“I hope so. But we’ll still need help.”
“I actually think I have an idea. Something that will help steer me in the right direction to connect with more traditional voters…”
“Secret weapon up your sleeve, huh?” Her eyebrows go up. “And what might that be?”
I pull in a deep breath. “Not what. Who.”
Chapter Twelve
By the following afternoon, a mob has gathered at the gates.
They don’t arrive all at once. It is a slow accumulation — grains of sand piling up at the bottom of an hour glass, their numbers increasing each hour in a steady stream.
When Riggs calls me from my chambers and leads me to the bank of windows overlooking the castle grounds, my heart is full of trepidation.
Hundreds of people at the gates? Holding signs? Chanting in unison? That can only mean one thing.
A protest.
After all, it wasn’t long ago this same palace was besieged by Black Bandanas waving “FUCK THE MONARCHY!” banners.
I brace myself for their return, wondering how I’m possibly going to deal with antimonarchists on top of everything else on my plate… but when I catch sight of the throng, gathered in the fading afternoon light, the breath snags in my throat and the panic dissipates from my chest.
This is no protest.
The signs they bear are not full of slurs or death threats. They are not calling for my head in angry shouts, banging on the bars with clenched fists, throwing flaming Molotov cocktails at the guards tasked with my protection.
They are…
Singing.
Hundreds of them. Hundreds of women, I realize as my eyes move across the crowd, young and old and every age in between. Schoolgirls hand in hand with grandmothers. Sisters’ arms linked with friends.
Every generation.
Every race and ethnicity.
Every body type and hair color.
Their voices weave together into a fabric that floats up into the air, blows across the grounds, and settles around my shoulders like a warm blanket.
As they sing, I mouth the words along with them, the refrain of our national anthem as familiar to me as my own name.
O glorious Germania
Honor we offer thee
From first breath to eternal rest
We pledge our loyalty
* * *
O glorious Germania
Our voices shall carry
From mountain range to river fjord
For our crown and country
* * *
O glorious Germania
You reign in history
No winter ice nor summer storm
Shall dim your legacy
* * *
Despite my watering eyes, I see now that their shirts are not black, as I first believed, but a deep purple color. My unintentional emblem, as it seems to have become. I doubt they all wore it by coincidence.
“They’ve been out there for about four hours,” Riggs says. “But the singing’s a new development. Thought you’d want to see it for yourself, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, Riggs.”
He chuckles softly. “You can’t tell from here, but their shirts all say things like I STAND WITH QUEEN E and EQUALITY IS THE NEW BLACK and KISS MY ASSENT.”
I smile. “Catchy. I wonder where they got them.”
“Are you kidding? There’s a t-shirt vendor on every street corner selling merchandise with your face on it.”
My eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“That’s insane.”
“I don’t disagree.” He sighs. “My little sister texted me earlier — she wants the KISS MY ASSENT shirt for her birthday next week.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister. How old is she?”
“Fifteen.”
“That’s a pretty big age gap.”
He shrugs. “My father remarried when I was a teenager. His new wife popped out a kid before she split town for good. My dad and I did our best to raise Macie on our own.”
I’ve never heard Riggs talk so much; I’m fascinated by the rare peek into his personal life. “The three of you must be close.”
“We are.” His expression darkens. “Though, if I’m being frank, I preferred her non-dating years.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of scaring off any bad-apple boyfriends. One look at you, they’ll go running for the hills.”
“Grateful for the vote of confidence, my queen.” His steady gray eyes slide to mine, uncharacteristically somber. “Though I’m proud to say, she can take care of herself.”
“Taught her self-defense, did you?”
“Of course. But I actually wasn’t talking about her physical skills.”
My brows lift.
“She knows her own worth,” he explains. “She speaks her mind — even more so, these past few months. Likely because she’s got a strong female role model to look up to, now.”
My mouth gapes. “Oh, Riggs, I don’t think that’s—”
“I used to worry about her, not having a mother around. My dad is retired now, but he spent his whole career in the King’s Guard. Big on love, short on affection — that’s his way. I thought to myself, ‘Who is Macie going to model herself after, spending her whole life in a house with two gruff soldiers?’” His eyes never waver from mine. “I don’t worry about her anymore. I’m glad she has a queen like you to set an example of what female strength looks like. Of what a woman should be. Strong. Brave. Bold.”
My eyes are stinging precariously and my voice has gone a bit shaky. “There are surely better role models than me…”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” He shrugs. “Way I see it? You walk through the flames every day but you don’t let them burn you. You let them fire you up instead. There’s no one I’d rather have my baby sister emulate. And there’s no monarch I would rather serve. It is an honor to call myself your Commander of the Guard.”
The words hit me like a ton of bricks. They knock the wind out of me, along with any remotely appropriate response. I can’t even muster up a simple thank you. I just stare at him, eyes watering like an idiot.
