She reached out and tucked a strand of Lottie’s hair behind her ear, the touch so gentle it almost made Lottie’s heart skip a beat.
“It feels like more than that to me too,” Nat admitted. “But sometimes, it’s easier to just… let things happen. No pressure. No words.”
Lottie’s breath caught in her throat as she met Nat’s gaze. It was so easy to get lost in her, to forget the world and just be with her. But the weight of her responsibilities and her royal life pulled her back, even if just for a moment. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check.
Nat was waiting for her response, her expression gentle, but there was something else there too. Something Lottie couldn’t quite place, but it made her feel like maybe, just maybe, Nat was waiting for her to say the words. Lottie shook her head slightly, her lips curving into a small, almost resigned smile.
"Okay," she said softly. "I can do that. No pressure. Just now."
Nat’s eyes brightened at her answer, the tension easing between them. She leaned in, her voice quiet as she whispered, “Just now, then.”
And then, without thinking, she kissed her. It started slow, almost hesitant, like both of them were testing the waters, unsure of what was happening but unable to stop it. Lottie felt Nat’s hand brush her cheek, guiding her closer, the touch soft but firm, as if reminding Lottie that this was real, that it wasn’t just an escape. Lottie deepened the kiss, pulling Nat closer, and for a moment, the world outside of them, her royal duties, her fears, the lies she told disappeared.
There was only Nat, and the warmth of her lips, and the way her heart pounded in sync with Lottie’s. When they finally pulled away, breathless and tangled in each other, Lottie’s hand stayed on Nat’s, not ready to let go. Their foreheads touched, both of them silent, but the unspoken words lingered between them.
“Just now,” Nat whispered, her voice low and almost teasing, as if to remind Lottie of the rules they’d set. But there was something in her voice that said she wasn’t entirely sure, either. Lottie didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.
Instead, she kissed her again, like it was the only thing that made sense in the chaos of everything else.
Marble stretched out in both directions, cold and polished and too quiet. Lottie stood barefoot in the center of it, the silence pressing in like a weight on her chest. The only sound was the faint click of heels ahead of her. Measured. Familiar.
“Mom?” Her voice echoed. The figure didn’t turn.
Her mother’s silhouette was unmistakable: tall, graceful, moving with purpose even in the stillness. She wore a pale coat, the hem brushing the back of her knees, just like the last time Lottie had seen her. Her hair was pinned up, the way she always wore it for public appearances. Lottie started forward.
“Wait-” Her feet felt heavy, like she was moving through water. Every step was harder than the last, her breath catching. The corridor darkened behind her. Lights flickered overhead, and then there was smoke, faint at first, then thick, curling up from the corners like a fire had sparked in some unseen room. The marble under her feet grew hot.
She started to run.
“Mom!”
Still, the figure didn’t turn. Just kept walking. Kept disappearing into the smoke.
Then it wasn’t her mother lying ahead of her. It was her father.
Crushed under something invisible. Blood blooming across his white dress shirt like spilled ink. Lottie dropped to her knees, screaming. She tried to reach for him, but her hands wouldn’t move. Her limbs locked in place. Like she was under glass, just watching. His eyes were open. Staring straight at her.
And then he whispered: “You knew it was coming.”
She woke with a gasp, the room pitch black except for the faint glow of her phone screen. Her lungs struggled to pull in air. Her chest ached. She could still feel the heat of the dream, the phantom scent of smoke.
She lay there for a long time, heart pounding, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might start to crack open. The sheets were twisted around her legs. Her skin was damp with sweat.
Her phone buzzed softly, a calendar reminder. Morning meetings. A press briefing Tai had scheduled. Nothing urgent. Nothing yet.
But the dream clung to her, sharper than anything she’d felt in weeks. Her father’s voice echoed in her ears.
You knew it was coming .
She sat up slowly, pressing her palms to her face. Her hands were shaking. It wasn’t just a nightmare. It hadn’t felt like a nightmare. It felt like a memory of something that hadn’t happened yet. She grabbed her phone, opened her messages, scrolled until Tai’s name appeared. She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.
What would she even say? I had a bad dream. I think the Kings in danger. Please be careful. Don’t let him go anywhere. She locked the phone without typing anything. She didn’t want to sound insane.
And even if she did say something, what could he do?
He was the king. His life was always full of risks. He had security, layers of it. Tai would say everything was under control. Travis would say it was nothing, just stress, just nerves, just her mind playing tricks on her. But something was coming. She felt it like a bruise under the skin. Not visible, but there.
Lottie wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her knees to her chest, and tried to breathe through the sick twist in her gut. It was just a dream. But it wasn’t just a dream. And she couldn’t stop hearing his voice.
You knew.
Travis stood with his arms crossed, his gaze hard as he observed Lottie. His voice was low, intense, as he spoke, the words feeling more like a warning than advice.
“You know you can’t keep this up forever, right?” he said, his eyes flicking over to where Nat was talking to a friend a little ways off.
Lottie didn't need to ask for clarification; she knew exactly what he was talking about. Still, she played dumb, raising an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” she asked, though the frustration in her voice was already evident.
Travis nodded toward Nat, who was still laughing with her friend, blissfully unaware of the tension hanging in the air. “You’re getting too close to her,” he said. “You can’t keep dodging the questions forever. She’ll start noticing. And when she does, it won’t be easy to hide."
Lottie swallowed, her gaze flicking to Nat as her stomach twisted in discomfort. She knew Travis was right. The line between the life she was trying to keep separate and the one she was actually living was getting thinner every day. But even knowing that didn’t make it any easier. She sighed heavily, looking away from him.
“I know,” she muttered, feeling a mixture of guilt and frustration gnaw at her insides. “But I don’t want to lose her, Travis.”
Travis didn’t offer any comfort, just a cold, dispassionate stare that seemed to sharpen his words even more. “You can’t keep protecting her from the truth,” he said, his tone almost harsh. “You can either tell her or let her figure it out for herself, but you can’t have both."
Lottie’s heart sank. The choices felt suffocating, and none of them felt right.
She glanced over at Nat again, that flicker of warmth in her chest turning to something painful. She didn’t want to lose what she had with Nat. But every day, she was walking a tighter rope, one that felt like it was about to snap. “I’m trying to figure it out,” Lottie said quietly, as much for herself as for Travis. She shifted her weight uncomfortably. “I just don’t know what the right thing is."
Travis gave a short, almost dismissive nod, his expression unreadable. “Good luck with that.”
It didn’t mean anything. That’s what Lottie told herself as she leaned against the bar, smiling at the girl beside her. She was bold, funny, had a sharp bob and rings on every finger. She looked like she knew exactly what she wanted and didn’t care what anyone else thought. The kind of girl who didn’t ask questions, who just laughed at Lottie’s jokes and leaned in a little closer every time their eyes met.
