THAT EVENING, AMELIA and Arthur had dinner with the King, Queen, Amelia’s parents, Nick, Charlie, and Jo. After the events of the day, Amelia wanted a bath and a nap, not a formal dinner for which she would have to be alert and attentive. But this was her life now, and so she sat and talked and ate, all the while keeping her posture perfect despite desperately wanting to slouch.
After the meal was finally over, and after Amelia had hugged her parents goodbye and promised to come home soon to visit, Arthur stepped up beside her.
“Can I see you to your rooms?” he asked.
“I thought we were driving back together?” She needed to stop assuming; logistics were a thing that happened to her now, not something she had any say in orchestrating.
“We could, if you want,” Arthur said. “But it’s a lo
