We are going home. That’s the one thing I’m able to take away from the meeting at the conference table. It’s the only thing that really matters.
Mam and Georgie packed our backpacks before leaving the townhouse, so there is no reason to even go back. The security team escorts us from the building and into a minivan. The van weaves in and out of the city streets and then gets on the highway. I remember the ride from the airport when we first got here and know it shouldn’t take long to get there, but instead we seem to be leaving the city behind.
“Where are we going?” I ask, hoping someone in the van can answer and trying to beat down that little bit of fear that tells me these people can’t be trusted. What if they are not taking us home, but somewhere else?
“It’s fine, Fritzi,” Pap says, laying a reassuring hand on my knee. “We’re going to the airport I flew into this morning. It’s not far.”
I relax a bit. I can trust Pap, and he is here with us again, so everything is going to be fine. I don’t have to worry anymore.
After about half an hour, we get off the highway and approach a low, modern-looking airport terminal. It is not as big or busy as the airport we flew into, but there are cars picking up and dropping off passengers, and from behind the building, a plane takes off, roaring over our heads.
“Do we have to sit in those tiny little seats again?” I ask.
“Not this time,” Pap says, and we are driven straight onto the tarmac, where I see the jet with the red dragon. Our own plane. A burst of happiness surges through me. Things are finally getting back to normal. We board the plane, and I lovingly touch the red leather seats with the royal crest on the headrest. It’s almost as good as being home.
“What’s our plane doing here?” I ask Pap.
“I needed some way to get to you when they were threatening to kill you. Ivan and I snuck it past the opposition.” He takes my backpack from me and stores it in the overhead compartment.
I grin and settle into my seat. Only Pap would think to smuggle out a whole plane!
“Everything’s going to be all right now, right?” I ask.
Pap smiles at me, but the smile is sad, and there are lines of stress around his eyes.
“We’re all together again, and that is what matters,” he answers.
And we are going home. That can’t be discounted. We’re going home, and the videos I have made will make a difference in convincing everyone that the coup was simply misguided, and then we can all go along as we always have. That’s how things have to happen. I’m not ready to imagine any other possibility.
The accumulated stress of the last few days catches up with me, and I fall asleep almost as soon as the plane is in the air. I wake when Georgie nudges me and tells me we are almost home. Out the window, a familiar landscape comes into view: mountains and rivers and valleys. I can’t wait to be on the ground and home once more.
The plane lands, and we disembark. There is no welcoming committee, but that is okay. Often we are not met at the airport but take a helicopter to the palace and are greeted there. But there is no helicopter either. Instead, we are met by Marco, the head of security, who hurries us to a nondescript SUV waiting on the tarmac.
Marco drives, and we head toward the city and the palace. An uneasiness begins to creep back in. There is no long motorcade, no official greeting. Things are not as they should be. But then again, we are all disheveled from the past few days. Perhaps it would be better if we didn’t make any official appearances until we’ve had a chance to shower and change.
The ride from the airport is long and uneventful. I lean my head against the window and relax, drinking in the familiar scenery that I was afraid I would never see again.
The car slows as we get off the highway and enter the city.
I watch the familiar landmarks of Colsteinburg go past. There’s the cathedral where I was baptized and where we still go to church. There’s the cafe that makes special princess cookies for me and Georgie, and if we go there, they let us give them to any children who come into the store. There’s the museum that houses so much of our family history. Just last year, our family portrait was hung there with much fanfare.
There’s a difference, though. Instead of the familiar white flag with its red dragon, the green and white flags with the four-sided star are everywhere. It gives me a funny feeling in my stomach, like we’re not really home. Or rather, like this isn’t home anymore.
As we get closer to the palace, the crowds grow and seem to press in on the car. And despite the windows being tinted, they must be able to see inside, because suddenly crowds surround the car, and we slow to a crawl, nudging past protesters.
Fists pound on the window, and faces loom close, leering at us.
I burrow into Mam’s side in an attempt to get as far from the window as I can.
Marco leans on the horn, but he doesn’t want to plow the protesters down. Where are the police who should be holding these people back? Is no one on our side anymore?
Outside, the shouts of the protesters are making themselves clearer. Some people are shouting against the monarchy, but I hear other shouts too. Things like “Vive King Frederick.” So maybe it’s not over. Maybe there is hope.
We inch forward, and I’m afraid we’ll never make it home, but finally the palace comes into view. My heart lightens when I see the balconies and narrow windows and towers of home. There are crowds here, too, screaming and singing and holding signs, some green and white, others with the familiar red dragon.
This isn’t the homecoming I envisioned.
Marco drives into a protected courtyard, and we are able to get out of the car without anyone getting near us, though that doesn’t mean we can’t see them and hear them holler and shout. Mr. Frank rushes us into the palace, and finally, when the giant door is closed behind us, I can breathe easy again.
We are home. And together. And nothing else matters.
“Can I go up to my room?” I ask as soon as we are inside.
“Of course,” Pap says.
I rush up the stairs to my sanctuary and stop dead in the doorway. It’s been violated. Trashed. Someone has been in my room. My snow globes are all smashed. The picture of Prince Harry is torn in two.
“Pap!” I scream and run back down the stairs. “Someone was here. They ruined my stuff!”
