My sister believed my Navy uniform would spoil the image of her royal-style wedding. So she removed me from the guest list, posed happily for the cameras, and acted as if I had never existed.

People love a fallen bride more than a perfect one.”

A chill moved through me.

There she was.

Not the little girl crying beside a broken vase.

Not the jealous sister.

Not the frightened bride.

This was Rachel without the perfume.

The king studied her for a long moment.

Then he smiled.

It was not warm.

“My dear,” he said, “you misunderstand why Commander Carter continue reading …