by Lana Hartley
At that, they don’t even allow me to continue. The crowd grows so hysteric, shouting and whistling, that I can barely hear my own thoughts. They came for the execution, but they’re staying for the revolution.
“Get the fuck outta here!” Gladrell says all out of a sudden, closing the distance between me and him and snagging the mic out of my hands. Moving away to the opposite corner of the stage, he then tries to reason with the crowd.
“Is this the kind of woman you’ll listen to?” He asks the thousands of people eager to put the noose around his neck. “She disappeared for weeks, and now she comes here with pretty speeches and you all swoon over her! Be smart, for God’s sake!” He pleads the crowd, and I actually think he’s just seconds away from going down on his knees. And to think that I used to feel attracted to someone as slimy as him. Well, at least I learned my lesson.
“Here he is,” I tell the crowd, raising my voice so that they hear me. They become quieter as they listen to me, and so I continue. “The man I was supposed to marry! And now he’s ready go down on his knees and beg to all of you, selling you lies upon lies. Let me tell you — as someone that was supposed to be his wife, I’d rather be with a man that actually stands for something than ever set eyes on Gladrell.”
With that, I take one step toward Richard and place one hand on his shoulder, smiling at him. If the whole crowd manages to add things up, they’ll quickly realize that I prefer Richard over Gladrell. Not something appropriate for a Princess to be doing, but so what? The people need someone real, not some cardboard leader like the sputtering Prince.
“Oh, fuck, here we go,” William whispers into my ear, coming up to me and pointing into the distance. I look toward the road at the end of the Main Square, and my heart tightens up inside my chest as I see a black stretch limo halting to a stop. Flanked by four heavy armored vehicles, there’s only one person I know that could be inside that limo.
It has finally come to this. A confrontation with the Devil herself.
Queen Moira.
Snow
Like Moses walking into the red sea, the whole crowd parts the moment Moira steps out of the limo. With her long hair slicked back, her high-cheekbones making her eyes hollowed out, I can’t tell if she looks beautiful or just plain scary.
During my time in the palace (which seems like a lifetime ago right now), I learned how to be around here, but I never became accustomed to it. There was always an oppressive aura around her, as if her wickedness somehow sucked the light in. And now, wearing a long black dress that trails after her, I can almost understand why grey clouds have gathered in the sky to block out the sun.
As she looks straight at me, contempt written all over her face, I feel my blood freezing inside my veins. The whole crowd has gone silent as well, and even Gladrell seems to be scared of the Queen. She’s the kind of woman that’s as beautiful as she’s terrifying — the kind that would make you believe in magic. The evil kind of magic, that is.
Flanked by two lines of military men, all of them wearing black uniforms that scream out private military, she starts walking toward the stage. Even though everyone was screaming out bloody murder just a few seconds ago, her sole presence has been enough to whip out the courage of anyone in the crowd.
Even I can’t help but feel shaken up. I don’t know what it is, but the woman walking toward me is no longer just a woman — she has become something more. Something as twisted as it’s evil. Fairy tales might not be real, but evil witches sure seem like a thing.
“Hello, Princess,” she greets me casually the moment she walks up the stairs. Looking at me with an half-smile, you’d say there’s no bad blood between the two of us.
“Moira,” I reply, my heart tightening up into a fist.
“I see you’ve been busy,” she then says, her eyes wandering to where Richard and William stand. Even though she’s surrounded by thousands of people that would rather see her dead than with a crown on top of her head, she looks more than relaxed than me at a day spa.
“Do the right thing, Moira,” I force myself to say, balling both my hands into fists. “Renounce. Renounce and leave with whatever honor you still have left.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk about honor, Snow,” she chuckles, covering her mouth with the palm of her hand. Without taking her eyes off mine, she simply reaches out with her right arm, and someone places the mic right into the open palm of her hand. Finally turning to face the crowd, she opens up into a smile.
