She’s probably calling me Runaway Bitch right now.

“People of Wessco,” Nicholas begins, taking a stack of white note cards from his pocket. “We’ve been through a lot together, you and I. You celebrated with my family the day of my birth—” the corner of his mouth quirks up “—and I’ve been told some of the parties were quite rowdy. You watched as I took my first steps, attended my first day of school, rode my first horse—King, his name was.”

Nicholas clears his throat and looks down, his dark hair falling over his forehead. “You grieved with Henry and I when we lost our parents—our pain was yours. You nurtured us, consoled us, held us in your arms as if we were your own—and in a very real way, we are. You saw me graduate university, undergo the same military training each of you have also undertaken—and I’ve strived in action and word to make you proud. To become the kind of man, leader and prince you all deserve.”

He stares down at the cards in his hand for a moment, then swallows hard.

“My mother had many dreams for us, as all mothers do for their children. She wanted us to have lives filled with purpose, accomplishments…and love. The love my parents had for each other was a wonder to behold—you all saw it. They were meant for each other, made each other better versions of themselves. And you, like my grandmother, Her Majesty the Queen, have waited—not so patiently—” Nicholas gives a small smirk and a chuckle echoes through the crowd “—for me to find a love like that of my own.”

He looks nauseated. And his jaw clenches, like he’s trying to keep the words in. Then he looks into the camera, brows drawn together. “Today, your waiting comes to an end. And I will speak to you about the future of the monarchy—of my future with the woman I will marry.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t think I can do this—God, why did I think I could watch this?

“She would have liked to be here with me today, but…circumstances…made that impossible.” He pushes a hand through his dark hair, rubbing the back of his neck, looking down again at the cards in his hand.

“And so, I announce that I…that I…”

He stumbles on the words and I lose the ability to breathe.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word for several seconds.

And then…he laughs.

A sharp, bitter sound, while pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

“I am a horse’s arse.”

Ellie jumps out of her chair. “I knew it! He’s Jerry McGuiring you! He’s Jerry McGuiring you, because you complete him!!”

“Shhh!”

“I had what my parents had,” Nicholas says fiercely, gripping the sides of the podium. “I held it in my hands. The love of a woman who was not born into royalty but who is more noble of character than anyone I have ever known. Knowing her…changed everything. And loving her…brought me to life.”

There’s a wave of whispers in the crowd as Nicholas’s brow furrows.

“And I betrayed her. I doubted her love and her honesty when I should’ve known better. And I’m sorry…” He stares into the camera—green eyes glowing—like he’s looking right at me. “I’m so damn sorry.”

After a moment, his eyes return to the crowd and his voice grows stronger, more definitive with every word.

“But I will not betray her again. I will not forsake the dreams my mother had for her sons, and I will not ignore what my own soul cries out for.” His head shakes. “Not for country and not for crown.”

He pauses, wetting his lips. “I’m supposed to stand up here today and give you the name of the woman who will one day be your queen. But I can’t do that. Because I have screwed up.” He snorts. “Royally.”

Then he leans forward, his beautiful face sure and confident.

“What I can tell you, what I swear to you today, is this: I will marry Olivia Hammond or I will never marry at all.”

And the crowd goes berserk.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit!” Ellie yells.

And Marty gasps. “You’re gonna be a queen, Liv! Like Beyoncé!” He fans his eyes with his hand. “I might cry.”

Only…I won’t be. I can’t be.

“He can’t do that.” I turn to Logan. “Can he do that?”

Logan’s mouth is set in a worried line. His eyes flash to me—and he shakes his head.

One of the reporters stands up, and the back of his head comes into view in the corner of the screen, yelling his question above the din. “Prince Nicholas! The law is clear—the Crown Prince must marry a woman of noble lineage or, if he is to marry a commoner, she must be a natural-born citizen of Wessco. Olivia Hammond is neither of those.”

I stare at the television, paralyzed by a hundred emotions swirling through me.

The crowd quiets, waiting for Nicholas’s answer.

“No, she is not,” he answers softly, looking down.

And then he straightens his shoulders and raises his head.

“And so, today, I, Nicholas Arthur Frederick Edward, abdicate my place in the line of succession and renounce all rights to the throne of Wessco. From this moment on, my brother, His Royal Highness Henry John Edgar Thomas, is the Prince of Pembrook.”

The crowd roars like Brazilian soccer fans right after a goal.

And Henry wakes up, lifting his head. Blinking.

“Wait. What?”