The next few weeks pass in a blur of strategy meetings and political maneuvering. As the days roll steadily onward toward April, winter’s deathly hold begins to weaken. All around me, the world seems to yawn, stretching stiff limbs and shaking off icy shackles. Snowbanks shrink in slow degrees, then disappear entirely, seemingly overnight. The air is tinged with the promise of new life, pale green crocus shoots awakening in their flower beds after a long slumber.
Spring has finally sprung.
By the final week of March, mere days before the referendum, I have traded my heavy cloaks for light pea coats, swapped my fur-lined boots for stylish pumps — all under the careful supervision of Lady Morrell, who has reclaimed her position as my style and etiquette advisor.
Despite a few despairing remarks about the purple streak in my hair, she’s been remarkably laissez-faire about my dress code since her return to the palace. I think she’s so happy to be back in her role, she’d let me try out a mohawk if I asked.
(Luckily for her, I don’t have the bone structure to pull off the punk-rocker look.)
It’s almost warm enough to resume my daily horseback rides with Ginger around the grounds — something I’ve missed dearly. Hans, the Master of Stables, assures me she’s been in good hands with his grooms all winter, getting regular exercise in the large stable pens… but I have a feeling I’ll need a hefty supply of sugar cubes to earn back her affection after so long apart. Not that I have much free time to ride, these days.
My obligations outside the palace have increased tenfold since the vote was announced. I’m out the gates before sunrise and back well after dusk most nights — which suits me just fine, if I’m being honest. I welcome the distraction this referendum has delivered. After all, it’s vastly preferable to sitting around the castle, dwelling on my broken heart. Seeing blue eyes around every corridor corner. Surrounded by ghosts that stain my every memory.
As the originator of this reform movement, I feel a certain obligation to be everywhere at once, the face of the campaign, greeting every potential voter in bustling cities and small towns alike. Over the past month, I have traveled from border to border, snaking my way along the Nelle River, stopping in places I’d never even heard of, let alone visited before. I have shaken more hands and held more babies than I ever thought possible; shared more laughs and greeted more of my countrymen than I ever could’ve imagined.
It’s been overwhelming. Utterly exhausting. I am tired down to the marrow of my bones. I could sleep a year and still not catch up on all the rest I’ve missed. And yet… it is also undeniably wonderful to see so many hidden corners of my kingdom up close and personal, rather than hiding out behind the stone walls of my castle, reigning from a throne completely out of view of the people I am supposed to stand for.
Each time my limo slows to a stop in a new town square, each time I look out to a sea of strangers — waving signs, screaming my name, showing off their freshly-dyed purple hair — I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
This is my life.
I am their queen.
This is my country.
Campaigning in person has surely helped spread the word about the referendum. Most of the villagers I meet don’t watch the nightly news or keep up with politics. Without explaining to them why I feel so strongly about establishing equality within Parliament, they’d likely never take the time to head to the polls.
According to Simms, my countrywide tour has become something of a fixture on the nightly news channels. Every program is flooded with footage — there I am, learning how to churn butter with ancient women in Skvelt. And again, shearing sheep with farmers in Hvarda. Once more, playing chess with old timers in the Pardi town square. Jumping rope with children on the streets of Uvendon. Skipping stones on a lake with locals in Saalk. Kicking off my shoes to run through the wheat fields in Hanton.
Rebellious Queen Emilia is at it again!
So long as I step outside the castle gates, it’s guaranteed that there will be a televised segment dedicated to the upcoming ballot question. It’s been a highly effective form of marketing — one made all the better since I don’t have to do much of anything, except be myself.
It must be said, back at the castle, Chloe has been doing an incredible job getting the word out on social media. The buzz she’s built — particularly among millennials — should give us a big turn out, come election day.
Already, Riggs and the rest of the Queen’s Guard are coordinating with local law enforcement in every town and city across Germania, preparing what is expected to be a record-breaking ballot. Experts project this to be the biggest political decision in well over a century, since Parliament was first established. The biggest question ever voted on regarding our political structure.
Will Germania finally grant women admittance into the hallowed House of Lords?
The truth is, this referendum is much bigger than just me. I may’ve struck the match that sparked this fire, but it has grown into something I never imagined, igniting the entire kingdom in a blaze of change. It’s now so large, I cannot even see the outer limits of the inferno anymore.
I find comfort in the collective heat we are generating. I am no longer by myself on the front lines, a lone ember shining against encroaching darkness; I am but one of many, glowing together to cast a great light on shadows that have lingered far too long.
Hundreds of volunteers have stepped forward to help with the campaign — making phone calls to on-the-fence voters, drawing up signs that say VOTE FOR REFORM in screaming capital letters. I try to stop by headquarters every week, to thank every member of the team in person. Most of them rock bright purple hair and are fond of wearing t-shirts that say THE FUTURE IS FEMALE or ANATOMY IS NOT AUTHORITY or another equally pithy phrase.