“Is this the woman you’re hailing as your savior?” She starts, casually waving her free hand at me. “Princess Snow,” she chuckles, and she does it in such a way that I can’t help but feel embarrassed. “Such a lovely name for a whore, wouldn’t you say?” The whole crowd starts buzzing at that, a few people exchanging confused looks.
“That’s right — your lovely Princess, paragon of justice and all that’s right, is a whore. But not everything’s bad,” she continues with a laugh, one that makes me feel as if I’ve shrunk to half my size. “At least she’s a prolific one. I mean, sleeping with seven men...? I’ve gotta hand it to you, Princess. You sure don’t like to waste any time. But, really, who would listen to a strumpet like you?”
I stand there, just looking at her completely stunned. Then, glancing at the crown, I feel relief washing over me — everyone’s still looking at Moira, a kind of righteous wrath in everyone’s faces. People don’t seem to care about my sex life, as crazy as it is.
“Well, Snow, it’s all over for you,” Moira tells me, opening her hand and simply throwing the mic onto the floor. Walking toward me and completely ignoring both Richard and William, she simply snaps her fingers and her small army of hired muscle locks in on us, their rifles all pointed at me. “Come with me, Princess.” She offers me her hand, almost as if she’s inviting me for a walk, and I feel pure unbridled rage start to take over me. Who the hell does she think she is? “It’s time for you to spend some time in a cell, don’t you think? I’ll give you enough time to think about what you’ve done and regret it. And then, it’s the noose for you. Or perhaps something slower. Yes, I like that. But don’t worry, I’ll tell your father all about the painful death you had.”
“I’d shut my fucking mouth if I were you,” William tells her, stepping between me and her. With his jaw clenched, he looks ready to break Moira in half; and if it weren’t for the dozens of rifles pointed at us, I’m pretty sure he’d really do it.
“Oh, is this one of your boyfriends, Snow?” Moira laughs, her eyes running up and down William. I feel my fingers twitching, and I have no idea how I restrain myself from slapping the living daylights out of her.
“Yes, he is,” I hiss through my gritted teeth, allowing all that rage out. Taking one step toward her, my eyes locked on hers, I let it all flow through me. “You’ll never get away with this. Did you think you could simply stroll into the throne room and place the crown on your head? You’re nothing, Moira. Just a wannabe dictator, playing a game you can never win.”
In the distance, a low rumbling sound starts making itself heard; no one turns their heads to look, as the sound of thunder has been echoing steadily now, but I find a smile lighting up my face as I see a tiny black spot in the horizon, slowly moving in our direction.
“And who says so? You?” Moira laughs.
“No, my friends will be the ones explaining everything to you,” I smile, pointing over her shoulder at the black US Apache helicopter flying overhead. “The US military would like to have a word with you, Moira.”
Tyler
“It’s time,” the voice in my radio crackles, and I feel that deep anxiety once again. Being forced to sit on the sidelines hasn’t helped as well. I’ve been watching everything unfold up in the stage, and I’m almost surprised I managed to fight against the urge to simply storm the place.
“ETA?” I ask Nicholas through the radio, my heart kicking against my ribs — this whole charade is about to come to an end.
“Thirty seconds. Stay sharp,
” he replies, and I can’t help but look up at the sky. Placing one hand inside my jacket, I curl my fingers around the cold metal of my gun — shit is about to hit the fan real soon.
By the time I start hearing the Apache, the palms of my hands are so sweaty that I have to brush them against my jacket. Like a black cloud, the helicopter advances toward the Main Square, making every single head in the place turn to look at it. It all happens in a matter of seconds — black ropes are thrown from the open doors of the helicopter, and a dozen of SEALs rappel down them in a flash, gleaming rifles slung over their shoulders.
By the time their boots touch the stage, a dozen more guys dressed in civilian clothes pull out their guns and storm the stage, courtesy of the CIA. Like clockwork, a few seconds later I hear the roar of a dozen Humvees, all of them carrying an US Army team. You can say what you want about the US, but one thing’s for sure: these guys don’t fuck around.
