Markham stands up straight. We have not spoken since the ball, and I wonder what he is thinking as he studies me. I have never been able to read him well, but at the moment I can hardly put a word to anything in his expression. “Your Highness.”
“Please,” I say again. “No matter the result tonight, you and I are still friends.”
“Yes,” he agrees, finally allowing a small smile. He offers me a handshake, and when I take it without hesitation, soft whispers start up among the press.
The reporters’ impatience buzzes through the room; most of them have likely been watching the results on their phones as they come in. But per my instructions, there is nothing in the room that indicates how the election might turn out. Markham and I will know nothing until the final counts are in and the Candoran press secretary enters the room to announce who will be taking the throne.
Elliot’s instructions were to keep me away from this conference room until only moments before the announcement is to be made, and Elliot does not have the capability of going against his word any more than I do.
As I move to stand next to my parents to wait for Secretary Ashlund to appear, a soft word from Markham pulls me to a stop again. “Freya?”
“Yes?”
His eyebrows pull low, his jaw tight, and I wonder if he regrets speaking my name when it takes him a long time to say anything. “I, er, I’m sorry. For running against you. I didn’t think you understood what our people needed, and I thought this was the best way to help. You’ll make a great queen.”
Oh. Two weeks ago, I would have loved to hear him admit that, but now? “Markham, you do not need to apologize for anything you have done. Whichever of us wins, I—”
“I withdrew my candidacy yesterday.”
Those words, spoken so quietly that no one in the audience would have heard him, feel like a slap to the face. “Withdrew?” I whisper. “What do you mean?”
“I took my name off the ballot.”
“What?”
Markham shakes his head, looking for all the world like he has made irreparable mistakes in his life but is doing his best to fix them anyway. “You were always the better choice, Freya. If I had made the time to get to know you sooner, I would have seen that long before I ever got this far. I can still make an impact in Commons.”
But… My mind is spinning again, but the thoughts whirling through it now are different from anything before this moment. If he is telling the truth—and I think he is—that means I have already won. Unless the unheard of happens and at least eighty-five percent of the people voted against my reign in favor of a complete revision of the government, I will be queen.
But I will not have been chosen.
“I won by default?” I ask, unable to hide the horror in my words. This would not have bothered me a month ago, but how can I be content knowing my people lost their chance to choose? The freedom to choose was one of the main reasons I couldn’t bring myself to marry Markham.
That, and my love for the man standing behind me.
Markham’s eyes are full of pity and apology and a good deal of confusion, but he seems to have lost his words as he stares at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my mother and father frowning in my direction, likely wondering why I look like I have been given the most terrible news. Hex and Sander are in conversation with each other, their postures tense but their expressions thoughtful, and they must have gleaned enough from watching us to know what has happened.
Elliot steps forward so he’s close enough to speak to me but not so close that anyone will think he is stepping beyond the bounds of his position. I wish he would come closer, but I know why he cannot. “Actually, you didn’t,” he says carefully. When I meet his gaze, he lifts his eyebrows slightly. “Markham’s name was on the ballot, just like yours.”
Markham shakes his head, looking as confused as I feel. “No, I definitely removed it.”
“Okay, yes, you did. But I put it back on.”
“That’s not possible. How did you know I even—”
“Frankly, I still don’t trust you.” But Elliot smirks in a way that belies his words. “I wondered if you would do something like this, so I had one of the palace guards keep an eye on you.”
Markham frowns. “But you have no authority to change the ballot.”
“You’re right.” Elliot shrugs. “The queen put your name back, at my suggestion.”
“Why?”
It was Markham who asked the question, but Elliot looks at me when he says, “Because the people deserve to choose.”
In the first sign of aggression I have ever seen from him, Markham growls and looks like he is considering throwing his fist into Elliot’s nose. “I don’t want to be king, American.”
Elliot does not waver. “You won’t be, Grim.”