Their office in downtown Vasgaard is a hive of activity and energy and hope for the future. I find my spirits bolstered every time I step through the doors; something I need greatly, these days. For the other portion of my campaign efforts targets a far less pleasant demographic of Germanians.
The nobility.
My attempts to garner support from those least inclined to give it are as tiresome as the aristocrats themselves. The last thing I want to do after a day of traveling around the country is attend a boring black tie function — just another in the endless stream of elite events Simms somehow manages to arrange for me each night. He tells me it’s a necessary evil if I want the popular vote to succeed.
No victory was ever won without some sacrifice, Your Majesty.
And so, I go. To gala after gala, dinner party after dinner party. Evening balls and late afternoon lunches and lauded performances from the royal box at the opera.
The Lords of Parliament ignore my presence completely, their scowls and sneers unflinching; their wives do their best to make me feel like a dung beetle, whether we’re sipping tea in the Solarium or making donations to save an indigenous owl species over dried-out chicken dishes.
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 between 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 opens 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.
I moved to it like a magnet, pulled in by some elusive charge in the air. Without a fire burning in the hearth, Carter’s suite was cold enough to see my breath. At least, that’s the excuse I gave myself to justify crawling beneath his covers like a little girl hiding from a nightmare.
Hugging his pillow to my chest, I breathed in the only trace of him left behind in my life. Tears filled my eyes instantly, spilling out onto silk sheets as the faintest trace of smoke and spice filled my senses.
Soon, it too would be gone.
I miss you.
Every minute, every hour, every day.
I miss you so much it hurts.
Wrapped in the empty bed of my almost-forever, I closed my weeping eyes and pretended, just for a few hours, that he was still here. That any moment now, those strong arms of his would closer around me and pull me close. That the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek would guide me to sleep, a comforting metronome designed especially for me.
I was gone before dawn, settled firmly back in my own suite before any of the servants or guards could bear witness to my weakness. The bedspread smoothed immaculately. Everything exactly as I’d found it. Except, perhaps, if you looked closely… the faintest stain of tears on thousand thread-count sheets.
“Better?” I ask, once I’ve finished applying the thick nude-colored makeup beneath my eyes.
Chloe grabs my chin, leaning in to peer at my pores close-up. “Slight improvement. Honestly, E, did you sleep at all? You do realize every camera in the country is going to be trained on you today, don’t you? Actually, given the international interest in this referendum, I’d say every camera on the continent. Maybe even the world.”
“Thanks. That’s so comforting.”
She shrugs. “Like Lizzo says — truth hurts, babe.”
“What is a Lizzo?”
“God, you really need to get out more.”
Sighing, I turn to look out my tinted window. The streets of the capital roll by in a blur of color. Every house seems to be sporting a political sign — purple for our supporters, red for our opposition. I try not to take a tally of them, to weigh whether the odds are truly in our favor… but I can’t help noticing an alarming amount of red as we wind slowly toward the National Assembly.
The sign someone sticks in their front lawn does not always correlate to the ballot box they check, Simms reminds me daily. Be patient and trust the process.
“Nervous?”
I glance back at Chloe. “Of course I am.”
“Don’t be. Gerald and I had a final strategy meeting this morning. We both feel very confident the referendum will pass.”
“Gerald?” I scoff. “I didn’t realize you and Simms had grown so close. First-name-basis is a big step for two people who used to hate each other.”
“War makes strange bedfellows, so they say.” Her lips twist. “Never thought I’d find myself admitting this but… the old timer is actually rather amusing. In a dry-as-dust, stiff-upper-lip sort of way.”
“Well, if all else fails with this vote, at least you’ve made a friend other than me.”
“The vote is not going to fail! Don’t say that. Don’t even think it,” she scolds, smacking me on the arm. “You’ve put your heart and soul into this campaign, E. You’ve been to every village in this godforsaken country. If there was a world record for ‘Number of Selfies Taken With Excited Germanian Peasants’ you would be the unquestionable champion.”
“Don’t call my people peasants.”
“Oh, whatever. I’m just saying… You’ve done everything you can. At this point, you just have to let go. Have faith in the work you’ve done. Have faith in this revolution you sparked. And have faith in your people, as you call them. They’ll turn out to support you.”
She sounds so self-assured, it makes my eyebrows arch toward my hairline. I stare over at my sister, somewhat awed by how far she’s come in such a short time.
Was it mere months ago we were prying pill bottles from her hands, scraping her drugged-out frame off the floor of dingy nightclubs? Was it only recently she worried she might never find her way back to sobriety?
You’d never know it, to see her now. The girl seated beside me radiates confidence. Her red hair is lustrous, her porcelain skin flawless. She looks healthy. Happy. Full of purpose.
“Why are you looking at me like that, loser?”
Blinking rapidly to clear the sting from my eyes, I lean forward and plant a quick kiss on her cheek. “Because you’re beautiful.”
