One day I’d actually use the New York subway, before they put a crown on my head and made me queen of a country I’d only seen a few times. I stared up at the marker that read the next train would be in 7 minutes. It was precise, specific. The different trains were labeled in colors.
Other people were standing around with headphones in their ears, phones to their faces. It would be nice to be a busy person, someone who had conference calls and meetings and web seminars.
I’d have that, one day. Except the topic wouldn’t be the fall of the bottom line of a business. I was more than a little nervous about being completely responsible for a whole country. I’d have to be a good talker, a good negotiator. My father said I would learn those skills in school; they would teach me how to work with people in politics. He said not to worry, that I’d be good at it.
I didn’t point out that college was supposed to teach him the same thing, but he’d never successfully developed an aptitude for it. I was afraid the same thing would happen to me. I could see why monarchies had gone out of style for virtually every other country. Relying on the possibility that any child born would naturally be a good leader was risky. Back in the days, long ago, people figured God would take care of all that, and things would work out just as they were supposed to.
They didn’t always work out, of course, because rulers were human, above all things. Whether it was destiny that made you born first or not, people were people and would do things they way they wanted to.
The train arrived, and I realized I was meant to be ignoring destiny and duty, today. Today was about getting out, getting away, exploring and losing myself in the city. So I stepped onto the train and decided to leave everything else behind. I was a tourist. I was going out into the world like a Disney princess finally escaped from her tower.
The first thing I noticed was that people seemed to go out in groups of friends a lot. On the train several people sat together or hovered near each other. When I stepped out of the train and out of the station and into the bustling street of downtown D.C. I saw more people walking together, talking together. Some people seemed to be business groups going out to lunch together, some were students enjoying the summertime relaxation.
I’d never had that. I didn’t consider myself a loner, but I didn’t have friends I saw outside of school. It wasn’t by design; I wasn’t looking to avoid people. And I still talked to Anna once a week or so. I just knew I’d be leaving the country for good, and that made it hard to commit to friendships. So I didn’t have a crowd to hang out with. Besides, the security guys would make that awkward.
Now I was wishing I had someone to take pictures with in front of the statues and museums. By default my social media was bustling with followers but almost none of the pictures featured other people who weren’t my family. Much of it was pictures of food or places, and one or two pictures of myself. I was never in a frame with a bunch of friends on either side of me.
I felt self-conscious about that, all of a sudden, as I walked down the street with my hands in my pockets.
But the sun was out, the sky was a gorgeous shade of blue, and not a single cloud was waiting to block out the view. Everything was as perfect as it could be, minus my own internal brooding.
Washington wasn’t like the old world capitals. The country itself was young, so we’d chosen the place, and filled it with monuments and shrines to our leaders. These weren’t old buildings, but they were designed to seem that way, constructed in the style of Roman buildings. Maybe it was my mood, but it seemed to me like we wanted to worship ourselves, and we wanted others to do it too.
The first place I stopped was the Washington Monument. I wondered if I would ever do something important enough to warrant an obelisk the size of a skyscraper to be built in my honor. It might be nice, to know you had such an effect on the world. I didn’t want to be a glorious leader or change the world, but I did want to make it better. I stared up at the monument that stretched into the sky.
I looked down the way, across the beautiful green grass, made greener by the summer air, across the reflection pool and down to the house that held the towering monument of Abraham Lincoln. That was a monument and statue that was impressive and scary in an altogether different way.
I strolled lazily down the pathways, in no rush, taking in a bit of the view and watching the people on my way down. I passed smaller monuments on the way, and smiled as I watched families gather for pictures. Everywhere I looked, children were playing games with each other, and people were relaxed and smiling.
I’d almost successfully lost myself in the crowd, feeling like a part of the general public. But nearby, someone hadn’t forgotten who I was at all.
“Princess Cassandra?” someone called and without thinking, I turned to face the person who had called out my name.
Had I been more aware of my surroundings, I might have avoided the entire situation, but I’d been distracted and enjoying the solitude. Well, that was about to end quickly..
I turned and saw someone I didn’t know, a teenager standing by the reflecting pool. She looked like a sweet person, but I knew I’d made a mistake. I should have walked on, ignoring her, as I’d been taught.
But then there were murmurs around me, and they grew like a tidal wave. Suddenly, there were cameras and people shouting, and people calling to their friends to come and see.
I wasn’t a huge celebrity, and this wasn’t Hollywood, but Americans had a fascination with royalty. And there I was, out in the open and completely alone.
I turned quickly and started to speedwalk away, but the people had all begun to notice me because everyone wanted to know what everyone else was looking at. People who had already figured out who I was stepped onto the path, and I was afraid they’d block me, and ask to take selfies with me, or ask me questions. Any one of them could be dangerous. Any one of them could follow me when I finally did get away.