Lottie liked the attention.
It was easier than thinking. Easier than feeling.
She let herself laugh a little too brightly at something she barely heard, let herself brush her fingers against hers. It wasn’t real, none of it. Just noise to drown out the ache that had settled somewhere deep inside her chest.
Because Nat hadn’t shown.
And maybe Lottie had told herself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t supposed to matter. They weren’t anything. No labels. No promises. Just now. So this? This was just keeping busy. Trying to prove to herself that she didn’t care. She was mid-laugh when she felt the shift in the air behind her, that invisible thread pulling taut.
She turned and saw Nat at the door, eyes locking on her with an expression Lottie couldn’t read. Not anger. Not jealousy.
Just… focused. Intent.
Lottie’s breath caught in her throat. Nat didn’t say anything. She just crossed the room, casual but direct, like she always did when she made up her mind about something. The girl beside Lottie looked up, curious, maybe a little amused, until Nat stepped right in front of her and said, low and firm, “Come with me.”
It wasn’t a question. Lottie blinked, surprised by the heat in Nat’s voice. The girl raised an eyebrow, half laughing and clearly amused. “Wow. Okay.”
But Lottie was already moving, already following Nat through the crowd and out the side door into the cool night air. She didn’t even look back. Only followed where Nat led. The door clicked shut behind them.
She barely had time to speak before Nat spun around, grabbed her by the collar of her jacket, and kissed her: hard and fast, like the dam had finally cracked. Lottie clutched at her like she’d been waiting for this all night, because maybe she had.
She didn’t even hesitate. She kissed her back like she was drowning, fingers tangled in Nat’s jacket, anchoring herself to something she still pretended wasn’t real. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Nat’s hand lingered at the back of Lottie’s neck, thumb brushing her skin like she didn’t know how to stop touching her. Lottie didn’t speak. Neither did Nat.
The silence stretched. And then, like nothing had happened, Nat stepped back, shoved her hands in her pockets, and nodded toward the street.
“Let’s go.”
Lottie followed without asking where. Because that was their thing.
No questions. No feelings.
Just now.
Lottie barely registered the sound of Tai’s knock at first: a sharp, precise rhythm against the door, too clean to be anyone else. She stayed curled on the couch, her knees tucked under her chin, pretending for just a second longer that she hadn’t heard it.
The knock came again. Louder this time.
With a sigh, Lottie pushed herself up, crossing the room slowly, deliberately. When she opened the door, Tai stood there, perfectly composed. Always immaculate. Always unreadable.
“Morning,” Tai said, holding out a slim white envelope. “Special delivery.”
Lottie raised an eyebrow. “You’re hand-delivering my mail now?”
“Only when it’s from the palace.” Tai’s tone was even, but her eyes lingered a little too long on Lottie’s face. Lottie stared at the envelope. The crest stamped into the wax on the back was unmistakable. Her fingers twitched.
She didn’t reach for it.
“I’ve had enough ‘updates’ for one week, thanks.”
Tai didn’t move. “You should read it.”
“Let me guess.” Lottie folded her arms. “A list of things I’ve done wrong. A lecture about how I’ve embarrassed the family. A reminder that my grades aren’t good enough, or that my posture’s off, or that I smiled too much in the last press photo.”
“It’s from your father,” Tai said quietly. Lottie blinked. That didn’t change anything.
“Great,” she muttered, finally taking the envelope and letting it fall onto the table inside without looking at it. “Another carefully worded disappointment.” Tai opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else but then thought better of it.
“Just… don’t let it sit too long.”
“Why? Is it going to explode?” Lottie asked flatly.
Tai didn’t answer that. She just gave a short nod and turned on her heel, disappearing down the hallway before Lottie could say anything else. Left alone, Lottie stared at the envelope from a distance.
She didn’t touch it again. Didn’t need to.
She already knew what it would say. Knew the tone. That clipped, impersonal voice her father always used when he remembered he had a daughter and not just a duty. Even before she left for university, their conversations had turned into briefings. Condescension wrapped in protocol. There was no softness anymore. No curiosity. No effort. Not since her mother died.
After the funeral, something had closed in him. Not just grief but something colder. Like the loss had ripped out the part of him that could still see her as a child instead of an obligation. And Lottie, barely fourteen, had quickly learned that trying to reach him was like shouting into a sealed vault. He had once adored her mother’s softness, her sensitivity, her warmth, her gentle way of moving through the world. He used to say Lottie inherited that same light. That she had her mother’s heart.
But after the funeral, that admiration curdled into contempt. The traits he once praised in both of them became liabilities. “You’re too fragile,” he said once, after finding her curled up in her room, unable to block out the noise inside her head. “You can’t afford to fall apart every time the wind shifts.”
The voices had already started by then. Quiet, distant, impossible to explain. And terrifying. He knew about them; he knew she heard things that weren’t there. That sometimes she couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. And instead of comforting her, he treated it like another complication to manage. Another flaw to correct. Another embarrassment.
Her father treated it like a threat to the crown. Like her mind was a crack in the royal armor that needed to be sealed before anyone noticed. He never said the word illness. Just called it “episodes.” “Instability.” He had doctors. Handlers. People who spoke in cold, clinical tones and smiled like they pitied her. She hated them all.
The envelope sat there, heavy with expectation. A command wrapped in parchment. Lottie stared at it until her vision blurred. One of the voices stirred, faint, not quite a word, more like the echo of one. She pressed her fingers hard against her temples and forced herself to breathe. She spared one last glance before turning and walking away.
She wasn’t in the mood to be scolded for not being enough.
The soft hum of the city outside was drowned by the rustling of sheets, the quiet breaths they shared. Lottie lay beside Nat, her body a tangled mess of limbs, trying to pretend it wasn’t different this time. That it wasn’t more than it was supposed to be. Nat’s hand rested on Lottie’s side, fingers lightly brushing over her skin, and Lottie fought the urge to let herself lean into the warmth.
They’d been here before, after all, just two bodies coming together, no strings attached. No complications. But tonight felt… different. There was a heaviness in the air, something unsaid, and every movement felt charged, like the air itself was waiting for something.
Lottie took a deep breath, trying to keep her mind from wandering, from wondering why Nat had been a little quieter tonight, a little more distant. The weight of it was pulling at her chest, but she didn’t want to deal with it. Not yet. Not when it felt so good to be close to her without needing words.
“Are you okay?” Lottie asked, her voice soft, trying not to sound too concerned. She didn’t want to ask the question. Didn’t want to invite vulnerability when she was barely holding her own feelings together.
