Sordid Empire

by Julie Johnson

  I grit my teeth in what I hope appears a genuine smile and carry on with small talk, praying some among their ranks might be swayed into action. Occasionally, I’ll catch the eyes of someone and think, just for a moment, I see a flare of something like approval lurking behind a set of mascaraed lashes or a pair of wizened glasses. In the mirror of a ladies’ restroom at the ballet. Over the candelabra at a dinner party. From a waltz-partner on the dance floor.

  But those flashes are so quickly doused, it may just be wishing thinking. In all honesty, I doubt I’m making any traction at all with the elite class — not with the Sterling family campaigning so actively against me — but Simms assures me it’s important to attempt anyway.

  A woman may sneer at you while her husband is watching, but there’s no telling what she’ll do when she steps into that voting booth.

  I hope he’s right.

  I hope the referendum passes.

  I hope my kingdom embraces change.

  I hope all this effort has not been for naught.

  Though at night, when I finally crawl into bed, dead tired from a day of talking and smiling and schmoozing, that nagging sense of doubt crawls right in with me, making itself comfortable in the contours of my mind.

  What if we fail? What if my first great act as queen is a total, complete fumble?

  It’s easy to be confident about my choices in a room full of supporters. But the courtiers, with their Cheshire-Cat smiles and close-guarded opinions, are far less comforting.

  Victory may be within reach, but it is not yet within our grasp. And if the vote for a more inclusive Parliament fails next week when my countrymen finally make their way to the polls…

  I will have set this fire for no reason. A pyromaniac with lofty ideals. An arsonist with a self-important streak.

  And the scariest thing of all?

  Now that the sparks are flying… now that the flames are creeping ever faster across the terrain of my soul… There will be no dousing them. I fear the inferno of injustice in my heart may never be extinguished.

  I will burn for my countrymen until my enemies pry the ashes of this crown from my immolated hands.

  “You’re quite distracted this evening, Your Majesty,” a male voice whispers in my ear.

  I jolt out of my dark spiral of thoughts, startled by the skim of Alden’s lips against the shell of my ear and the press of a warm thigh against mine beneath the table. Glancing over, I find he’s staring at me with a mixture of amusement and concern.

  “I don’t believe you’ve heard a single word I’ve said for the past five minutes.”

  “Sorry,” I bleat, cheeks going red. “It’s been a long week.”

  “Don’t apologize. These dreadful functions could induce narcolepsy in an insomniac.”

  I chuckle, not disagreeing with him. My eyes flicker to the man at the stage podium; he’s been droning on for nearly an hour about plans to launch an urban mural project in impoverished sections of Vasgaard. Evidently, he believes a little art will be enough to stave the pain of socioeconomic inequality amongst our country’s poorest citizens.

  And here I thought it was a livable minimum wage and access to universal healthcare. Silly me.

  “I admit, I was ready for bed hours ago,” I confide lowly. “But you seem alert enough for the both of us, Lord Sterling.”

  Alden leans even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper the others at our table can’t overhear. “That’s because I’m sitting next to the most beautiful woman in the room.” He pauses. “Arguably in the world, actually.”

  My heart pangs uncomfortably. I’m still unaccustomed to receiving compliments from him, though he has been showering them upon me with increasing frequency, these past few weeks. It would be rather petty to tell him to back off after all he’s done to support me.

  While the rest of the Sterling clan has championed the opposition, Alden has taken up residence firmly on my side of the issue. He has been a constant companion — accompanying me to nearly every event, a buffer whenever his fellow aristocrats descend like wolves eager to tear me apart. At first, I believed he might be a double-agent, sent by his family to infiltrate my ranks and destroy my campaign from the inside out. But, over the course of hours and days and weeks spent in his company… with his authenticity, honesty, and stalwart support… he has earned my trust.

  Bit by bit.

  Sliver by sliver.