So I pressed on, moving faster where I could. I knew that if I started running, I’d draw even more attention to myself. So I moved as if this was only bothering me a little bit. I tried to seem casual, but my heart was pounding.
I got past the Washington Monument and back onto the street. There were still people looking at me. I was still exposed.
I needed to call for help.
“Hey. Enjoying your time on the town?”
“I need you to pick me up.”
I don’t know if it was a twin thing or simply a scared-and-hoping-for-help thing, but I could hear the energy around him change, like I had watched his smug face turn serious and his legs drop down off the sofa as he swung himself into action.
“Are you okay?” he asked, hurriedly. He was moving now, hopefully he was moving towards me.
“I’m just nervous,” I said. “Someone recognized me and now everyone is staring at me.”
“Where are you?”
“The National Mall, by the street behind the Washington Monument.”
“Don’t move. If you have to move, call me. We’re on our way.”
This was going to create an even bigger scene but it was also going to get me home, so I waited anxiously for my safety to arrive. People were still looking at me, deciding whether or not to approach me, to break that social taboo that it was rude to walk up to someone and ask for their picture or autograph. I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and I didn’t try to get away altogether. Ironically, the same public that might be hiding a threat to my safety was also protecting me.
Waiting in a state of panic for help to arrive, I realized what my father had been trying to teach me my whole life. I was important. I was going to be watched, admired, and coveted. I needed to be protected because I represented the future – all children do, of course – but I had a very clear path in front of me. I wasn’t little Toby who might be an astronaut or little Jessica who might be president.
I was going to be a queen. That part of my life was non-negotiable. And a country’s plans for the future could be snuffed out by a
stray bullet (or an intentional one) or poison. Even if I wasn’t targeted by a crazy person or factions who opposed the monarchy, I could be kidnapped for ransom.
A black car sped up the street, and I was sure this was going to be the end. My heart leapt into my throat as I imagined burly, ugly men leaping out of it to get me. Which way would I run? Would anyone help?
My brother’s face appeared in the window of the car, and I have never felt so relieved in my life. He looked more serious and determined, more a man than I’d ever seen him. He didn’t get out of the car though, because Darren was out first. Darren would always be out of the car first.
“Ma’am,” he said. “This way.”
His arm was around my shoulder, pulling me in close. I was trapped between his chest and his bicep, and glad to be there. He ushered me into the backseat next to my brother and slammed the door closed behind me.
I settled in and felt the familiar brush of leather where my capri pants didn’t cover my skin. Between the new-car smell and the air conditioning, I suddenly felt safe. Gratefully, I leaned back and sighed.
Ben was looking out the window as we drove away. We’d gotten a fair bit of unwanted attention – people were still snapping pictures and taking videos with their phones.
“Are you okay?” he asked urgently. “Did anything happen?”
“No,” I said, and suddenly felt silly for calling, like I’d overreacted. “Someone recognized me and called my name and like a dummy I answered to it. Everyone started staring at me and looking at me and following me around and I got more and more scared. I thought about the things that could happen and I just sort of freaked.”
“Nothing wrong with freaking,” Darren said, sounding foreign while trying to speak in teenager language. “I know it’s a cliché, but there is something to be said for being safe and not sorry. Especially for you.”
Especially for me. My brother and I shared a look. As much as I wanted to just feel like a normal person sometimes, I wasn’t. But I was safely inside a very expensive bulletproof car with a man who was sworn to put my life before his, and a brother whose sole purpose in life was to be there in case something happened to me.
I stared out the window all the way home, thinking.
The rest of the summer went by with me hiding indoors.
“It’s not the end of the world,” my father said one morning when we were eating breakfast together on the back patio. He always said breakfast together was better than dinner together because it was always better to start your day with your family. “I mean, I did some pretty shameful things in college that became world news.”
“Yeah, but you were going through something,” I said. “I was just feeling restless and – honestly – a little bit bratty.”
Video of the whole thing ended up online but it wasn’t very newsworthy. A girl on a sidewalk being picked up in an anonymous black car made for rather mundane viewing. After all, I wasn’t drunk and throwing up, and my head wasn’t shaved or anything.
But I still preferred to remain in the privacy of home, now. So I sat there with my father and picked at the yogurt parfait I’d made for myself, and sipped my coffee.
“We all get cooped up,” he said with a smile over the paper. “Besides, you were out and about learning history. Do I wish you’d been a little bit safer about it right from the beginning? Of course, but if that’s the worst thing you ever get caught doing then you’re going to be just fine.”
I frowned and took another scoop of my yogurt, looking out at the green of the backyard. Heledia was beautiful all year round. Dad said it had seasons too, and did get a little bit chilly, but their version of a rough winter was when the temperature dropped to 60 degrees. I could get used to that, though I imagined I’d miss snowy winters and white Christmases – but that’s what travel was for.