Nat let out a quiet laugh, but it sounded hollow, forced. She didn’t answer right away, and when she finally did, her voice was low, almost drowned out by the sound of Lottie’s heartbeat pounding in her ears. “Yeah,” Nat said, her thumb tracing a slow, absent pattern on Lottie’s arm. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”
Lottie’s stomach twisted, and she forced herself to pull away a little, enough to glance at Nat’s face in the low light. Her gaze was distant, lost somewhere Lottie couldn’t follow, and for a moment, she felt the pull to ask, to press her for more, but she didn’t.
Instead, she played along with the game they’d been dancing around. She leaned in, brushing her lips against Nat’s jaw, her hand sliding over her side in a way that felt almost too familiar. It was supposed to be easy. No pressure.
But when their eyes met again, Lottie saw something in Nat’s gaze, something too raw to ignore. She felt a knot tighten in her chest, the weight of unspoken words thick between them. Nat let out a shaky breath, breaking the silence with words that felt like they were coming from somewhere deep.
“I know you’re probably not interested in hearing about it, but...” Her voice trailed off, and she seemed to hesitate, like the vulnerability was too much, like she wanted to pull back. Lottie didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. She just waited, because she knew. She felt it. She knew something was breaking behind Nat’s walls, and for a second, she wondered if she’d ever be the one to see it all.
“After my dad died…” Nat started, her voice shaking slightly now. “I didn’t know how to... feel normal. He was… he wasn’t a good person, Lottie, and when he died, I didn’t feel sad. I felt relief, guilt, anger. But mostly I felt like I was free, but also like I had no idea who I was without him.”
Lottie’s breath caught, her hand halting on Nat’s side, but she didn’t pull away. She just stayed there, listening.
“I tried to escape it. I thought if I could just forget, if I could just numb myself… it would be easier,” Nat continued, her voice barely above a whisper now, but Lottie could hear the weight of every word. “That’s how it started. The drugs, I mean. It was the only way I could handle it. The only way I could push all the shit out of my head.”
“It wasn’t about getting high,” Nat said, softer now, almost like she was talking to herself. “Not really. It was about getting quiet. About turning down the volume. Just for a while.”
And Lottie understood that. Not in the same way, not through the same methods, but she knew what it was like to want silence. She knew what it was like to live in a mind that never stopped echoing. Lottie’s heart ached for her, for the girl in front of her who had always been so strong and so guarded, now crumbling under the weight of memories she hadn’t let anyone see. She reached out, her fingers brushing Nat’s cheek, almost instinctively. She didn’t know what to say, but she had to say something.
“You don’t have to carry that alone, Nat,” Lottie whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She was still trying to keep things casual, still trying to keep their tangled emotions at bay, but they had always been so close, so… connected.
Nat gave a small, almost bitter laugh. “I don’t think I know how not to, Lottie.”
Lottie bit her lip, torn between the urge to pull Nat closer and the instinct to retreat. She didn’t know how to make things better. Didn’t know how to fix something so broken. And maybe that’s why she didn’t say anything else.
Instead, she leaned in, kissing Nat with the same intensity that had become their silent language, a mix of confusion, longing, and unspoken feelings they weren’t ready to confront.
“Tell me something real,” she whispered. Lottie’s eyes fluttered open.
“What?”
“You know this about me now,” Nat said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “And I don’t want it to just be me out here. Tell me something that matters. Something you don’t say out loud.”
Lottie looked back at the ceiling. Her fingers rested against the inside of Nat’s wrist, light but grounded, like she needed the contact.
“My mom died when I was fourteen,” she said finally. Her voice was flat, like she’d sanded down the cutting edges. “Car accident. She was in the back seat and the driver lost control. It was all over the news.”
Nat was still beside her, saying nothing.
“She’d gone to visit a children’s hospital. She did that kind of thing a lot. Public appearances, charity speeches. Everyone loved her,” Lottie’s voice cracked just slightly. “I was supposed to go with her that day. I didn’t want to. I faked a stomach ache to stay home. I just… I was sick of being watched. My dad was disappointed but my mom just kissed my forehead and said she wished I would come with her.”
“She died a few hours later. The car flipped. Everyone says it was instant. I think that is supposed to make me feel better. The pala-” she caught herself, “the place we were staying was so quiet. I knew before anyone had to say a word.”
Nat looked up at her. “You said it was all over the news?”
Lottie nodded slowly. “She was... she was a public figure. Charity work, mostly. I remember watching the footage of the accident on the evening news. They blurred the bodies, but I knew it was her.”
“It was everywhere,” Lottie went on, slower now. “It wasn’t just a tragedy, it was a story. People wrote headlines about it. Commentators talked about her legacy. Strangers grieved like they knew her. And I...” She swallowed. “I just lost my mom.”
She blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I wasn’t allowed to fall apart. I had to be composed. I had to smile. I had to mean something to people. Even when I didn’t know who I was without her.”
Nat didn’t speak right away. She didn’t ask questions or offer any kind of polished comfort. She just shifted closer, her hand tightening gently around Lottie’s, like she knew the only right thing to do was to stay. Lottie exhaled, long and uneven. Her throat felt tight.
“It was like I disappeared when she did. Everyone was looking at me, but no one really saw me. They saw what they needed me to be. I think... I think part of me got stuck there. At fourteen.”
Nat rested her head against Lottie’s shoulder, her voice low. “You were just a kid.”
“I didn’t get to be,” Lottie said. “Not after that.” She blinked up at the ceiling, her vision blurry. “I used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking I heard her walking down the hall. Like she’d just come back, like it had all been some mistake. I knew it wasn’t true, but I let myself believe it for a second. Just one second.”
Nat reached up and touched her cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear Lottie hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’m so sorry,” Nat whispered. “That you had to carry all of that by yourself.” Lottie turned her head just enough to meet her eyes.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever said this to. All of it.”
Lottie’s breath caught in her throat, a wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. For so long, she’d kept everything buried: her grief, her fears, the parts of herself that still felt broken. And now, here she was, saying it all out loud for the first time, and it felt like the world was shifting in a way she hadn’t expected.
“I just... I don’t know how to be okay with it,” Lottie admitted, her voice raw. “I don’t know how to make peace with it, not after everything I lost.”
“You don’t have to,” Nat replied, her thumb brushing gently over Lottie’s hand, her grip warm and steady. “You don’t have to make peace with it, not now. Not today. You’re allowed to be angry, to be sad, to still feel all of it. And you’re allowed to take your time.”
Lottie lied in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with everything going on in her life. She could hear Mari rummaging around the room, likely looking for snacks, as usual. Thoughts collided and spiraled, her royal responsibilities, the pressure of keeping up appearances, the growing tension between her and Nat. It all felt like too much, but what could she do? She could hear Mari rummaging around the room, probably looking for snacks, as usual. The sounds of plastic bags crinkling and drawers opening were oddly comforting, a reminder that there was still some normalcy in her life, even if everything around her felt like it was spinning out of control.