“Nicholas, the airspace?” I ask him as I march toward the stage, one hand inside my jacket. Almost too casually, I take the safety off my gun and start walking faster, the atmosphere in the whole square becoming so oppressive I can’t think straight. The whole situation might go sideways anytime now — it just takes one trigger happy asshole to turn this into a bloodbath. Lucky for us, the US doesn’t really enjoy toppling governments while making blood rain — it makes for bad press.
“Airspace secured,” I hear Nicholas say through the radio, but I can’t quite make out his next words. As he finishes speaking, three F-35s flying in formation roar in the sky above, their dark silhouettes jumping out of the grey clouds like the Devil’s own fist.
“STOP THEM! STOP THEM!” I hear Moira scream hysterically the moment I arrive at the stage. Her voice, so poised before, now seems like it has cracked completely. It must suck to have power slip from your fingers in a matter of just a few seconds.
As I start climbing up the stairs that lead up to the stage, I see Derek, Lucien, Nicholas and Malcolm emerge from the crowd as well. They have their guns drawn, their fingers on the trigger, and their faces are a blend of excitement and nervousness. We’ve prepared for this, but in an operation with so many moving parts there are always a thousand things that can go wrong. That’s why we stood back while everything happened on the stage — if something went wrong, one of us would need to coordinate the whole thing.
Lucky for us, the Americans pulled through.
“Alright, the show’s over,” one of the Americans says, pointing his rifle at Moira’s private military guys. They keep their fingers on the trigger for a long while, just staring down the Americans circling the stage, but the beads of sweat trailing down their foreheads leave no room for doubts — they’ll break. And that’s exactly what happens: in a matter of just a few seconds, one by one they start lowering their guns and raising their arms up in the air. Moving as fast as lightning, the SEAL team that served as the tip of the spear throw them into the ground and tie their hands fast, kicking their rifles out of reach.
“Snow!” I call after her, my heart beating fast as she looks toward me. Smiling, she just gives me a quick nod and moves toward Richard. With the help of the government’s attorney, now being held at gunpoint, she frees Richard from his handcuffs; a fraction of a second later and she has both her arms wrapped around him.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Richard tells her, ignoring all the chaos happening around him. People are being arrested, shouting and trying to run away, but Richard seems oblivious to all that. He just places both his hands on Snow’s waist and, pulling her into him, crushes his mouth against her.
“Don’t be too jealous,” Derek laughs, hitting me with his elbow. “Plenty of time for some fun after we wrap up this shit up,” he continues, helping the soldiers storming the stage to handcuff all the Queen’s men.
“Moira? Where the fuck is she?” I suddenly remember, looking around the stage and seeing her nowhere. Nor do I see Gladrell.
“There!” Snow suddenly cries out, pointing toward the crowd. Narrowing my eyes, I see a figure clad in black running through the confusion, Gladrell trailing after her.
“Let’s go!” Derek cries out, jumping out of the stage with his gun drawn. Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I simply run as fast as I can, elbowing people out of the way as I feel the heel of my boots crashing against the concrete underneath.
As fast as Moira and Gladrell are running, they’re no match for both Derek and I. We reach them fast; grabbing Moira by the hair, I simply yank on it and stop her dead on her tracks. She falls back, collapsing on the floor and shrieking like a banshee; ignoring her, I just take a zip lock out of my back pocket and tie her hands behind her back.
“Hope you’ll enjoy a cell as much as you’ve enjoyed the crown,” I tell her, pulling her up to her feet.
“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout these,” Derek laughs, bending Gladrell’s arm so much that I almost think it’s going to break. “They’ll have a lot of time to catch up in prison.”
Snow
“We did it,” Richard whispers, brushing his hand against mine.
“Of course we fuckin’ did it,” Derek laughs, looking at me and offering me a sly grin. I can’t help but be amazed and how cool and in control he always looks, even when the whole world seems to be crashing down.