Her brow furrows. “Okay… Whatever you say, weirdo…”
I laugh and turn back to look out my window. When I see the building looming back at me through the glass — the great domed roof of the National Assembly, blocking out the mid-morning sun — all amusement vanishes, quickly replaced by a gnawing sense of dread that fills my stomach.
We’re here.
The steps of Parliament are lined with hundreds of members of the press, along with two distinct mobs of Germanian citizens — one clad in purple, the other red. From inside my limo, their shouts were deafening; now that I’m out, standing in plain view on the steps, they have reached a decibel that threatens to shatter even the sturdiest of eardrums.
My appearance is a lightning rod in an electrical storm that was already raging out of control. The clashing protestors, hyped up from weeks of sparring online, are even more frenzied now that their confrontations have shifted past the safe separation of a computer screen. Face to face for the first time, they hurl insults and campaign slogans with a vitriol that makes my bones shake.
Cheers of “WE DO NOT ASSENT!” are met with volleys of “KEEP GERMANIA ON COURSE!” The streets are so loud, when I step up to the podium to speak, my voice is barely audible despite the cluster of microphones amplifying it.
“My fellow Germanians — I stand here today not just as your queen, but also as your countrymen. For the past few months, I have had a chance to get to know so many of you. I have traveled from border to border, hearing your stories, sharing histories, and making new memories. In every town and city, I was welcomed with open arms — into your homes, into your hearts. You allowed me to make my voice heard in a manner unlike any before.”
I pause, pulling in a steadying breath as I look out over the crowd. They have gone utterly silent, hanging on my every word. I try to pick out familiar faces in the crowd, but there are too many to focus on — an undulating sea of features, some contorted into frowns, but many — so, so, many — rapt with hope.
“Booo!” a shrill voice suddenly screams from the opposition side. “Get back to the gutter where you belong!”
A gasp moves through the crowd. Though many attack me on nightly news programs and in print interviews, few are brazen enough to do so in my direct presence.
My eyes cut to the source of the attack — a tall blonde in an immaculately tailored red pantsuit. Her version of battle armor, no doubt. She’s accessorized to the hilt with ruby jewels, stilt-high stilettos, and a studded black handbag.
Ava.
I should’ve known. She’s standing with her parents at the front of the crowd, her expression full of that icy smugness she pulls off so well.
Bitch.
Holding her stare, I grit my teeth in what I hope resembles a smile and carry on with my speech. “There are those in our nation who claim I have overstepped my bounds as your queen. That, in expressing a political opinion, I am grasping at authority I have not yet earned.” I force myself to look out at the rest of the crowd, straight into the lenses of the hundred cameras beaming at me from all sides. “Today, I stand here to assure you: I have no interest in being a dictator. And yet, I am equally uninterested in being a mere figurehead, sitting on a great gold chair with little regard for those she reigns over.”
A cheer goes up from the back of the crowd and, smiling, I lift my hand to silence it. “So perhaps those who denounce me at every turn are correct in one regard, at least — I am not your typical royal. I say that not with regret, but with pride.” My lips twist wryly. “My so-called ‘commoner’ past may be easy ammunition for those taking aim at me. But I feel no shame in my upbringing. Long before I was your queen, I was merely one of you. A regular Germanian. Struggling to pay my bills and get to class on time and start a career and remember to take out the rubbish bins—” An appreciative laugh titters through the audience. “—and, perhaps, given half a chance… to leave some kind of mark on this world we all share.”
I look around again, sweeping through the gathered faces. This time, my gaze lands on the front row where Alden, Chloe, Simms, and Lady Morrell are standing. I search in vain for another face — one I know better than to look for, but can’t stop myself from seeking out anyway.
He’s not there.
Why would he be?
I jerk my eyes away and carry on. “My mother raised me to believe that if you are given the privilege of a loud voice, you are obligated to use it to spread truth and goodness, not malice or hate. I will not stand idly by as injustice and inequality find favor in our Parliament. I cannot, in good conscience, remain neutral on issues that my predecessors ignored for far too long.”
The cheer goes up again. It takes twice as long to extinguish it this time.
“My fellow citizens, I am speaking directly to you, now. In a few moments, polls all across our nation will open and you will have a chance to make your own voices heard. You will step through those doors and cast your votes in what I’m sure will be a historic election. I do not know what the results will be. I do not know whether our nation is yet ready to cast off the shackles of tradition, to embrace a new age of equality and prosperity. But I do know one thing. Regardless of the outcome today… I stand here before you, ever-hopeful for our future. A future in which we are defined not by the things that divide us, but rather, those that unite us. I stand here grateful that I have played even a small role in this groundswell of change. And, above all, I stand here eternally proud to call myself your queen.”
There’s no silencing the cheers.
Not this time.
They fill the air in a great crescendo, echoing off buildings, drifting upward into the clouds, drowning out any potential boos from the opposition.
They sound like hope.
They sound like progress.
They sound like the future.
And it is bright.