“Hey, Mari,” Lottie said quietly, breaking the silence between them.
“What’s up?” Mari’s voice came from the other side of the room, not exactly paying attention, but Lottie could hear the curiosity behind it. It was the kind of tone that meant Mari had a sixth sense for when something was off, even if Lottie wasn’t saying it outright. They had known each other since they were young. They did not start out as choices in each other’s lives. Mari was essentially sent to be a friend to Lottie as she was an only child who nobody trusted. It was awkward at first, as they figured who each other was. The bond they formed wasn’t built on obligation or royal duties, but on shared moments of rebellion, laughter, and understanding. The mischievousness they had as teenagers, sneaking around the palace, playing pranks, and breaking the rules, created a connection that couldn’t be broken by their titles or the pressures around them.
By the time they were thirteen, her father had tried to send Mari away unsuccessfully twice. The first time Lottie's mother had stepped in, both girls were more ashamed to face her disappointment than the king’s. The second had Lottie refusing to let Mari leave, less they take her too.
Lottie hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should really say it out loud. Her heart raced at the thought. “I think I might actually be falling for someone,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make the whole thing more real.
There was a pause, then a sharp rustle as Mari froze mid-motion. Lottie couldn’t help but grin a little at the sound of her friend's surprise.
“You think?” Mari’s voice was teasing, but Lottie could detect the edge of amusement in her tone. “Don’t tell me you’re in denial again.”
Lottie could feel her cheeks flush, the tension of the moment creeping up on her. “I don’t know,” she said, her words coming out a bit more uncertain than she intended. “I just... I don’t want to make a mess of things.”
“You’re not alone in that, you know,” she said, her voice quieter, more serious than it had been a moment before. “It’s okay to be unsure. But if you like someone, don’t screw it up by pretending you don’t. You’re a freaking disaster sometimes, but you’ve got a good heart.”
Lottie stared at her, taken aback by the unexpected warmth in Mari’s words. It was hard to remember sometimes that behind Mari’s sharp-edged humor, there was someone who genuinely cared. “You’re not just saying that because we’re friends?” Lottie asked, her voice small, vulnerable, as though testing the waters. Mari’s expression softened, her grin widening, but this time, it felt different- warmer, softer, like a quiet promise.
“No,” she said, her voice steady. “I’m saying it because you deserve to be happy. Even if that means you have to make a mess of things first. You’re not perfect, and that’s okay. You’ve got more courage in you than you give yourself credit for.”
Lottie smiled, the weight on her chest lightening just a little. The tension she had been holding onto for so long seemed to ease, even if only for a moment.
“Thanks, Mari. I’m glad I have you.”
Mari gave a dramatic sigh, her voice carrying that familiar playfulness again.
“Of course you are. I’m the best thing about your life, let’s be real,” she said, her grin widening once more. The teasing edge was back, but Lottie could hear the affection behind it, and it made her heart swell a little.
Lottie and Nat were strolling down a quiet street, the evening air carrying a faint chill. The city’s distant noise mixed with their soft footsteps as they walked side by side. It was peaceful, a nice contrast to the hectic weeks they’d both been having.
As they neared a street corner, Lottie noticed Nat slow down, her steps almost faltering. She glanced over, and for the first time that evening, Nat seemed distant, her gaze locked on a group of people hanging out on the corner. They were laughing, chatting, just a few familiar faces in the crowd. But it wasn’t their presence that had caused the shift in Nat’s demeanor.
Lottie stopped beside her, confused by the change. “Hey, what’s up?” she asked softly, trying to catch Nat’s eye.
Nat didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flickered to the group, then back to the sidewalk, but she kept her focus fixed ahead.
“Nothing,” she said, her voice a little tight.
Lottie could feel the tension radiating from Nat, her unease almost palpable. She stood there for a moment, unsure of how to break through the wall Nat had suddenly put up. Without thinking, Lottie reached out and gently took Nat’s hand, offering the simplest kind of support she could.
Nat’s fingers were stiff at first, hesitant, but then Lottie felt her slowly relax into the touch.
“You don’t have to keep walking if it’s making you uncomfortable,” Lottie said, her voice soft but firm. She could feel the subtle trembling in Nat’s hand, like she was trying to keep it together. “We can just turn around or find a different way.”
Nat’s eyes flickered briefly to their joined hands, and Lottie caught a glimpse of something vulnerable in her expression. But Nat quickly masked it, shaking her head slightly.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, though her words didn’t match the way her grip tightened just a little, like she was holding onto something more than just Lottie’s hand.
Lottie didn’t let go. She squeezed Nat’s hand, hoping to convey that she didn’t need to say anything if she wasn’t ready, but Lottie would still be there, no matter what. For a long moment, Nat didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away either. Instead, her shoulders slowly relaxed, and Lottie could tell the storm inside her was easing, even just a little.
Nat finally looked at her, giving a soft, almost imperceptible smile.
“Let’s just keep going,” she said quietly, and with that, they continued walking, side by side, hands still intertwined.
It was nearly two in the morning when the knock came. Lottie had been pacing the edge of her bed, the blue glow of her phone lighting her face in the dark. Her fingers hovered over the screen. She had typed and deleted the same message four times:
I miss you.
In the end, she sent: You left your charger.
A minute later: I’ll come get it.
She didn’t respond after that.
Just waited.
The knock wasn’t loud. Barely more than a tap, like Nat was giving her the option to pretend she didn’t hear it. But she had. Her heartbeat had been waiting for it. Lottie crossed the apartment barefoot, slow but sure. She opened the door.
Nat stood there, wearing a hoodie over sleep clothes, eyes shadowed by the hallway light behind her. Her hair was damp at the ends, like she’d been caught in a drizzle or hadn’t bothered to dry it properly. Her expression was unreadable, but her jaw tightened when their eyes met.
“Hey,” Nat said, voice low.
“Hey,” Lottie said back. That was all.
Lottie stepped aside. Nat walked in. No small talk. No mention of the time, or the charger, or what any of this meant. Lottie didn’t bother turning on more lights. The apartment was mostly dark, save for the low kitchen light Mari always left on.
Nat’s footsteps were soft on the wooden floor. Lottie touched her wrist gently, barely and turned down the hallway toward her room. Nat followed without a word.
The bed was half-made, a sweater draped over the desk chair. Her notebook was open on the dresser, but the pen had rolled to the floor. She shut the door behind them. The latch clicked like a decision. Neither of them turned on the light. They didn’t need to. Lottie sat on the edge of her bed. Her legs were cold from the draft sneaking in through the window frame. She didn’t say anything, and neither did Nat. Not for a few seconds. Then Nat sat beside her. Close, but not touching. The silence stretched. “I couldn’t sleep,” Lottie said finally, her voice thinner than she wanted.
