Amy's PoV:

It had been three days since the garden explosion, or at least that's what I'd decided to mentally title it.

Three days since Maxwell tore me apart with words that still echoed at the back of my head, like the end of a song I couldn't shake off. I hated that it stung. I hated more that I let it sting. But honestly? I was tired of giving him rent-free space in my mind. He didn't owe me anything. And I didn't owe him anything either.

So. I let it go.

Sort of.

Maybe.

Whatever.

Today, I had bigger problems than emotionally repressed princes with unspeakable jawlines and brooding complexes. I had a class with Octavia, which meant forty-five minutes of crown protocol and monotone horror.

Except today's class had taken a turn for the weirdly fascinating.

We weren't just listening to Octavia drone about diplomatic seating arrangements or the difference between formal and semi-formal bows (yes, there is a difference. Yes, it's stupid). No - today we were handed folders.

Actual, thick, ancient-looking folders.

The pages were yellowing. Some of the ink had smudges. They smelled like old paper and secrets. The juicy kind.

"These," Octavia announced, standing straight as a steel ruler, "are transcripts from old rumors. Tabloids, gossip columns, or - in some cases - leaked documents. Scandals, affairs, cover-ups. Your assignment is to respond to one of these events using correct Crown protocol. Pretend you are writing on behalf of the palace."

I blinked. Excuse me?

Jenny whispered beside me, "This is either really fun or absolutely horrifying."

Clarice leaned over. "I'm betting horrifying."

"You will not find these cases online or in tabloids," Octavia continued. "They were scrubbed from public knowledge. You'll have only the date and the subject. If you want to uncover what truly happened, you'll need to ask the right royals or search through the restricted section of the library."

Just perfect.

Another puzzle. A forbidden one.

The bell rang. We packed up in silence. I clutched my folder like it was some cursed spell book.

Outside class, Jenny, Clarice, and I groaned in unison.

"This course is slowly devouring my brain," Clarice complained. "I swear I had a full set of thoughts before it started. Now I just think in panic and diplomatic tone."

Jenny nodded. "This is getting harder every week. I miss the easy stuff - 'describe your favorite royal event' or 'what shade of blue represents calm.'"

"She gave us seventy-five-year-old royal scandals and told us to fix it with manners," I said, still reeling.

We split paths after that, agreeing to start our research tonight, maybe cry over it later.

And that's when I started thinking: Who do I even ask?

Not Maxwell. Not after... everything.

And definitely not Frederick. I didn't need another round of Prince Flirtation Olympics. The guy oozed confidence like it was cologne. And he knew it. Honestly, if he weren't so annoyingly attractive, I might've rolled my eyes so hard they fell out.

But he was too much. Too much charm, too much inconsistency, too much confusion. It was like he flirted for sport. Girls must be Pokémon cards to him - collectible, shiny, and easily traded.

I wasn't going to be caught in that deck.

So... someone else.

Someone royal, but not emotionally chaotic. Someone who actually liked me.

And then it hit me.

Amelia.

Of course. How had I not thought of her sooner?

She had access. She had curiosity. She read books older than her wardrobe. She wasn't just sweet and smart - she cared. If anyone would help me dig into some forbidden royal history, it would be her.

I pulled out my phone and texted her:

Me: Do you want to break a few palace rules with me? 👀

Three seconds later, her reply:

Amelia 👑: Always.
Also what are we breaking.
Also can snacks be involved.

I smiled.

We agreed to meet by the pool.

I found Amelia lounging by the pool, her feet barely skimming the water's surface. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky soft pinks and golds. She looked so peaceful, almost like the worries of the world hadn't caught up with her yet.

"Hey," I called softly, settling down on the stone ledge beside her.

She smiled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Hey, Amy. So what rules are we breaking?"

I pulled out my notebook and flipped it open to the page filled with scribbles. "You helping me with work"

"Uhh boring, you so gonna owe me" Amelia said as she lifter her sunglasses

"I'm trying to know what happened with Marian LeClaires August 12th, 1937. I am hoping you know about it"

Amelia leaned back, her eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and something darker as she glanced around, making sure no one was listening. "Pfft. Of course I do. Okay, buckle up," she said, voice dropping a notch. "Marian LeClaries was one of the most prettiest princess of that time. She was hot, pretty, an icon of the royalty. But she isn't your typical royal darling. She's got the bloodline, the title, but her heart? Completely off the charts."

I raised an eyebrow, already intrigued. "Go on."

"On August 12th, 1937," Amelia continued, "Marian was spotted-very publicly-with Vincenzo Moretti."

My pen hovered over the page. "Who?"

Amelia smirked. "Only the most notorious mafia figure in Europe at the time. Dark, dangerous, untouchable. And of course, completely off-limits for a royal to be involved with."

I blinked. "You're kidding. A princess and a mafia guy? That sounds like something out of a novel."

"Exactly," Amelia said, lowering her sunglasses to stare at me. "It's scandalous, yes, but it's also explosive. The tabloids went wild, and the palace was scrambling to contain the fallout."

I scribbled furiously. "So this wasn't just a late-night fling? There was actual... feelings?"

Amelia nodded slowly. "Apparently, yes. The whispers were that Marian was head over heels, willing to throw everything away. It threatened to unravel not just her reputation, but the entire royal image. She had a huge ring also, they speculated they were engaged."

I exhaled, the weight of it settling in. "No wonder the palace wanted to keep it under wraps."

"Under wraps?" Amelia laughed bitterly. "They tried, but with Vincenzo's reputation? The story was bound to leak. And leak it did. Marian's choices shattered the delicate illusion of perfection they worked so hard to maintain."

