In this breathtaking sequel to the national bestseller A Queen’s Game , the love lives of three princesses are hopelessly entangled. Hearts will be broken, friendships betrayed, secrets revealed . . . and when it’s all over, Europe’s monarchies will never be the same. Hélène d’Orléans, exiled princess of France, was forced to break off her engagement to Prince Eddy because of a mistake from her past. But she’s determined to win him back, even if it means pretending to court another prince. Alix of Hesse is desperately in love with Prince Nicholas of Russia and promises to wait for him, no matter how long it takes. But what happens when her grandmother Queen Victoria introduces a new suitor . . . one who makes Alix question her heart? May of Teck isn’t even looking for love, just a crown—and now, after all her scheming, she might finally have found a way to marry Prince Eddy. So why can’t she stop thinking about his younger brother, George? In this stunning conclusion to the duology that began with A Queen’s Game , Katharine McGee offers an intimate portrayal of a near-forgotten moment in royal history: a story of agonizing loss, of impossible choices, and of love—and hope—that defied the odds. ★ "A historical romance that is both frothy and insightful ." — School Library Journal , starred review "Rich character development and clear plotlines make for a strong sequel ." — Kirkus Reviews "Hearts are broken, bonds are tested, secrets are revealed, and some characters find a measure of happiness amid (or despite) Queen Victoria’s well-intentioned meddling. Read it with a box of tissues nearby ." — Booklist Katharine McGee is the New York Times bestselling author of A Queen's Game , the American Royals series and the Thousandth Floor trilogy. She studied English and French literature at Princeton University and has an MBA from Stanford. She lives in her hometown of Houston, Texas, with her husband and sons. Chapter One Hélène “Come on, Amélie!” Hélène shifted her weight, her feet warm on the platform’s wooden boards. Bathing machines were like carriages designed for discomfort. Or perhaps they were more like closets on wheels? Behind them, plodding toward the shore on a sleepy-­looking dray horse, was the coachman who’d driven their bathing machine into the surf. A lot of work, all so that the Orléans sisters could swim without compromising their virtue. As if Hélène had any virtue left to compromise. It was maddeningly slow, being bundled into that ridiculous machine and dragged into the ocean. But Hélène had swallowed her complaints. Amélie’s husband, Carlos, the Crown Prince of Portugal, had tried to be thoughtful by arranging this outing. And it was hardly his fault that men were allowed to stroll around the beach in one-­piece bathing costumes while women had to keep themselves hidden. Hélène lowered herself onto the top step of the ladder and shivered. The water was chillier than she’d expected. “They should make these costumes warmer,” Amélie grumbled, nudging open the door of the bathing machine. Like Hélène, she was dressed in a white camisole and bloomers: not the beautiful silk bloomers they wore under their gowns, but a simple pair made of cotton. “You’ll warm up once you get in the water,” Hélène fibbed. Amélie lifted a skeptical eyebrow, wrapping her arms around herself in the ocean breeze. So Hélène dived in. The water closed over her head, cold and dark. It was so blissfully quiet that she couldn’t hear anything but the far-­off roar of the surf, murmuring like a distant heartbeat. Here in the water, Hélène could forget it all. The mistakes she’d made, the secrecy and the joy and the unbearable pain she’d endured over the past year and a half: when she had fallen in love with Prince Eddy, then lost him. As she broke the surface, Hélène looked up. Amélie was still standing on the back platform, watching her closely. “I’ll join you,” Amélie declared, and began descending the ladder built into the back of the machine. The water wasn’t deep; Hélène could dig her toes into the sandy bottom. Amélie drifted toward her, moving her arms in circular motions to keep her head above the surface. “You look like a little mermaid with your hair all wet,” she teased. Une petite sirène, she’d said; the sisters were speaking French, as they always did together. Hélène bristled at the phrase; it made her think of that awful Hans Christian Andersen story. “I don’t like the little mermaid.” What a foolish decision, to give up everything for a man. Small surprise that the prince had left the mermaid the moment her back was turned, breaking her heart forever. Though, to be fair, Hélène’s heartbreak came from the fact that she was the one who’d left Eddy. “You’re right, of course. You’re more like Mélusine than the little mermaid,” Amélie amended. Mélusine, the water spirit who had married a mortal man, a beloved French children’s story. The ancient House of Anjou had claimed