Nat reached out first, fingers brushing lightly against Lottie’s arm, sending a shiver down her spine. Lottie’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she stepped closer, and before she could second-guess herself, she was kissing Nat.
Soft, slow, like a question being asked without any words.
Nat responded just as quietly, her hand sliding to the back of Lottie’s neck, pulling her closer. Lottie’s pulse quickened, and she gave in to the sensation, to the feeling of Nat’s lips against hers. The kiss deepened, the quiet between them becoming a language of its own. There was no need for anything more. No need for promises or explanations.
Just the heat between them, and the pull that neither of them could deny. When they finally broke apart, their faces were close, breaths mingling in the silence. Lottie didn’t say anything. Neither did Nat. With a small, quiet movement, Nat guided her to the bed.
Lottie lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, and Nat was curled on her side beside her, one arm draped loosely over Lottie’s stomach. Neither of them had spoken in a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just quiet. Just... soft. Lottie brushed her fingers through Nat’s hair. Nat let her.
Then Nat said, quietly, “I OD’d my freshman year.” Lottie’s hand stilled. She turned her head, heart stuttering.
“What?”
Nat didn’t look up. Her voice was steady, but there was something hollow in it. “It was winter. Week before finals. I was alone in my dorm, and I hadn’t eaten in two days. I didn’t mean to go that far. I just- I didn’t care.”
Lottie stayed quiet, her heart thudding so hard she thought Nat might feel it under her hand. She didn’t know what to say, only that whatever it was had to matter. So she didn’t rush it. She just watched Nat’s face, her jaw tight like she was bracing for judgment.
“I’m sorry,” Lottie said softly. “I didn’t know it got that bad.”
Nat shrugged, still not looking at her. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I barely even wanted to remember it myself.”
The air between them felt heavier now, not uncomfortable, but intimate in a way that made Lottie’s chest ache. Nat had told her about her dad before: the abuse, the drinking, the way he died. Lottie had known there were pieces missing from the story, shadows too sharp to ignore.
But this... this was one of those pieces.
Sharp and buried.
“They pumped my stomach,” Nat said, quieter now. “I woke up hooked to machines with dried blood under my nose and a nurse telling me I was lucky. I don’t even remember taking that much, just... pills, mostly. I kept thinking I was in control. That if I could keep everything looking okay on the outside, it didn’t matter what I did alone.” Lottie reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. Nat didn’t pull away.
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Nat continued, her voice flat, like she was telling a story she’d rehearsed too many times. “I didn’t want to be anyone’s problem. But Van... they found me.”
Nat paused for a moment, her eyes losing focus as if she was seeing the memory unfold in front of her.
“She came back to the dorm early and found me, passed out on the floor. She didn’t even know what to do. She just called an ambulance, and they were there before I knew it. She stayed with me the whole time. Never told anyone.” Lottie’s hand trembled slightly, but she kept it steady, holding onto Nat’s. The room felt too small for the weight of what Nat was sharing.
“Van saved you,” Lottie said quietly. Nat nodded, her gaze distant.
“They always have. I don’t even know what I’d do without them.” Nat closed her eyes. She was still holding Lottie’s hand. “I haven’t told anyone that story since it happened.”
“Why did you tell me?” Nat opened her eyes again. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Because I don’t feel like I have to lie when I’m with you.” Lottie felt her throat tighten. She reached up, brushing a thumb across Nat’s cheek.
“You don’t,” she said. “You never have to lie to me.”
Lottie swallowed hard. Her chest felt tight, like saying the words might make something real that she’d worked so hard to keep buried. But Nat had offered her something fragile, something unvarnished. Lottie wanted to meet her there. “I left school for a while,” she said finally. “Last year.”
Nat shifted just enough to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“I was gone for a couple months. The story was that I needed time off. Family reasons.” She let out a short breath, sharp and humorless. “But it wasn’t family. Not exactly.” Nat watched her, eyes shadowed in the low light, waiting. Lottie turned her head to the ceiling again, blinking slowly. Her voice, when it came, was quiet and uneven. “I stopped sleeping. Stopped eating too, sometimes, but that wasn’t the scary part. The scary part was... I started hearing things. Whispers. My name. Footsteps that weren’t there. I thought I was just overtired at first. But it kept getting worse.”
Nat didn’t interrupt.
“I’d wake up outside,” Lottie added. “In the garden. In the hallway. Once I was at the campus gates and I didn’t even remember getting out of bed. No shoes. It was raining. I just stood there for... I don’t even know how long.” She could feel her own pulse racing, could hear the memory in her voice like it didn’t belong to her.
“At first they thought it might be stress. Sleepwalking. But I wasn’t dreaming. I was aware, kind of. I just... couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t hold on to what was real and what wasn’t.” Lottie’s voice wavered, but she kept talking, like if she stopped, she’d lose her nerve. “I started hearing my mum’s voice. Not real, not hers, just... words she used to say, but twisted. Saying I was a disappointment. A burden. That I’d ruined everything.”
Her eyes stung, but she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Not now.
“I got paranoid. I thought people were watching me. Following me. I’d lock the doors and check them again every five minutes. Sometimes I wouldn’t sleep at all. I just sat up listening. Waiting for something I couldn’t name.” Nat moved slightly, her thumb brushing slow circles against the back of Lottie’s hand. Lottie leaned into it. “One night I left my room in the middle of a storm. Walked halfway across the grounds. No coat. I thought someone was calling for me. I thought I had to go.” She swallowed. “A security guard found me. Barefoot, bleeding from a cut I didn’t even remember getting.”
Lottie let the silence stretch and settle around them.
Nat didn’t say anything right away. Her hand was still wrapped around Lottie’s, grounding her, keeping her tethered. The quiet wasn’t empty. It was full of everything she wasn’t rushing to fix or fill.
Just listening. Lottie drew in a breath that trembled on the way out.
“They pulled me out the next morning. Packed a bag for me. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to anyone. Not really. There was this whole story, polished and safe. I was just ‘taking time to reset.’ That’s how the documents phrased it.” She almost laughed, but it caught in her throat. “Like I was a machine.”
“Where did you go?” Nat asked, her voice low.
“Somewhere quiet. Remote. Staff, doctors, no phones. Not even my own clothes for the first few days.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes like she could erase the memory if she pushed hard enough. “I hated it. Hated being watched. But I think it helped. Eventually.”
“Eventually,” Nat echoed.
Lottie nodded faintly. “I fought it the whole time. Every day I was just waiting for them to say I could leave. But then… one night I couldn’t stop shaking. I hadn’t spoken to anyone all day. I was just lying there, thinking I’d made everything worse. That I’d always be broken.” Her voice softened to nearly nothing. “And one of the nurses sat with me. Didn’t say anything profound. Just stayed.”