I looked up at Amelia, feeling a strange mix of sympathy and fascination. "So, what happened? Why do I got this story?"

Amelia's eyes met mine with a seriousness I hadn't seen before. "Because at the time there was no way to defend Marian, the crown tried but failed miserably. And trust me, Amy, some of those secrets don't want to be found."

I nodded, heart pounding. "Alright. So I just need to make her look good" I though to myself I said as I fiddled on my notebook

"good luck with at that."

"what happened to her I mean at the end?" I asked curious

"She died"Amelia said bitting her lip

"Oh my god."

"What I know is that she got killed by Vincenzo's mafia enemies, stuff like that and he killed himself when they were trying to run away to Sweden"

"Well that's tragic"

"A true and tragic love story." Amelia said as I pointed down everything

She looked thoughtful, dipping her toes again. Then, after a moment, she said, "Hey, Amy... since my birthday's coming up, wanna do something fun? I need to get ready for it - gotta build up the strength, you know?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Why ? You don't you like your birthday?"

Amelia shrugged, her smile fading just a bit. "Not much. It's so formal. Like, I'm not a kid or a teenager anymore - I have to sit through endless talks about dresses, colors that don't match, and drink tea with people who want to discuss the proper way to hold a teacup."

I laughed, imagining her stuck in an endless loop of royal etiquette lessons. "Sounds... rough."

"It is," she said, with a mock sigh. "Sometimes I just wish I could have a normal birthday - you know, cake, music, silly games, laughing until my cheeks hurt."

"Well then," I said, nudging her playfully, "we're definitely celebrating your birthday our way."

Amelia's grin returned full force. "Deal."

Just then, walking down the stairs aperreado the one and only, Frederick-flirty grin in place, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, well, if it isn't my favorite troublemaker," he called out, flashing a charming smile at Amelia.

Amelia rolled her eyes but greeted him warmly. "Hello, cousin."

Frederick winked at me. "And how's my favorite rebel doing? More importantly, are you okay? Last time you and Maxwell had a showdown, it looked... intense."

Amelia chuckled, nudging me. "Oh, come on, Frederick. They always have fights. It's my favorite show."

Frederick grinned but turned serious for a moment. "Yeah, I know. But that one? It seemed different. Complicated."

Amy shrugged, playing it cool. "I'm fine. Honestly, I don't care."

Frederick smirked and stepped closer, teasing like he did always. "Sure you don't."

I rolled my eyes but smiled. "I do not."

He laughed, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, then followed me as I stood up. "I'll be right behind you, you know."

"Unfortunately, I am aware of your routine"

I started walking toward the house, Frederick tailing me like a puppy on a leash, throwing in cheeky comments as I walked.

From across the courtyard, I saw him.

Maxwell's sharp gaze locked onto us. His jaw tightened. Without hesitation, he strode over and stepped directly between me and Frederick.

His voice was rough, but softer than usual when he addressed Frederick. "Come with me. I want to talk to you about the horses."

Frederick's grin didn't falter. "I'd rather be with Amy, thanks."

Maxwell's hand shot out, grabbing Frederick firmly by the blazer and pulling him aside. "You're coming. Now."

Frederick struggled for a second, then gave a reluctant smirk. "Fine, but don't think this means I'm happy about it."

I couldn't help but laugh at the scene-Maxwell's usual scowl softened by a strange, almost protective edge, and Frederick, ever the tease, caught in the unexpected role of captive guest.

Amelia nudged me with a grin. "Family, how cute."

Amelia leaned her head back against the sun-warmed stone, a wistful sigh slipping out. "You know, I've never had a themed birthday party."

I glanced at her. "Wait-never?"

She shook her head, curls bouncing slightly. "Nope. Not once. It's always afternoon tea with porcelain cups, stiff dresses, chamber music, and conversations so dull they could sedate a room full of espresso addicts."

I laughed. "Wow. That sounds like a punishment, not a party."

"It is a punishment," Amelia said dramatically. "Being royal means your childhood is one long etiquette lesson. Birthdays are just excuses for political networking and three hours of smiling like a deranged doll."

"Well," I said, flipping my notebook shut and standing up, "then we're absolutely doing a themed party for you this year."

Her eyes widened, the first flicker of genuine excitement lighting her face. "Really?"

"Really," I said firmly. "But you need to pick a theme. Something that feels like you. No tiaras, no forced smiles. Just whatever makes your cheeks hurt from laughing."

She bit her lip, thinking. "Maybe... something that has nothing to do with royalty. Nothing pink. Nothing involving antique spoons."

I snorted. "Noted. So... nothing royal. Got it. But you'll think about it?"

She nodded. "I will. But Amy?"

"Yeah?"

Her smile turned a little shy. "Thanks. No one's ever asked me what I'd actually want."

I squeezed her shoulder gently. "That's because they're idiots. You deserve a birthday that actually feels like your day."

She grinned, cheeks already coloring. "Okay, go before I get sappy."

I laughed and started backing away. "Alright, alright. I'm heading to Octavia anyway."

Her face twisted in mock horror. "Yikes. She's probably hiding behind curtains, waiting to ambush someone with posture correction drills."

I rolled my eyes. "I'd believe it."

Just as I turned toward the hall, Amelia called after me. "Wait-what's she calling the meeting for?"

"She said something about a royal event coming up. Apparently, we all need to prepare."

Amelia groaned dramatically. "UH my grandparents are coming I forgot"

I waved without looking back. "this will be fun."

As I walked toward the west wing where Octavia held her sessions like a general in an ivory tower, I could already hear her heels echoing down the marble corridor - like a war drum for decorum.

What will it be now?