Truth be told, after the auction, I felt rather nervous about seeing Galizia and Riggs. They were right behind Chloe when she stumbled upon Carter and me… They must’ve seen us. And while I knew they’d never spill my secrets to anyone, I was less certain whether my indiscretions would affect how they felt about serving me. Paranoid that perhaps my ability to make sound, logical decisions would be in question.
What kind of queen is caught making out with her stepbrother during a charity auction?
Hearing Riggs say he sees me as a role model for his teenage sister makes my self-doubt disappear. I’m so touched, I want to throw my arms around him and squeeze the breath from his lungs to show how much his words mean to me.
Thankfully, a voice cuts in before I can make an absolute idiot of myself.
“Apologies for the intrusion, Your Majesty.” A pause. “Commander.”
We both turn toward Galizia. She’s standing at attention — feet planted wide, hands clasped behind her back, gaze fixed on the far wall. It takes me a minute to realize she’s not doing it for my benefit, but for the man standing beside me.
Riggs clears his throat. “Galizia. You need something?”
“If this is a bad time I can come back, sir.”
“Not at all. We were just wrapping up.” Riggs winks at me, then turns his intense stare on the statuesque blonde by the door. “You should know by now — if you need to see me urgently, I’m always at the disposal of my favorite Lieutenant. Day or night.”
Galizia’s cheeks have turned delightfully red. “With all do respect, Commander, it’s not you I need to see.”
“A damn shame, that.” He takes a few steps toward her, until he’s less than a foot away. She remains at attention, pointedly not meeting his eyes. “At ease, soldier.”
Galiz
ia doesn’t unclench a single muscle.
Riggs smirks and leans in, so their faces are even closer. “You know, Lieutenant, it’s not good to be so tense all the time. Maybe you need an extracurricular. Something to loosen you up. I’d be happy to spar with you after hours. Just name the time. I’ll clear my schedule.”
Her words come out through clenched teeth. “I am not tense.”
“Ah, yes. My mistake. You’re the picture of relaxation.”
I can’t help snorting.
Galizia shoots me a traitorous look. “I’m so glad this charade is amusing to you, Your Majesty.”
Riggs’ grin never wavers. “Just so we’re clear, was that a no on pinning me to the mats tonight, then..?”
Galizia’s cheeks, if possible, turn even redder. “Commander. Is there a problem with my job performance? Otherwise, I don’t see any need to discuss this matter further with you. Sir.”
“Suit yourself.” Riggs shakes his head, clearly amused by her so-called indifference. Turning to me, he gives a halfhearted salute of farewell. “Your Majesty.”
“Bye, Riggs.” I wave as he walks down the hall, head shaking in amusement. When he turns out of sight, my eyes find Galizia’s. She’s still blushing, but her posture has finally relaxed and her jaw is no longer locked with tension. The look on her face tells me, in no uncertain terms, that I am not to tease her about the shameless show of flirtation I just witnessed.
“That was…” She shakes her head, as if to clear it. “I apologize again for interrupting your meeting, My Queen.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Dropping my voice to a rough imitation of Riggs’ masculine tones, I growl, “I’m always at the disposal of my favorite Lieutenant.”
Her mouth purses tightly and her eyes press closed.
“Oh, come on.” I giggle helplessly at her pained expression. “You really didn’t think I was going to let that slide without comment, did you?”
“A girl can dream.”
“Sorry, sorry. I promise I won’t tease you about it anymore… today.”
“How extremely benevolent of Her Royal Majesty.” Galizia sighs tiredly. “Can we move on to more important matters, please? Your guest has arrived. He’s waiting in his old offices, over in the West Wing.”
“Made himself right at home, did he?”
“So it seems.”
“He’s early.”
She shrugs. “That shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. The man has always been a fan of punctuality.”
“I suppose avoiding him for another hour won’t make this process any more pleasant.”
“Probably not.”
“Then, by all means, lead the way.”
We walk for a while in silence, our footfalls synced with that natural rhythm you find after many cumulative hours spent side by side.
In my head, I replay the scene with Riggs. She can deny it all she wants, but anyone who looks at the two of them together can see their chemistry. It’s undeniable. The way his eyes seem to track her every infinitesimal movement, the way she looks everywhere but at him whenever he’s in her proximity…
I wonder what people see when Carter and I orbit in the same space.
Two hearts in sync?
Two souls in tune?
Not that it matters anymore.
We’re nearly to the West Wing when I finally allow my gaze to slide over to her.
“Galizia.”
“My Queen?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask. Whether I’ll answer…”
“I know I promised not to tease you about this anymore. But I’m not teasing — I’m genuinely curious.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.” She blows out a resigned breath. “But go on.”
“Remind me again why you aren’t with Riggs when you’re both clearly so into each other?”
The look she shoots me is particularly pointed. “Just because you want to tear someone’s clothes off doesn’t mean you should. Sometimes there are obstacles in the way. Conflicts of interest that make crossing that line… inadvisable.” She pauses. “I’d think you of all people might understand a little something about that.”