Nat’s fingers sought her hand out again, squeezing tightly.
“That’s what started to help, I think. Not the pills or the therapy, though I did those too. Just… someone staying. Not leaving when I was a mess.”
“You weren’t a mess,” Nat said.
“I was,” Lottie said quietly. “But I think that’s okay now.”
The room felt impossibly still. Nat’s thumb resumed tracing its gentle pattern over Lottie’s hand. She didn’t speak right away, and Lottie didn’t need her to. The silence between them had weight, but not the heavy kind. It felt like a blanket. Like a door that didn’t need to be slammed shut anymore.
“I think I’ve been waiting to feel this kind of quiet my whole life.”
They lay like that for a while, not saying anything. Just breathing the same air, fingers curled together. Pretending they were still just friends. Pretending it didn’t mean more than it did. But neither of them pulled away.
The apartment was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen light that Lottie had forgotten to turn off. She sat on the floor beside the coffee table, her back against the couch, legs drawn up. Van was across from her, cross-legged, her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands as she watched Lottie with quiet concern. It had been one of those days. The kind where the weight of everything pressed down a little heavier. Lottie had spent the evening pretending everything was fine, even smiling through dinner, even laughing when Mari made one of her biting jokes. But the moment it was just her and Van, something inside her cracked open.
“I don’t know how long I can keep this up,” Lottie said. Her voice was soft but raw. “The pretending. The constant worrying about slipping. Every time I start to feel okay, like maybe things are settling, something reminds me that I’m lying to everyone around me.”
Van didn’t interrupt. They leaned forward slightly, nodding just once to show she was listening.
“And now there’s Nat,” Lottie said, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’m starting to feel something and I don’t know what to do with it. She doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t even know who I am. Not really.”
Van stayed quiet, letting Lottie sit in the silence for a moment. Then, gently, they said, “Maybe it’s time you tell her.”
Lottie looked up fast, eyebrows pulled together. “It’s not that simple.”
“I didn’t say it was simple,” Van replied, their voice steady. “But you’re miserable. And it’s not just because of your title or the security stuff. It’s because you like her and you’re scared. You’re scared that if she sees the rest of you, she’ll walk away.”
Lottie rubbed her hands over her face, letting them fall into her lap with a quiet sigh. “I just… I don’t know how to even begin, Van. What should I say? ‘Hey, Nat, by the way, I’ve been lying to you since the day we met’?”
Van leaned back, their expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a shrug, “Maybe not like that. But maybe something like, ‘There’s a part of my life I’ve been too scared to share, and it’s not because I don’t trust you-it’s because it terrifies me to let someone see that side of me.’”
Lottie let that sit between them. It wasn’t just the fear of rejection; it was the fear of losing the one place in her life where she felt like just Lottie. No titles. No expectations. Just someone Nat chose to spend time with.
“She sees me as normal,” Lottie said quietly. “And if I tell her… I lose that.” Van nodded, understanding.
“Or maybe she sees the real you. Not the name, not the crown, just the girl who makes her laugh, who’s sometimes awkward, who pretends not to be a control freak but color-codes her notes like a psychopath.”
Lottie huffed out a laugh, reluctantly. “You’re such a jerk.”
Van grinned. “Only because you need someone to say the stuff you don’t want to hear.”
There was a long pause. Then, softer, “You don’t have to do it tonight. Or tomorrow. But don’t put it off forever, Lottie. Not if she means something real to you.”
Lottie sat curled on the edge of the bed, her legs drawn up, one knee bent to support Nat’s head as she lay across the blankets. Her fingers moved rhythmically through Nat’s damp, bleached hair, smoothing it back, again and again, like the repetition might still her own mind.
It didn’t. But it helped.
Nat was quiet beneath her, breathing slow, body heavy with half-sleep. Outside, a breeze stirred the curtains. Time softened at the edges.
Lottie knew how this ended. It wasn’t even a question anymore. It was a shape in her chest, a familiar pressure. She could already feel the fracture forming beneath the surface, like hairline cracks in porcelain.
Maybe Nat hadn’t seen it yet, or maybe she had, and she was pretending, too. Either way, they were both standing in a house they knew would burn, pretending the match wasn’t already lit.
Do not borrow grief from the future. Mari’s voice, cutting through the noise in her head like it always did but softer, this time. Gentler. Not a warning, not a lecture.
Just a reminder.
One Lottie couldn’t always follow. Because the future was loud for her. Deafening. The voices she carried, the ones that lived in the corners of her mind, never let her forget what was coming. Sometimes they whispered doubts. Sometimes they screamed.
But they always said the same thing: you can’t have this.
You don’t get to keep anything.
And maybe they were right. Because even now, as Nat shifted closer, her hand brushing Lottie’s thigh like she wanted to tether herself there, Lottie could already feel the goodbye. It was written between every touch, tucked into the silence between every heartbeat.
Her real name, her real life, the crown, the press- all of it was waiting just outside the door, ready to tear this apart the second she let it in. And Nat didn’t know. Not really. She knew parts of her.
The sad ones, the complicated ones, the way Lottie sometimes drifted away mid-conversation or got that far-off look like she was somewhere else entirely. She knew the jokes Lottie told to cover the darkness, and she didn’t flinch when the darkness broke through anyway. She didn’t ask questions Lottie couldn’t answer. But she didn’t know who Lottie was. What she was. What she would be.
Heir. Headline. Queen.
None of that belonged in this room. And none of it could be kept from Nat forever. Lottie’s hand stilled in Nat’s hair.
She thought about the last time she’d tried to talk to her father, the way his face had gone blank when she tried to explain what it felt like to live inside her mind. To hear things no one else could hear. To carry a voice that didn’t belong to anyone but still lived like it owned her.
He hadn’t yelled. He never yelled. But his silence had been a dismissal, a door closing.
“We all feel pressure, Charlotte,” he had said. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
It had always been something it was not. Something she could never quite name. Except with Mari. Mari had seen through the performance. Had called it what it was. Had stayed when Lottie couldn’t explain it. And now Nat was here, and Lottie wanted her to stay too, even though she knew she couldn’t ask that. Not without lying. Not without pretending that this would last.
“I like it when you touch my hair,” Nat murmured, voice thick with sleep. Lottie blinked. Her throat went tight.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s nice. You’ve got... soft hands.” That made Lottie laugh, quiet and cracked.
“That’s a weird compliment.”
“You’re a weird girl.”
“Rude.”
Nat opened one eye, lazy and amused. “You love it.”
Lottie looked at her, really looked, and felt something sharp twist under her ribs.
God, she did. She loved this.
And she was terrified of how much that meant.
“There’s something I should tell you,” Lottie said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Nat’s gaze sharpened, just slightly. “Yeah?”