“If you want,” my father said, “we can go out before you leave for school at the end of the summer. Do some exploring. We can learn some things. I can’t guarantee we can do it without being watched or followed by security, but it’s something to do.”
I smiled. “I think I’d like that.”
We turned it into a father-daughter day, because Ben wasn’t keen on joining us anyway. We picked a day in the last week I was home. We woke up at dawn, with Darren already ready to take us out. We had coffee but decided to get breakfast out and on the go like other tourists who were exploring the city. We went to a bagel shop and deli not far from us on Capitol Hill that was a favorite spot for locals on their way to work.
We picked a weekday to go because we could see Washington as it was, in action, and there would be less chance of being mobbed by tourists. We ate our bagels as Darren drove us down to the National Mall. Whoever had designed Washington had been a genius. It was a glorious place that sprawled in all directions.
“Is the capital of Heledia this beautiful?” I asked.
My father smiled sadly. “No one’s capital looks quite like this,” he said. “It’s meant as a giant, living museum of history. I always thought it was a little bit overblown, a little obnoxious, but there are times when I find myself in total awe of the place.”
“Well, at least I’ll have palaces,” I said.
He chuckled. “That you will. And servants who aren’t your parents.”
“No more chores.”
“It’s not as if you had many chores to begin with, so don’t start.”
I smiled and shrugged as we drove down and joined the traffic around the Mall. One nice thing was that the flags on the front of our car allowed us to park anywhere we wanted, for as long as we wanted. The car itself had diplomatic immunity and prevented us from getting towed. In a town with no street parking, that charged exorbitant amounts for parking in garages, it was a nice way to do things.
“Well, what do you want to see first?” my father asked as we stepped out of the car.
“I never got to the Lincoln Memorial last time,” I said.
“Then off we go.”
While the Washington Monument was a tall, reaching, and powerful symbol in the skyline of Washington, the Lincoln Memorial had a very different feel to it. It was quiet, ominous. Abraham Lincoln looked down on us like a giant, or even a god. The words behind him, his speech from the day he freed the slaves in America, rang through the building as if he was still saying them now. It was fascinating to think that he had been a real, live person, but hard to imagine him as real when he was looking down on us like something out of a movie.
He’d existed once; there were people who had known him, even though they were all gone now. He left a mark on the world that would last forever. He’d been a world leader. Was I going to be anything like him? Could I be anything like him? Should I be?
I think my father knew what I was thinking about. I felt him watching me as I stared up in awe at the image of Abraham Lincoln and thought about what I might be able to become if I tried hard enough.
“He was an amazing man,” my father said. “The fascinating thing about American leaders, I think, is that most of them came from nothing. I was born in a palace. This man, he changed the entire world. No one is ever going to forget his name, and he was born in a log cabin and had a fourth grade education.”
“I think if we tried that today, the United States might crumble,” I chuckled.
“You think so?” my father asked with a raised eyebrow. “This whole political dynasty thing is a new concept. Only recently have the presidents been from an elite family or elite cabal, career politicians. Maybe we should look at the roots of this country. The greatest presidents America ever had came from nothing.”
“What’s that say about me?”
He chuckled. “In comparison to all the rulers of Heledia that came before you, you came from nothing too,” he said. “We raised you as ‘normal’ as we could. You had chores, you went to the prom and out to Starbucks on the weekends. You had an American education. We went out to dinner together and you got grounded. Compared to everyone who came
before you, you are as normal as can be.”
I felt pride in that. Most people would balk at being called normal, being told how normal they were. But for me, it was the greatest compliment my father could give me. I was the future of an entire country and I was from a humble place.
“You’re going to be an amazing woman,” he said. “And an amazing queen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know it because you’re your mother’s daughter and your aunt’s niece and you’re very much you,” he said. “I’m glad to say the only thing you got from me was good looks.”
“Um, thanks?”
“Your mother is so proud of you,” he said as we walked around the back of the monument to look at the peaceful view of Arlington, Virginia across the river. “And it’s obvious I am too. As for your brother, I think he’s just happy with the idea of not having to take up the crown himself.”
I smiled. Things could be so much worse, and right now there was nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.
We went to some of the museums. The Smithsonian had several locations and several topics across their many locations. I stared up at artwork and dinosaur bones and at artifacts that people claimed had curses on them. It was incredible.
“Maybe I’ll make the capital in Heledia like this,” I said as we sat on the front steps with street hot dogs in our hands like any normal father and daughter out together.
My father snorted. “They’ll say you’re making it too American.”
“Well, we should be more worldly.”
“Most people won’t consider American worldly; they’ll think it’s the opposite,” he said with a smile that told me he knew more than I did.
“Well, no matter what,” I said, “the capital should be a center for learning and culture.”
ROYAL ROMANCE_A Royal Renewal Page 2