There is a difference.
“Come on,” Sander says with a grimace. “Let’s get this over with.”
As we enter the pub, I am hit with a wall of sound and smells. The air has an edge of alcohol, beneath which hangs the cloying scent of fried food and something distinctly human. A rugby game plays on a screen, loud enough to be heard over the buzz of conversation and upbeat music coming from somewhere. It is overwhelming and beautiful all at once.
“Grab us a seat, will you?” Sander says, nodding to the only empty table in the place before pushing his way through the crowded space to get to the bar. Presumably to order some drinks, which will be a welcome addition to the night’s adventure. I drink very little, as it is not proper for a political figure to dull her senses with alcohol, but tonight, I am not a princess. Tonight, I am simply a citizen of Candora.
This could be the best idea I have had in a long time.
Sander returns within minutes with a white wine and something carbonated. When I raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs and hands me the wine. “Soda,” he explains with a nod to his glass. “I’m not taking any chances tonight, Fringe. I need to stay alert.”
“If I were not with you, you would drinksomething else?”
He chuckles and settles into his chair with a more relaxed stance than I would have expected, given his claim to be on his guard. Perhaps he only wishes toappearrelaxed to avoid suspicion, and I do my best to mimic him. “You think I’d come to a pub and drink soda?” he replies.
I have never seen my brothers when they go out at night, but maybe they often come into the city and drink themselves into a stupor. Surely our parents would not allow such a thing, but I do not know much about my brothers’ habits and behaviors beyond what I see at the palace. They could have whole lives I know nothing about, and I am reminded of how the gate guard believed Sander when he said he had a date with him.
Are my innocent baby brothers gone?
Sander’s chuckle shifts to a heartier laugh. “Do you think so little of us, Fringe? On the rare occasions we go out, it’s usually with other guards, and none of us like getting knackered. Makes the job harder.”
I frown. “How do you always know what I am thinking?”
He pokes me in the forehead. “Because you make it easy.”
I wonder if Mr. Reid can read my expressions as well. I am not always the best at hiding my emotions, but surely I do not giveeverythingaway. As my bodyguard has made it clear that he has no plans to give me physical space, I am determined to create distance however I can. Keeping him from my inner thoughts is paramount to that determination.
I will have to try harder.
Sander and I grow quiet, both of us turning our attention to the people around us and the conversations that are clear enough to understand. I do not expect many people to spend their Friday evening talking of the election or their princess, but I still hope to gain a better understanding of the political climate. Where do their frustrations primarily lie? Anything about what the average person hopes for in their life could be beneficial as I figure out my course of action leading to the election.
One of the rugby teams scores, and the pub breaks into cheers. While my friend Cole plays rugby in the States, I know very little about thesport in my own corner of the world. A shame, considering Candora has a national team.
One of these days I should invite Cole to visit so I can get to know his girlfriend, Carissa, better. Cole is almost like a brother to me, and I hate how little time I have been able to spend with him and my other friends lately. If he were here, he could explain the rules of the game to me.
“Samoa is beating England,” Sander says, taking a sip of his soda.
My confusion must have been on my face, which means I am already failing at my goal to keep my emotions to myself. “Do we dislike England?” I ask.
A few people look my way, giving me disgruntled looks before turning back to the game.
Chuckling, Sander shakes his head at me. “You need to get out more. Or at least remember your history.”
Interesting. We were once caught in British colonialism like much of the world, but our small island—equidistant from England, Denmark, and Norway—is remote enough that the old Candoran people held the English off and retained independence. Our political relationship with the British has been good in recent years, so I am surprised this sort of disagreement still exists even centuries later. I tuck this information away in case it becomes useful, but I doubt it relates to the people’s unrest. Just as learning the rules of rugby will not help me as a leader, even if it would help me be a better friend.
“At least Grimstad is trying to do something about it.”
I perk up as the conversation behind me shifts to something relevant, and I do my best to listen over the noise of the pub.
“So he says,” a second man replies to the first. “I’ll believe it when I see it, but his ideas are good.”
“As if he would ever win an election.”
“He might. Lotta people are fed up, and it’s not like the Alverras have ever paid attention.”
I meet Sander’s gaze, wondering if he is hearing what I am. Though he still looks relaxed, there is a tension in his eyes as he sips his drink and discreetly watches whoever sits behind me. One of his fingers taps on the table, a rhythmic movement that makes me wonder what my brother might be thinking as the conversation continues. I can hardly believe we are hearing exactly the sort of thing I came for.
“The election can’t come soon enough,” the first man grumbles. “Then we can stop listening to all that nonsense about how the princess will bring a fresh perspective. She’s nothing but a copy of her mum.”