Lottie hesitated. Swallowed. But the truth stuck in her mouth like a stone. Not tonight. She couldn’t ruin this. “Just… that I’m really glad you’re here.”
Nat’s expression softened. “Me too.”
And maybe that was enough. For now. Because the dusk hadn’t arrived yet. The crown hadn’t knocked. The lies hadn’t collapsed. So Lottie leaned down, brushed her lips over Nat’s temple, and let herself stay in the warmth a little longer.
She would worry about it later.
Students sprawled out on the grass or drifting between buildings, laughing, earbuds in, backpacks slung lazily over one shoulder. Lottie and Van sat on the steps outside the student center, drinks in hand, half-listening to the low hum of music someone had playing nearby. Van nudged Lottie with her knee.
“Okay, but seriously, if my TA gives me one more comment like ‘interesting approach’ without actually explaining what that means, I’m going to throw her desk out a window.”
Lottie smiled, distracted but trying not to show it. Travis stood nearby, leaning against a lamppost with one hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding his phone like he was texting. But Lottie knew better. He hadn’t looked at the screen in at least five minutes. His eyes were locked on something or someone. She felt it before she saw it: that prickle on the back of her neck, the sudden silence behind her thoughts.
Travis shifted, subtle but sharp. He pushed off the post and took a slow step forward, body angled slightly, gaze cutting across the quad. It was enough to make Lottie sit up straighter.
She didn’t look directly. Just tilted her head, brushing her hair back like she was watching someone behind Van.
“What is it?” she murmured.
“Northwest corner. Black hoodie, camera phone,” Travis said quietly. “Not a student. He’s not pretending anymore.”
Van turned their head halfway before Lottie touched their arm.
“Don’t,” Lottie whispered. Van blinked at her.
“What?”
“I’ve seen him before,” Lottie said, low. Her fingers tightened around her drink. “Outside the history building last week. And before that, by the chapel gate.”
Travis moved closer, voice clipped. “That’s three sightings. Same guy. I logged the first two. This one confirms it.”
Lottie’s throat went dry. She hated how fast her body remembered the feeling- that flood of adrenaline disguised as calm.
“Do we walk or run?”
“Walk. He’s already clocked me watching him. If we bolt, it turns into something bigger.”
Van looked between them, confused but alert. “Okay, seriously. Who the hell is that guy?”
Lottie stood.
“We’ll explain later.” Travis flanked her without being obvious, his eyes never leaving the man across the quad. Lottie glanced once quickly. He wasn’t even pretending to check his phone now. Just watching. They turned down the side of the student center, cutting through a path by the admin offices. It was quieter here, fewer people.
As soon as they were out of sight, Travis pulled his phone and made a call. “Yeah. Visual confirmed. No approach, but he’s escalating. I want a tail on the perimeter and a sweep of the apartment when we return. She’s not going out alone again. We’re past that.”
Lottie exhaled sharply and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Do you think he’s press or worse?”
Travis didn’t answer immediately.
“I don’t think it’s press.”
Van’s face shifted. “Wait. You’re saying this guy might be... like, dangerous, dangerous?”
Lottie nodded once, slow and tired. “It’s not the first time.”
“Tai’s mobilizing. Until we know more, you stay with someone at all times. No solo walks. No classes without escort,” Travis hung up.
“I’m not letting this ruin my life,” Lottie muttered.
“You don’t have a choice anymore,” Travis said, voice low and final.
Lottie paced across the carpet in her apartment, arms crossed, shoes still on. The lights were dim, but her thoughts were too loud for rest. Travis stood by the door, silent but watchful. She could feel the weight of his presence, the tension hanging between them like fog.
Tai arrived ten minutes after the call. No knock.
Just her keycard, a clipped entrance, and stress.
“Travis said you made visual contact,” she said, setting her bag down. Lottie didn’t stop moving. “Same guy. Again.”
“Fourth time?” she asked.
She gave a short nod. “I didn’t report the second. Thought maybe I was overreacting.”
“You weren’t,” Tai said, pulling out her tablet. She tapped something in as she spoke. “Travis said he wasn’t blending in.”
“He didn’t even try. Just stood there. Hoodie, phone in hand, but not pretending to scroll or anything. Just watching me.”
Tai’s jaw ticked. “Close?”
“Fifty, maybe sixty feet. Too far to confront, close enough to make a point.”
Tai didn’t respond right away. She just stood there, thumb tapping the screen and eyes flicking between her and whatever she was typing. Then she set the tablet down.
“The king knows,” she said quietly.
“What?” Lottie’s head snapped up.
“We briefed the palace after the third sighting. AFter today, they’re considering pulling you.”
She stared at Tai before looking at Travis and back to Tai, “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“You haven’t been following protocol. Travis has reported multiple instances of you going out alone, or... not alone.” Lottie didn’t need clarification.
“You’re talking about Nat.”
Tai nodded once. “You’ve snuck her into your apartment. You’ve met her in places you didn’t clear with security. You’re being watched, Lottie, and she’s becoming part of your pattern.”
“She doesn’t know who I am.”
“That doesn’t matter. If someone wants leverage, they’ll use whatever’s close to you. And right now, she’s close.”
Lottie’s jaw clenched. “She’s not a threat.”
“You can’t be sure.”
Lottie’s frustration bubbled up, a tight knot in her chest.
“I know her, Tai. She’s just-she’s just a person, okay? She doesn’t want anything from me except-” She broke off, running a hand through her hair. She couldn’t even finish the sentence. How could she explain that Nat wasn’t part of this world? That she was normal, that she made Lottie feel like she wasn’t some high-profile pawn in a game she never asked to play?
“She’s still a vulnerability,” Tai said, her voice patient but unwavering. “I’m not saying she’s the problem, but your proximity to her is. And if anyone realizes how much she means to you, they’ll exploit it.”
Lottie’s head spun. Her eyes flickered to Travis, who had been silent through the exchange, his eyes hard and unblinking as always. She could feel his attention on her, but it wasn’t comforting; it was just more weight. More responsibility she never asked for.
“I don’t care,” Lottie muttered. “I’m not going to stop seeing her.”
Tai’s gaze softened for a second. "Lottie, I get it. But think about the bigger picture. The king is already worried. If the palace pulls you-"
She didn’t finish the sentence. They both knew what it meant. No more university. No more normalcy.
No more freedom.
“I’m not just going to stop living because some guy is taking pictures of me. I’ll deal with it,” Lottie said, clenching her fists quickly before fanning out her hands again.
“It's not just about the pictures,” Travis interjected, his tone more forceful than before. “If they’ve figured out how to get close enough to watch you like this, they could already be planning something worse. We need to tighten security, Lottie.”
She shook her head, stepping back.