  So methodically, so unassumingly, before I knew it I found myself depending on Alden almost as much as I do Chloe, Galizia, Simms, and Riggs. His warm disposition and easy friendship has been a welcome presence during an otherwise chaotic period of my life. Not to mention a distraction from the ever-present ache inside my chest, where my heart used to reside. Some days, in his company, I’m almost able to manage a genuine smile.

  Almost.

  I’m certain Alden’s allegiance has caused a strain within his family ranks — according to Chloe, he and his sister are no longer on speaking terms, nor is he currently residing at Westgate Manor. Still, he’s never wavered in his loyalty to me. Not once.

  “Did I miss anything vital?” I ask, jerking my chin toward the stage.

  “Not remotely. Half the room glazed over twenty minutes ago.”

  “I can’t lie, I’m relieved the vote is almost here. I’m not sure how many more of these functions I can attend.”

  Alden’s pale blond brows lift. “I hate to break it to you, My Queen, but you are in for a lifetime of events such as these. Perhaps not so many in such a short span of time, but there is no avoiding them altogether.”

  My lips twist into a pout. “Don’t remind me. I fear my reign won’t last long; I’ll be bored to death by age twenty-five. The opposition will rejoice.”

  “Speaking as someone who has spent all his life at events like this, I can tell you with authority — the trick to surviving them is simply in finding the right someone to sit beside. Choose your dinner partner wisely and even the most boring social events become manageable.”

  I smile at him. “I chose rather well tonight, I suppose.”

  He winks at me. “As did I. Though tonight has not nearly been so painful as other events we’ve attended, of late.”

  “True enough. No one was overtly rude. At least, not to my face.” I grimace. “Not like that god-awful open house at the National Astronomy Initiative, last week. Who knew scientists could be so snobby?”

  “You forget — those scientists’ budgets are at the mercy of our current Parliamentary leaders. They can’t risk their funding by backing a political cause that may or may not succeed.”

  “Bloody cowards.”

  Alden shakes his head. “Never fear, My Queen. After the ballot passes next week, they’ll have no choice but to respect your authority. You will have proven yourself a formidable political opponent — and, however grudgingly, earned the respect of even your fiercest detractors.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I murmur, thinking of the nefarious plot I overheard his sister discussing last month — the one to install a marionette on the throne, his strings controlled by calculating fingers.

  There are plans in place… We have allies laying the groundwork overseas… Soon, we won’t have to call that freak of nature queen ever again…

  In the weeks since, I’ve kept my ear to the ground for any news of a distant Lancaster relation pitching a claim for my throne. There’s been nothing. No word. Not even Simms, with his extensive network of social connections, has heard the faintest rumblings of dissent.

  I am not foolish enough to dismiss Ava’s threat as idle, though. I know her too well. Sooner or later, the Sterling family will make their pitch to usurp me. It’s merely a matter of when.

  My eyes slide to the man seated beside me. To the one member of that dreaded family who, against all odds, has earned a place by my side. Despite my trust in him, I’m not sure how much I should share regarding his family’s plans. He is in a perilous enough position as things currently stand, divided b
etween his bloodline and his bond with me. I hesitate to add to that burden.

  The man at the podium is finally wrapping up his speech. When he begins his closing remarks, Alden stands and subtly offers me his arm.

  “Come — let’s make a quick exit, before you are swarmed, Your Majesty. We don’t want a repeat of the opera house.”

  I grimace at the memory of last Tuesday, when I was swarmed by a great crowd of supporters in the gold-domed theater lobby during intermission. It took nearly thirty minutes to extract myself from the throng of cheering, purple-haired Germanians — even with the help of my guard detail. The whole second half of the opera was delayed, much to my mortification.

  Get your ass home to the castle before you cause another scene, Emilia.

  Rising from my seat, I link my arm with Alden’s and fall into step beside him, my pleated emerald skirt swishing around my knees. “Always looking out for me. Thanks, Alden.”

