“I was referring to your opinion, Mr. Reid.”
“You asked for my opinion,” I counter.
“I…” Her eyes narrow, and she points a finger at my chin. “Keep your distance. Know your place. Be silent.” She continues down the hall but stops when I follow close behind, her exasperation clear in her voice as she turns to me again. “Mr. Reid, please.”
That’s not a word I expected from her, especially when I’ve ruffled her feathers. But if she thinks I’ll back off and pretend my protection is nothing but a formality, she’s in for disappointment. “My only job is to keep you safe, Princess. I’m going to do that to the best of my ability, and you may not like my methods. That’s fine, but it won’t change my plans. If I think there’s a threat, I expect you to do what I tell you.”
“I am to take orders from you, am I?” Her frustration settles deeper, leaving her seething. But I also sense a bit of appreciation in her eyes, though I’m going to guess she doesn’t want me to know she respects that I won’t be pushed around. She seems like the kind of person who needs to be in control and will not relinquish it easily.
I’ve dealt with enough soldiers who didn’t like to follow orders, and they all eventually fall in line. A princess shouldn’t be any different.
“Only when necessary,” I tell her, offering a smile. “Your Highness.”
She huffs and spins on her heel, marching down the hallway. I’m right behind her, my mind running over ways I can convince her to trust me. Derek’s right, and Freya and I need time to settle into things. But what he doesn’t know is that we don’thavetime, not with the election looming closer and an unexpected opponent on the rise. If Freya is going to trust me to keep her safe, she’s going to have to lower her walls and let me in.
Maybe, if I push her hard enough, she’ll do that sooner than later.
Chapter Three
Freya
“Wehavetalkedthistopic to death and recommend we move forward with more pressing matters.”
“I agree. A few rallies in the streets do not mean the government is under attack.”
“They are looking for attention. This younger generation is too influenced by the internet.”
“Precisely. Now, we need to discuss this year’s Celestial Ball…”
When the endless conversation moves to the annual ball, my focus shifts from the notes I have been taking on my tablet to the amphitheater in front of me, where the members of the House of Lords have convened for the weekly Parliament meeting. The tiered semi-circle of blue velvet-gilt chairs rises from my seat next to my mother at the base, and this position has always made me feel as if I am on display.
Today, however, the conversation has proceeded with little input from the queen, and I have gone mostly ignored. Apparently, political unrest in the weeks before I take my mother’s place is far too trivial a thing tobother the royal family, but the more I have heard, the more nervous I have become.
I am, to put it lightly, shocked by the abrupt shift in topic as the lords and ladies discuss the Celestial Ball. I have sat through more of these meetings than I can count, and somehow I have never noticed how thoroughly these men and women have distanced themselves from the rest of the country. I can admit I came into this meeting with a similar opinion to most of the assembly, namely that Markham Grimstad’s platform is not something we need to worry about, but now…
Looking back at my notes, taken from today’s short discussion as well as my own research, it is clear that more and more people are giving Grimstad their support, claiming that my family has lost sight of our people. They want change, even if that change means a shift in the way our government has been run for centuries. Candorans are out in the streets, rallying for Grimstad and demanding a reformation.
What I hoped would be an election easily won is quickly turning into an uncertainty I am not prepared for.
I sense Reid behind me, as he has been for the last several days, and I am certain he has grown more tense as the meeting has gone on. This is his first session, and every few minutes, he lets out a soft scoff or mutters something under his breath. He has, surprisingly, kept his opinions to himself this week, though he has yet to display any adherence to my wish for space. He is always right there, looming.
“What is your opinion, Your Highness?” someone asks.
I stopped paying enough attention and therefore have no idea who addressed me just now. But of the sixty people in the room, there are few who ever choose to address me specifically when my mother is next to me. Lady Branthorn is deep in whispered conversation with her mother, and Lord Velbrant, the executive lawyer of the House of Lords, is reading something on his tablet. That leaves the Duke of Rensvik, who is gazing at me fixedly.
Why could it not have been one of the other two? The duke has never been afraid to voice his opinions on my inability to lead a country and is one of the primary causes of the insecurity that I have never been able to overcome.
Sitting up straighter, I offer a nod of acknowledgment and berate myself for not remaining focused. My lack of attention will not soften his opinion of me. “Forgive me, but I do not—”
“He wants to know your thoughts on the ball,” Reid says, his voice low.
Heat washes over my face, but gratitude keeps full embarrassment at bay. “I do not think my opinion of a party would be an important use of our time,” I say coolly. “However, if you would like my thoughts on the growing unrest of our people, I would be happy to—”
“That is a topic better discussed in the Commons,” Rensvik says with a scoff. “We have already dismissed—”
“I was not finished speaking, Your Grace.” I narrow my eyes at the duke. “What I would have said before you interrupted was a remark on my desire to investigate how unhappy the people are and how much potential Markham Grimstad has to change the political climate of our country. As his platform directly opposes mine, you can see why that might take more of my attention than an annual ball.”
Mum clears her throat, disapproving, but several members of the House of Lords have turned their attention to me in surprise. I usually remain quiet, as I technically do not have any power until I take my mother’s place, and it seems most of the assembly cannot decide what to make of my sharp response.