“You’re not listening to me,” she said, her voice rising with a mix of frustration and desperation. “I’m not going to hide anymore. I’m tired of being treated like I'm a target to be protected.”
“You are a target,” Tai said, her voice hardening. "And you don't have a choice in this, not anymore."
The finality in her tone sent a shiver down Lottie’s spine. For the first time, she let herself consider the other option: being pulled out. Vanishing overnight. No warning. No Nat.
“Let me talk to him,” Lottie said finally. “Let me try to change his mind.”
Tai hesitated. “He’s not taking calls.”
“Then tell him this,” Lottie said, her voice low but steady. “If he pulls me without warning, I’m not going quietly.”
Tai didn’t respond. She just looked at Lottie for a long moment, then picked up her tablet again. “I’ll tell him.”
The first time Lottie tried to tell Nat, they had been at Nat’s bedroom. She had told Nat there was something she needed to tell her, but Van had interrupted the moment before Nat could even question her.
The second time, it was late. A party they’d both regretted going to too loud, too many people pretending not to watch them. They’d found a couch in a quiet corner of the living room, one of those spaces that felt separate from the rest of the night. Travis and her other guard were at the party as well. Lottie wouldn’t hesitate that Tai was within a 10 block radius either. But there had been no more sightings of the man, which had calmed down the pressure on Lottie.
The room smelled like cheap vodka and dust, and someone’s terrible playlist was looping in the background, too low to fully drown out the murmur of the crowd. Nat had her head resting on Lottie’s shoulder. Her breath was warm, a little slow, the kind of rhythm that said she wasn’t drunk but didn’t plan on moving anytime soon. Her fingers brushed Lottie’s leg now and then not intentionally, just soft, casual contact that made Lottie ache a little.
Lottie shifted, turning just enough to look at her. “There’s a reason I don’t talk about my family,” she said. The words came quietly, almost afraid of being heard. Nat didn’t sit up. She didn’t blink. She just gave a small hum, her cheek still pressed to Lottie’s shoulder.
“Who wants to talk about family at a party?”
“No, I mean really.” Lottie’s throat was dry. “There’s a reason. And I think I should tell you.”
Nat’s brow knit slightly, her head lifting, just enough to meet Lottie’s eyes. Her expression wasn’t guarded, but there was a flicker of something, a quiet bracing. Lottie’s hands were cold. Her chest felt too tight. It would be so easy to say it. Just four words. I’m a princess . Actually. And then the truth could follow: Travis, Tai, the lies, all of it.
Maybe Nat would understand.
Maybe she’d even stay.
But then Nat’s voice cut through the silence. “I don’t need your secrets,” she said, calm but certain. “I just need this to be real.” Lottie didn’t move. She couldn’t.
“This is the most real thing I’ve had in a long time,” Nat added, voice even softer now. “Don’t ruin it.”
And that was it. The moment closed like a door. Lottie swallowed everything she was about to say.
She pressed her mouth into a quiet smile and reached for Nat’s hand instead, fingers curling through hers. She didn’t speak again for the rest of the night, just held on, hoping that if she stayed still long enough, maybe the truth wouldn’t catch up. But it would. And she knew it.
A loud knock interrupted the quiet.
Van glanced up from the couch, their legs sprawled across it, a joint between their fingers, the smoke curling up lazily. Nat sat beside her, head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, a haze of relaxation settling over them. Lottie, sitting on the floor with her textbooks sprawled out in front of her, absentmindedly chewed the cap of a highlighter, her mind drifting in a space somewhere between study and the smoke swirling around her.
Mari was in the corner, casually scrolling through her phone, tapping out a text, the same practiced boredom in her movements that she always had.
Then came the second set of knocks, firmer, heavier. Not frantic.
Controlled. Measured.
Mari stood first, slow and deliberate. Van looked up from their phone.
Nat said, “What the hell?” and started toward the door, but Lottie already knew something was wrong.
Her entire body had gone cold.
Then the door swung open, not broken, not slammed, but with the kind of force and precision that only came from people trained not to hesitate. There were five of them in full royal guard attire: dark, clean lines, earpieces, controlled expressions. They filled the apartment like a wave. But two men and one woman stood out.
At the center of it all was a man she hadn’t seen in nearly a year Commander Martinez, her father’s personal guard. His presence meant one thing and one thing only. The other was Travis. He didn’t smile. He didn’t move like the charming student he usually pretended to be. His jaw was tight. His hands behind his back. And when their eyes met, it was clear that nothing was ever going to be the same again. Tai was just behind him, papers stacked in her hands.
Martinez took a single step forward and bowed his head not casually, not as a gesture. It was the kind of bow that came with centuries of expectation behind it. “Your Majesty,” he said.
Nat blinked at the title, a small “what the fuck?” escaping her, but Lottie couldn’t focus on that now.
“We need to leave now, ma’am. I will explain on the way. But we can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
That word: safe.
The entire room stopped breathing. Mari didn’t blink. She didn’t ask questions. Her expression didn’t change, but she stepped immediately toward Lottie, placing herself at her side. Her voice was low, firm. “She’s not going alone,” she said.
“This is not a discussion.”
Lottie hadn’t spoken. She couldn’t. Not yet. Mari stepped forward, blocking the space between Lottie and the guards. “No. If this is what I think it is, if it's really happening then you’re going to have to get used to the fact that she’s in charge.”
“Your Majesty, I understand this is difficult, but we need to leave. Now.”
Lottie stood slowly. Her legs felt like they weren’t part of her. But her voice was clear. “Mari’s coming with me.”
"Ma'am,” Martinez hesitated.
“She is coming. That’s not a request.”
There was a pause. Then Martinez gave the smallest of nods, and the guards adjusted. Mari didn’t look triumphant. She looked heartbroken.
“What’s going on?” Nat asked. Her voice cracked. “Lottie what the hell is this?”
Lottie turned to Van. “Can you explain?” The last thing she needed was Tai breaking the news. Then she turned to Nat, expression hollowed out with regret. “I’m so sorry, I should have told you. I should have prepared you.”
Nat looked between them. “Prepared me for what? What is happening right now?”
“I have to go,” Lottie said softly, her voice pulled taut like thread. Nat’s eyes filled, confused and sharp and hurt.
“Where? Go where? What are you talking about?”
Lottie walked over and took her hand, squeezing it hard. “I’ll try to call you. I swear.”
Lottie let her hand go. She couldn’t explain. Not here. Not now.
She turned, and Mari was already there, a step behind her.
The door closed behind them as the guards fell into place, a quiet, practiced movement.
Outside, the cold hit her first. Then the reality. Then the scent of the apartment still clinging to her clothes: weed, sweat, warmth, the unmistakable comfort of people who didn’t see her as a crown. She would remember that smell forever.
The King was dead.