“Just look at it,” Tyler then whispers at my ear, waving at the crowd below us. While just one hour ago everyone was expecting to see Richard hang from the end of a rope, now they’re all chanting my name. Hundreds of St. Carlta’s flags seems to have popped out of nowhere as well, and the thousands of people at my feet look like a colorful ocean of color and excitement.
Finally, there’s hope again.
Standing with the men I love, all seven of them, I feel tears stinging at my eyes as I take in the whole thing. Behind us, lined up at the back of the stage, Moira and Gladrell are on their knees, hands tied behind their backs as they wait for the SEALs to haul them into the helicopter. It has landed right in the middle of the square and, despite the strictness of the US military, a lot of St. Carlta’s civilians are perched on the helicopter as they chant at the top of their lungs.
I’m still baffled that we managed to pull this off. Working with the US was the plan all along, and my father was instrumental to the whole thing. With the help of Tyler and the others, we’ve managed to secure a line between our hideout and New York City, where my father was exiled. Flying back and forth between NYC and Washington, he finally managed to secure the President’s support.
It was an headache to coordinate efforts between St. Carlta and the US, but once their military machine was on the move, I knew there’d be no stopping it. And the moment they agreed to help us overthrow Moira, that was when we put everything into motion. We made the population take over the streets, we made the world see what Moira was all about, and we made sure she wouldn’t resist to leave the security of the palace walls.
In the end, her own arrogance was the one thing behind her fall. With the crown on her head, she forgot about where the real power lies: in the people. And the moment she decided me to confront me head-on, that was the moment she signed her death sentence. Carefully placed around the country, the US forces were just waiting for a sign to move — and the moment Nicholas signaled them, it all happened fast.
And now...a new day has dawned.
“Princess,” the US General greets me solemnly, offering me his hand. He’s a tall man, the lines in his faces so deep they look as if they’ve been etched by the blade of an axe, but the slight smile on his lips puts me at ease.
“General, in behalf of our people, you have our thanks. The United States has a friend in St. Carlta,” I tell him as I shake his hand, his large fingers wrapped around mine. “Any news on my father?” I ask him, anxious to see him again. “We’re not done until the crown is back where it belongs.”
“About that,” he chuckles, snapping his fingers. The moment he does it, two Navy SEALs climb up the stage, dragging a lar
ge metallic box behind them. “Your father’s already on his way, and he should be back in St. Carlta tonight. But, meanwhile, he told me to give you this,” he continues, pulling an envelope from inside his jacket and giving it to me.
Hesitantly, I take it into my hands and turn it around. There’s the Royal sigil in there, which means this one came directly from my father. As I open the envelope and take the letter out, I feel my heart pick up the pace.
“Dear Snow,” the letter starts, “these have been trying times for our kingdom. The people have suffered needlessly, and all because of me. You might not see it now, but it was my poor judgement that brought someone like Moira into the palace. The blame for what happened rests on my shoulders, and I can’t take back the crown. I wouldn’t dare to. Not when our people have someone like you, someone that led them through our darkest hours. Take the crown, Snow — it’s yours. Long live the Queen,” he finishes, his loose signature at the end.
“Congratulations, Queen,” the General smiles as the SEALs place the box at my feet. “Your men should be the ones doing it,” he then adds, taking one step back and looking at the seven men by my side.
As Richard squeezes my hand in his, Lucien and Derek take one step forward. Kneeling in front of the box, they take a set of two keys from the General’s hands and, solemnly, they open up the box. From inside comes the glow of a golden crown, cut diamonds spread at regular spaces around the band.
“My Queen,” Lucien whispers as he reaches for the crown, his eyes locked on mine. I don’t even say a word — with my heart almost ready to burst, I simply go down on my knees in front of him. The two of them stand up slowly and, gently, they place the crown on my head.
“My Queen,” the seven men whisper, all of them looking at me with something that’s more than respect or admiration...