Home > American Royals III

American Royals III
Author: Katharine McGee




    Also by Katharine Mcgee

    Title Page




        Chapter 1: Beatrice


        Chapter 2: Samantha


        Chapter 3: Daphne


        Chapter 4: Nina


        Chapter 5: Beatrice


        Chapter 6: Samantha


        Chapter 7: Daphne


        Chapter 8: Nina


        Chapter 9: Beatrice


        Chapter 10: Samantha


        Chapter 11: Nina


        Chapter 12: Beatrice


        Chapter 13: Nina


        Chapter 14: Daphne


        Chapter 15: Samantha


        Chapter 16: Daphne


        Chapter 17: Nina


        Chapter 18: Beatrice


        Chapter 19: Samantha


        Chapter 20: Beatrice


        Chapter 21: Daphne


        Chapter 22: Nina


        Chapter 23: Samantha


        Chapter 24: Beatrice


        Chapter 25: Nina


        Chapter 26: Samantha


        Chapter 27: Daphne


        Chapter 28: Beatrice


        Chapter 29: Daphne


        Chapter 30: Beatrice


        Chapter 31: Nina


        Chapter 32: Samantha


        Chapter 33: Nina


        Chapter 34: Beatrice


        Chapter 35: Daphne


        Chapter 36: Samantha


        Chapter 37: Beatrice


        Chapter 38: Daphne


        Chapter 39: Samantha


        Chapter 40: Beatrice


        Chapter 41: Nina


        Chapter 42: Daphne


        Chapter 43: Nina


        Chapter 44: Samantha


        Chapter 45: Beatrice


        Chapter 46: Daphne


        Chapter 47: Beatrice


        Chapter 48: Samantha


        Chapter 49: Nina





   Beatrice pulled her arms overhead in a stretch. She wondered if all brides felt like this when they returned from their honeymoons: flush with a warm, relaxed pleasure.

   Except that Beatrice—Her Majesty Beatrice Georgina Fredericka Louise, Queen of America—wasn’t a normal bride. Actually, since she hadn’t gotten married, she wasn’t a bride at all.

   She glanced at Theodore Eaton, the man she was supposed to have wed earlier this year. His hair was an even brighter blond after three weeks in the Caribbean sun, his skin burnished to a golden tan. Beatrice knew she looked just as relaxed and well rested.

   Not that it would last, with everything that lay ahead.

   In the weeks following their non-wedding, Beatrice had remained in the capital, dealing with the aftermath of her decision. She had reviewed infrastructure bills and ambassadorial appointments, and had studied foreign legislation and trade policies in preparation for the upcoming League of Kings conference. It was all the tedious, unglamorous work of being a monarch—the work Beatrice should have been doing since her father died, if she hadn’t allowed herself to be sidetracked with planning her wedding.

   Porcelain platters were scattered on the table before her and Teddy, laden with the remnants of their scrambled eggs and fruit. Franklin, the golden Lab puppy that she and Teddy had adopted together—not a puppy much longer—nuzzled her leg, whining. Beatrice surreptitiously broke off a piece of toast and passed it to him under the table.

   “Glad to be back?” Teddy asked.

   Beatrice leaned down to rub Franklin’s velvety-soft ears. “Glad to see this guy again,” she said, and sighed. “Though I have to say, I already miss our bungalow.”

   Beatrice had never really been on a vacation before. She’d traveled all over the world, but always for a diplomatic visit or state business. Even on family trips she’d been too busy skiing, or sailing, or catching up on school assignments to relax. It was a trait she’d inherited from her father. King George IV had never taken a day off work in his life. And now that he was gone, Beatrice wished that he had.

   A knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” Beatrice called out.

   “Your Majesty,” the footman announced, “the Lady Chamberlain is here to see you.”

   Surprised, Beatrice checked her watch: a platinum one that her father had given her on her eighteenth birthday, its hands starred with tiny diamonds. It wasn’t like her to be running late. She’d gotten too accustomed to island time—all those mornings when she and Teddy had lingered over breakfast, only to end up falling into bed again afterward.

   Beatrice glanced at the footman, struck with an idea. “Why don’t you tell Anju to come on in?”

   “Into the breakfast room, Your Majesty?”

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