  “Anytime, Queen Emilia.”

  “I don’t know what I did to earn such loyalty but, for the record, I am grateful to have it.”

  I feel the weight of many sets of eyes on us as we make our way toward the exit doors, but that doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. I’ve grown accustomed to living like an exotic aquarium fish, on display from all sides at all times.

  Alden cants his head down slightly to mine as we cut toward the exit, platinum hair perfectly parted as ever. “You must know by now, there’s nowhere I would rather be. As long as you’ll have me by your side, Your Majesty, there I will gladly remain.”

  My heartbeat picks up speed as we make our way through the empty atrium, eyes on the front doors. Riggs and Vega trail silently in our wake, shadows ensuring my safety from a respectable distance.

  “Will I see you tomorrow?” Alden asks as we approach the revolving doors. “For the luncheon at Westgate?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t think you’d be attending, actually. I know things with your family have been… strained, of late.” I swallow hard. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be. I chose my side willingly in this fight. I chose you. And I would walk into Hell — or my family’s country home — if it meant helping you, My Queen. I would not ever abandon you in pursuit of my own interests, as others have done.” He pauses, voice dropping to a scornful whisper. “I don’t understand how Thorne could leave, at this of all times. Does he not realize you need support? Carter can schmooze aristocrats better than anyone. The females, at least. He would be instrumental in swaying votes to your side. And yet… He’s nowhere to be found, these days. Why is that?”

  His words are a lance to the heart. When I manage to speak, I pray my voice comes out even. “He has obligations in Switzerland.”

  “Yes, I heard — launching an all-inclusive ski resort with his boarding school cohorts. How terribly vital.”

  I stiffen, saying nothing.

  “I’m sorry — listen to me, ranting for no reason.” Alden blows out a laugh. “I just get frustrated when I feel you aren’t receiving the respect you deserve, Queen Emilia.”

  I force my shoulders to relax. “Your support is very much appreciated, Alden.”

  “Is it?” He winks. “I had no idea.”

  “Truly — I hope you know how much I value our friendship. When we first met, I wasn’t sure we’d ever speak freely, let alone grow so close.” I allow a wry note to creep into my voice. “After meeting your sister and your parents… let’s just say, you were a welcome surprise.”

  There’s a hitch in his step, noticeable enough to make me look over at him. When I do, I find his hazel eyes have narrowed a shade. “And… Is that all we are? Friends?”

  “Oh. Well, I—”

  “I thought, over the past month… perhaps things were changing between us.”

  My mouth gapes. “I…”

  He shakes his head, laughing harshly. His face darkens to an expression I’ve never seen before — it’s ardent; almost self-loathing. “What a fool I am.”

  “You aren’t a fool, Alden! Please don’t say that.”

  “I am! I am. For I have mistaken your kindness, your friendship, for something quite different, Your Majesty. I have allowed my imagination to run wild with thoughts of a future in which we might be more than mere acquaintances at a dinner party.”

  “We are more than that,” I insist. “We are friends.”

  “Friends.” He practically seethes the word. “I see.”

  “Please — don’t be upset with me.”

  “I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with myself, for letting my own naive hopes outpace reality.”

  I chew my bottom lip, not knowing how to respond. This conversation has taken an unexpected turn onto a path I am unsure how to navigate.

  In loaded silence, we reach the revolving doors. Beyond the glass, I can see my Rolls-Royce waiting by the curb, its headlights illuminating the darkness. I move to exit but Alden stops me, his hold on my arm growing tight. I let out a soft sound of surprise but don’t pull away, not wanting to make a scene.

  Any second now, attendees from the fundraiser will follow us out of the ballroom and reach the lobby. I try to look behind us, fearful of how our close proximity will appear to strangers, but his gaze traps mine before I can turn away. His expression is fervent with unexpected passion.

  “Emilia.”

  He’s never called me that before. Never dropped my formal title or foregone the formality of our respective positions. Not until now.

