Freya
Allinall,myfirst speech of the campaign went better than I expected. No one shouted insults, no one booed me off the temporary stage, and no one threw rotten fruit at me. But the applause when I finished was lackluster at best, and I am convinced most of the people of the town of Breckenholt only came out to the town square because they were curious. Yes, a few dozen of them have formed a line to greet me and welcome me to their town, but thus far everyone lingering in groups around the square have seemed more skeptical of my intentions than interested in meeting me.
Praise the heavens for Hex, who took to wandering the crowd while I spoke and has managed to befriend a group of young adults who have crowded around him like he is the most compelling person they have ever met. Maybe he is. Or maybe he simply does not have the weight of the crown looming over his head, so he is allowed to be fun and free.
“Your Highness.” The middle-aged woman at the front of the line bows, her expression tight. “Welcome to Breckenholt. I’m Britta Nilson.I own the inn where you’ll be staying tonight, so please let me know if there is anything you need. Anything at all.”
Goodness, she looks terrified. I smile wide, doing my best to make it look warm and relaxed. My friend Bonnie has, thankfully, taught me how to make a fake smile look natural, something she has mastered during her years as an actress. “I am certain everything will be lovely. I thank you for your hospitality.”
A throat clears behind me.
Gritting my teeth, I take a breath and force my shoulders to relax. “You’re very kind, and I’m looking forward to my stay.” I refuse to look behind me to see if that satisfies Elliot.
Britta offers another short bow and steps aside to make space for the next person. Though I have a chair I might use, I remain on my feet, hoping it will make me look less superior. I only wish I had accepted Runa’s suggestion that I wear more comfortable shoes, as these heels are not being kind to my feet.
“Princess Freya.” The man who steps forward is already in a formal bow, his right hand pressed to his heart and his left arm tucked behind him, and he remains in that position while he speaks. “I was hoping we would run into each other sooner rather than later.”
A spike of fear pierces me in the chest, though I am not sure why. “Is that so?” I glance behind me, breathing a little easier when I realize Elliot is only a few inches from me, his eyes fixed on the man.
Elliot growls out a name. “Grimstad.”
The man rises, an amused smile on his face as he meets Elliot’s hard gaze. “You’ve done your research, bodyguard.”
Thisis Markham Grimstad? The man who is running against me? He looks nothing like his picture on the Candoran government website. That man is polished and stoic. This man looks at home among the other villagers, his jaw covered in a trim brown beard, his hair a bit too long, his clothes plain.
He chuckles when he looks at me. “It’s strange we’ve never met, isn’t it, Your Highness? I’m at the palace every week, so you would think we’d have run into each other before now.”
My words stick in my throat. I was not prepared to come face-to-face with my opponent, especially not like this, when the whole reason I am here is because of him. What am I supposed to say? My entire life of training and preparing for diplomatic conversations has completely faded, leaving me with nothing but my own wits. Wits that have also abandoned me.
Grimstad does not seem to mind my silence, still smiling as he glances at the line behind him. “I don’t want to interrupt your meet-and-greet, but I wondered if you and I could talk when you’re done here. Candidate to candidate.”
I look at Elliot again, as if he has the answers.
He shrugs. “Up to you, Princess. I can arrange a meeting with Grimstad’s people if you accept.”
“Oh, I don’t have people.” Grimstad chuckles again and folds his arms. “It’s only me. I don’t need all this pomp and circumstance to get my point across. I suspect that’ll still be the case when I’m elected.”
He will not be elected if I have any say in the matter, and yet he seems convinced that my position will be his. Of all the arrogant, conceited, ridiculous notions… “I believe I should be done for the day, Mr. Reid,” I say and wave to those still in line. “Aleksander?” When my brother steps up to my side from the line of palace guards, I tell him, “If you could offer my apologies to those who have been waiting so patiently, I would be most grateful. Mr. Reid?”
With one final look at Grimstad, Elliot directs me past the guards standing at attention and to Britta’s inn, where she and some of her staff are ready to receive me. I go straight to my room, though I have to wait until one of the guards sweeps the room and ensures everything is as it should be. That only adds to my irritation over Grimstad’s arrogance,and though I wish to lie down and scream into a pillow, I move instead to the window and look out over the still-gathered crowd. Grimstad has joined the group surrounding Hex and seems to be charming them as easily as my brother did.
Does he think his victory is guaranteed?
“Princess?” Elliot stands in the doorway, hands behind his back as he watches me.
I sigh. “I wish you would not call me that.” At least it is better than calling me ‘Your Highness,’ which is a surefire way to remind me of my station. Of my inability to connect with my own people. “I have a name, and you might as well use it.”
“I could call you Fringe.”
I wince and turn back to the window to watch the easy way Grimstad interacts with the townspeople. “I would rather you did not.”
“Why do your brothers call you that, anyway?”
Memories of a terrible haircut from two decades ago flash through my head. I do not wish to revisit the way my fringe was cut far too high on my forehead and at a severe angle, but I know my brothers too well. If I do not tell Elliot the reason, one of them will.
Sighing, I pick up my phone from the desk and search for a picture. “In my defense,” I say once I have found one, “I was only twelve, and I did not choose the cut.” I wait until he comes closer, then hand him my phone.
To Elliot’s credit, he does not laugh despite the humor dancing in his eyes and a smile threatening to break free. “Yeah, I don’t think I can call you Fringe when it’ll make me think of that.”