My mouth gapes, but I quickly recover. “Maybe I do understand. Maybe I understand a little too well. Maybe that’s why it kills me to see you denying yourself a chance at love.”
“You think, because you’re a queen, that gives you a monopoly on forbidden relationships? On heartache? There may not be a crown on my head, there may be no kingdoms at stake… but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to compromise my professional integrity for a man.”
“I’m sorry. I never meant to imply that was the case.” I swallow hard. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. This job makes me happy. It’s everything to me.”
“But is it enough?”
She stiffens a little at my question. “If things went wrong, as they usually do when it comes to workplace romance, I could lose everything I’ve worked so hard for.”
“But if they went right, you might gain more than you ever imagined.”
“Even so, there’s no way of knowing how it will play out.”
“Is there ever, in life?”
“Maybe not. But there’s a difference between taking a calculated risk and trusting on blind faith that things will work out for the best.”
I don’t disagree. I can’t. I know she’s right.
“Like I said earlier… there are some lines that should never be crossed. Some relationships that are never supposed to develop past flirtation,” she continues. “They’re meant to stay maybes. Because maybe is safer than unfortunately. And I’d rather practice restraint than live in regret, Your Majesty.”
“Fair enough,” I murmur, though I can’t help thinking there’s nothing remotely fair about it.
When you’re a little girl reading fairy tales and dreaming of your own epic romance, no one tells you that in real life, things don’t always work out. They don’t tell you that true love isn’t enough to earn you a happily-ever-after.
There is no certainty.
No confidence.
No control.
Love is taking a leap into the unknown on faulty wings. You’ve got an equal shot at soaring into the sunset or plummeting straight to the rocks below. And in the seconds immediately following that terrifying jump, before gravity kicks in and your wings start to pump against the rushing wind… it’s nearly impossible to tell whether you’re falling or flying. Whether you’re heading for free-fall or taking flight.
I’m still lost in thought when I leave Galizia at the entrance to the study. The sight of the man waiting for me inside the cozy, book-stuffed chamber is enough to bring me back to earth. He stands by the window, looking out over the frost-covered grounds. The purple pinstripe suit he’s stuffed himself into is eye-catching as ever.
“I’ve always liked the castle in winter,” Gerald Simms says softly, turning to face me. His bow is unexpectedly fluid for such a portly fellow — the product of a million hours of practice during his years as Palace Press Secretary. “Hello, Your Majesty.”
“Simms. It’s been a long time.”
“I trust you’ve been well.”
I nod. “And you?”
“Quite.”
Perfunctory pleasantries behind us, we lapse into uncomfortable silence. Neither of us seems to know what to say, where to start. He is a man whose whole life has been defined by proper protocols and correct procedures. But there is no protocol for this conversation. No procedure for interacting after the way we left things.
Him, attempting to manipulate me in the wake of my father’s death.
Me, throwing him out of the castle after twenty-four years of loyal service.
Our respective errors in judgment linger in the air around us like perfume.
“Shall we sit?”
My former advisor gestures at the two chairs by the fireplace. With a sedate nod, I sink into the one
closest to me as he arranges his considerable frame into the other. For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence and the occasional crack from the hearth as the flames consume a stack of smoldering logs.
“I can call for tea…” I offer halfheartedly, but Simms shakes his head.
“No. That won’t be necessary.” He’s barely making eye contact with me. “I won’t be staying long enough to drink it.”
I sigh. He’s really not going to make this easy on me. Not that I expected him to; the man has more pride than a pack of lions.
“Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I wouldn’t dare disobey a direct command from my sovereign.” He sniffs haughtily, nose in the air. “That could be considered treasonous, after all.”
“Gerald.”
His eyes widen when I use his first name. It’s the first time I’ve ever done so, and he’s suitably shocked. “Y-yes, Your Majesty?”
“Do you have a Twitter account?”
He blinks at me like I’ve just asked if he enjoys light BDSM on the weekends. “Excuse me?”
“A Twitter account. Do you have one? Do you, as they say, tweet?”
“I’m not sure what this has to do with—”
“Just answer the question, Simms.”
He sits up a bit straighter in his chair. “I do not personally subscribe to the social media craze, no. But that doesn’t mean I am entirely naive. I know what a hashtag is.” He pauses carefully. “For instance, the recent #IDoNotAssent movement I’ve seen popping up everywhere online in recent days.”
I snort lightly. “Who knew one little comment in Parliament could cause such a ruckus?”
“Anyone with remote knowledge of the Lancaster legacy, for starters.” He scoffs. “But you’ve never cared much for legacy. Have you, Your Majesty?”
My brows lift at his tone. “No. I suppose I had you to do that for me.”
“Right. Well. You have someone else now, it would appear.” His double chin bobs as he swallows roughly. I can tell he’s straining to keep his voice indifferent. “Perhaps your new Press Secretary is a better fit for you, given your viral online popularity. Ursula Caulfield’s methods may not be my style, however they are effective in… certain circles.”
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