  I swallow hard. “Yes?”

  “Tell me what I must do. Tell me how else I can prove myself worthy of your affection.”

  My eyes widen with shock. “Alden, this isn’t the time or place—”

  “If not now, when?” He presses closer, desperation etched across his face. “Am I to wait forever? I would, you know. If you would merely give me a shred of hope. If you would grant but the slightest affirmation of my affections… I would wait for you forever.”

  “Alden, I can’t—”

  “No. Do not reject me outright. Do not tell me prematurely there is no chance for us to ever be more than what we are. More than merely friends.” His grip tightens. “Even if you do not feel the same way now… In time, I am confident you will come to the same conclusion that I have, these days and weeks and months. Since we were first introduced. A truth I have known since our inception.”

  My brows lift. “Which is?”

  “We are well-suited. An ideal match.” His tongue darts across his top lip, a nervous swipe. “Our marriage would offer Germania the stability it so desperately needs. Our children would secure the Lancaster lineage for generations. And you — you would not be alone anymore. I would be with you. By your side. Always.”

  I blink, quite at a loss for words. I don’t want to crush his feelings or hurt him unnecessarily. Not after all he’s done for me. And most especially not in such a public place. With each passing second, I feel the impending weight of more eyes on us as people approach the exit doors.

  “Emilia.” His voice shakes. “Please. Promise me you will think about it.”

  “I can’t think of romance right now, Alden — not with the referendum so close,” I hedge, heart beating too fast inside my chest. “Perhaps, after this vote, there will be time to look forward to other things, but now…”

  “Fine. That’s fine. After the vote, we will discuss it further.” His eyes flare with heat and I know, intentionally or not, I have given him the shred of hope he was looking for.

  “But, Alden—”

  “Come.” Without another word, he pulls me through the revolving doors. “The limo is waiting and in another minute this lobby will be swarming with people.”

  I follow him into the night, feeling strangely unsettled by the exchange. I made him no promises. Agreed to no terms. And yet, somehow, I feel as though my future has just been taken from my grasp and rearranged without my conscious consent.

  Just get through this vote, I tell myself as Alden o
pens my limo door, his smile beaming brightly in the moonlight. Once the referendum is behind you, you can sort out the rest of your life.

  The morning of the vote dawns crisp and clear. It’s that sort of April morning where every surface seems to glisten with dewdrops, beams of early sunlight bathing everything in hues of yellow.

  The heavy bags under my eyes are a dark counterpoint.

  “Here.” Chloe pulls a nude stick of concealer and a compact mirror from her clutch purse and passes them to me in the back of the limo. “You need this more than I do.”

  I grimace as I peer at my reflection. I barely slept. Nerves clawed at me all night, tearing at my insecurities, making me question every decision I’ve made that’s led me to this point.

  Am I too rash?

  Did I rush this referendum?

  Is my kingdom ready for change?

  It was well past midnight when I gave up trying to rest. Pushing back my blankets, I crept from my suite, my bare feet soundless on the stone floors. I thought I might roam the corridors a bit — rekindle my late-night wanderings, as I did in the wake of the Vasgaard Square attacks, when the crooked talons of insomnia still had me firmly in their clutches.

  But instead of heading for the Great Hall or the library, as I’ve done so many times in the past, I found myself at a standstill outside a familiar oak door. A room I hadn’t stepped foot inside — hadn’t allowed myself to step foot inside — for months.

  Not since it became vacant once more.

  Not since Carter Thorne left it empty.

  Left me empty.

  The door creaked as I pushed it inward, revealing the sprawling room beyond. Barely cognizant of my own actions, I moved across the threshold, not bothering to turn on the lights.

  My eyes, already adjusted to the darkness, picked out details easily — there, on the chair, a familiar green sweater. There, against the far wall, a spare snowboard. And there, at the room’s center, a four-poster bed with a thick down duvet.