by Lana Hartley
There’s not a second be wasted, and so I just duck under the barriers the security staff has raised between the crowd and the stage, and I head up onto the stage. Security starts running after me, but the moment I feel the creak of the stage boards under my feet, I just take my gun out and brandish it.
“Back the fuck off,” I tell the security guys, carefully walking toward Gladrell. Everyone on the stage with a gun has just pointed it at me, but I couldn’t care less. Whatever happens, happens. And, besides, this is nothing new for me — I can’t even count the number of time I stared down the barrel of a gun. It usually makes for a shorter life, but at least it also makes for an interesting one.
“Hey, everyone!” I say into the microphone, pushing Gladrell out of the way. He stumbles to the side, but someone manages to regain his footing and stops himself from falling face down onto the floor. “What a lovely day, uh? I bet every family in St. Carlta woke up anxious to know public executions are a thing again. Or maybe not,” I continue, pausing to collect my thoughts.
Keeping Gladrell’s bodyguards in my line of sight, I grab the microphone with one hand and continue. “The man you see here, that’s not the kind of man you want to be part of government.” I point straight at Gladrell with my gun, and if he hasn’t pissed himself yet, it sure looks like it.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growls, taking a step toward me, but I just cock one eyebrow and point the gun at him once more. That stops him really fast. Gladrell has never been the kind of man you’d be able to call courageous — always happy to hide inside his palaces and hunt foxes while guarded by a small army, he’s exactly the kind of asshole that gives a bad name to nobility. I bet he hands out fake bills to the homeless as well.
“I’m telling the people what they need to know,” I tell him straight to his face, my lips curling into a smile. This feels good — even better than I anticipated. “You see, friends, Prince Gladrell has played the whole country. Do you think Moira just nationalized companies left and right just because? In case you didn’t know, the Prince here is a major investor in a tiberium exporting company. And guess what was the first thing the Queen nationalized?” I wait for a few seconds, allowing my words to hang over the crowd, and only then do I offer a reply. “That’s right — check any newspaper and you’ll see that the tiberium mines were the first thing on the so-called-Queen’s todo-list. Oh, and by the way, do you know who she put in charge of operations there?”
I see a few mouths hanging open in the crowd, and that just makes me grin even more. Yeah, people are catching on. Let’s see how the Prince likes some heat.
“The Queen’s new minister, Prince Gladrell himself, has wasted no time. He’s been lining his pockets ever since Moira placed the crown on her head,” I tell everyone, and that’s when Gladrell loses it.
He simply hurries down to the edge of the stage, the palm of his hands in front of him as if he were about to try and stop an oncoming train. “Those are all lies!” He tries to shout at the crowd, but the way his hair is plastered to his forehead, a consequence of all his nervous sweat, really isn’t making him look like someone truthful. Oh, what a shame.
Yeah, of course I’m enjoying this — who wouldn’t enjoy making an asshole like Gladrell sweat like this? After everything he did to Snow, I’m pretty glad I’m the one hammering him with the truth. Nothing beats watching it happen up-close.
“ARREST HIM!” He tries and wave at his bodyguards and the police officers lining the stage, but they all hesitate as they look at the gun in my hands. Still, they keep their guns raised and pointed at me.
“Lower your guns,” I try to tell them. “I’m not your enemy — Gladrell is. Haven’t you seen the way money has been syphoned out every single one of your departments? Why do you think that is? Gladrell and Moira and sucking this whole country dry. You swore to uphold the law, haven’t you?” This time, I watch something like hesitation flash in their eyes. “If I were you, I’d start with arresting one of the men responsible for plunging the country into chaos.”
Slowly, they lower their guns and start looking toward Gladrell. I can almost hear the gears inside their heads turning, but their feet remain glued to the floor. Below us, the nervous chatter of the crowd is steadily rising into a crescendo.
“Lies, lies, and more lies!” Gladrell insists, and he actually seems to be on the verge of tears. For someone as corrupt as he is, I’m actually surprised he can’t handle the heat. “WHERE’S THE PROOF?” He shouts as loud as he can, his eyes bulging. “YOU HAVE NONE.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, asshole,” I whisper at him, grinning as I wave my hand toward the stage steps. At the bottom, a figure with her hood pulled up takes one step forward. Looking up, she pulls down the hood and smiles.
“Here’s your proof,” I tell Gladrell, and that’s when Princess Snow Avondale walks up on the stage.
Snow
Prince Gladrell, the man I was supposed to marry and now right hand to the Usurper Queen, stands aghast on top of the stage. The moment he saw my face, his eyes became as wide as plates and the pink color of his skin turned into a sickly white. For a man supposed to be the most eligible bachelor in the whole realm, he doesn’t look so hot right now.
“Hello, Gladrell,” I whisper at him as I walk up the stairs, a smile creeping up to my lips. He stands there, just looking at me with his jaw hanging open, and I can almost smell the aura of fear around him.
“Snow...” He finally manages to breathe out, taking one step away from me. “What — what are you doing here? This is madness!”
“Madness? No — this is just a recockning,” I tell him, and he recoils from my words, shrinking into a weak version of the man he always pretended to be. With one satisfied smile, I finally walk toward the edge of the stage and tie my hair behind my head, smiling at the crowd down below.
“It’s the Princess!” Someone shouts excitedly, pointing his finger at me, and an excited frenzy starts taking over the whole crowd. “The princess!” I keep on smiling as everyone starts clapping, shouting things I can’t quite comprehend. Women are waving their handkerchiefs at me, and even the men seem to have a relieved expression on their face. Goes to show how much they’re enjoying my stepmother’s short reign.
“Here, the people want to hear you,” William tells me, pushing the microphone into my hands. By now, every single bodyguard, police officer, or soldier surrounding the stage has lowered his gun — they might have mistrusted William, but no one but the Queen’s men would dare point a gun at me. And even they know that they’re surrounded by people loyal to me and my father.
“People of St. Carlta,” I finally say into the microphone, the hair on the back of my neck standing up as I hear the sound of my voice echoing throughout the main square. “My father would be heartbroken to see what our country has turned into. Have we really gave up on democracy and bent the knee this easily? These past weeks, I’ve been working on a plan to restore democracy, and it has sickened me to find out how much all of you were manipulated. The Queen and the Prince have plotted to ruin this country, and I have all the proof you need.”
“FUCK THE QUEEN!” Someone shouts, and a lot of angry voices start making themselves heard. The officers close to the stage have started taking a few steps back, afraid they’ll be the first to suffer the people’s wrath.
“Can you hear them?” I ask Gladrell, lowering the mic. “Can you feel how much they despise you?”
“You’re mad! You don’t know what you’re doing!” Gladrell insists, and there’s murder in his eyes. If I were alone with him right now, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d try and wrap his fingers around my neck. Unfortunately for him, I’d drop him fast the moment he tried to do something like that — after all, living under the same roof as seven forces of nature allowed me to learn a few things. Aside from learning on how to deal with seven cocks at the same time, that is.
“I might be standing here,” I continue, putting the mic b
ack in front of my mouth and returning my gaze toward the crowd. “But I’m not the solution to the mess we’re in. Only the people can throw off the yoke of tyranny! Prince Gladrell and Queen Moira need to be deposed!”
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.