He catches me in his strong arms and smoothes my hair with his hand. “It’s okay. There is no one here now.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“I’m sure.”
I unbury my head from his shirt and look around the main parlor. It has been trashed too, pictures ripped from walls, windows smashed. Furniture overturned and broken. It does not feel like home anymore. It doesn’t feel safe.
“What happened?” I ask and see that Pap is looking expectantly at Marco. Apparently, this is a question he already asked before I came downstairs.
“The days were chaotic,” Marco explains with a small shrug. “When Orcutt’s thugs broke their way in, I did not have enough loyal staff still around to hold them off, and I decided that since the royal family was safe, I would not sacrifice my remaining men to safeguard the building. We let them rampage, and then they left, satisfied with the damage they had done.”
“Do we have any staff?” Mam asks, her face looking tight and pinched.
“No one on the premises. There are a few loyal people I can call back now that you are here.”
“How safe is it to stay?” Pap asks.
“Orcutt has agreed to a truce while things are sorted out,” Marco says. “It should be safe enough, and my staff will secure the perimeter. We will not let anyone in while you are in residence.”
I thought when we got home everything would be back to normal. This is not normal, and I don’t like it.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“We clean up,” Mam says with determination. That’s one thing that is good though—Mam has found herself again. “Anyone know where we keep the brooms?”
While I won’t argue that having something to do is better than sitting around wallowing in misery, it’s heartbreaking to sweep up broken pieces of our former life. Every broken statue and vase and crystal glass makes me crumble a little inside.
Finally, I sink into the sofa and let the tears flow. Pap comes and sits next to me. “What’s the matter, Fritzi?” he asks, one arm wrapped around my shoulders.
“I’m hungry. I want everything to be how it was, and I loved that window.” I point at the stained glass window of a red dragon that has a hole in the middle where something has been thrown through it.
Pap squeezes me a little, and Mam comes and sits by me as well.
“I loved that window, too,” Pap says. “And we’ll see if we can find some food. But I can’t necessarily make things be how they were before.”
“Things are always changing,” Mam points out. “Things will never be exactly as they were. They never are, from day to day.”
“I don’t like change,” I say with a pout.
“No one does,” Georgie says, leaning on her broom.
Mam laughs. “Most people feel that way sometimes, but you also wouldn’t want nothing to ever change. Would you still want to have to go to bed at seven and wear pinafores over your dress at fancy dinners?”
I smile at that. “No, of course not.”
“You didn’t mind the change when you went off to Academie Sainte Marie,” she reminds me.
“True,” I say. “Am I going back there?” It hasn’t been mentioned, and I’ve been a little hesitant to bring it up in the middle of everything else.
“Not yet,” Mam says. “We need to assess how things stand.”
“You mean if Pap is going to stay king.”
“Exactly,” Mam answers.
I look at Pap. He looks sad and defeated. “It’s too soon to say,” he says and then stands. “Let’s find some food.”
Marco has brought some of the staff back, and no sooner do we go looking for food than it turns out the cook has some ready. I convince myself that I’ll feel better after I eat.
I don’t.
By the evening, Mam’s lady maid, Matilde, is back, but not Mademoiselle Colette.
“You’re too old for a nanny, anyway,” Mam points out as she helps me straighten the mess that is my room.
“I know,” I say. That doesn’t make me feel better about it.
Over the next couple of days, it becomes obvious that although my videos may have made people nostalgic for the past, Orcutt has won the hearts and minds of the people. Crowds continue to gather and chant outside the palace gates. Less than half the staff has returned, and if the people who knew us best aren’t on our side, how can we expect others to be?
Pap calls us all together one afternoon.
“The time has come,” he says.
I want to cry out, “No!” That he can’t give up. But I can see in his face that he has already accepted the end. Now I suppose it’s just up to me to accept it as well.
“Will you all stand beside me when I speak to the people?” he asks.
“Of course,” Mam says, laying a hand on his. “We are always beside you, whatever happens.”
It’s arranged that Pap will make a speech from the central balcony with the TV stations covering it live. Georgie and I dress nicely, in dresses that are neither frilly nor showy but classic and respectful, and we meet our parents by the balcony. Pap wraps us all in a big hug.
“We’ll be together,” he says. “That’s what’s important.”
It is true, but the knowledge of what we are losing sits on my heart like a rock.
Pap steps out onto the balcony to silence. There are no cheers, but neither are there jeers. The courtyard is full, and people look up expectantly as we join Pap out there.
“My fellow citizens of Colsteinburg,” he begins, his voice, with the help of the sound system, reverberating throughout the square. “Eight hundred years ago, my ancestor founded this kingdom. Through that time, the Mohr family has done its best to safeguard Colsteinburg and the people in it. But times change, and it has become obvious that the people of Colsteinburg no longer need our family to safeguard them, nor do they desire that. We respectfully bow to that desire. As of today, we are no longer the royal family of Colsteinburg; we stand before you as fellow citizens. Godspeed, my friends.”
He stands for a moment while his speech is met with silence, and then one person starts to clap, and then another. Soon, the whole square is a thunder of applause.
They love us, conditionally.
Pap pulls us all close, and we stand, one last time, on the balcony overlooking our countrymen.
It’s not exactly a happy ending.