“As such,” I say, when no one offers up a reply, “I suggest we discuss how Grimstad poses a threat to some ofyourpositions if he manages to win the coming election, however unlikely. Again, more pressing of a topic than table arrangements, would you not agree?”
As the assembly dissolves into a buzz of murmurs, Reid coughs behind me, and I have my suspicions that he is covering a laugh. I shouldn’t smile, but I allow the smallest twitch of my lips. The soldier so rarely breaks that I feel a strange triumph for eliciting a reaction out of him, even if I still dislike his presence. He has, for the most part, followed my orders this week, so I cannot be fully angry with him.
“I think,” Mum says, silencing the room, “we should adjourn for the day, and I will see to it that we have a more thorough agenda for next week’s session. Thank you, Lords and Ladies of the House.” She stands, and the assembly stands with her. “Freya.”
Reluctantly, I follow her through the side door reserved for the monarch and into a private antechamber, anticipating her lecture.
“Freya,” she says with a sigh and takes the paracetamol her protection agent, Margo, has waiting for her. “If you are going to antagonize Rensvik, at least do it in private. You know the sway he holds over Lords.”
I wait until she is drinking water to roll my eyes, as she would not appreciate the gesture if she saw it. “Yes, well, I would not antagonize him if he would stop treating me like a child.”
“Rensvik is stuck in his ways. I fear he will always see you as the girl you were when you began attending these meetings with me.” At least I am not the only one who dislikes the duke’s strict adherence to tradition. Even my mother has not been able to sway some of his opinions, and I suspect it is because he believes a king should always have more power than a queen.
Unfortunately for the duke, no titles in Candora fall strictly to one gender or the other. Mum, as the daughter of the last king, is the ruling monarch. Despite being a king in title, Dad will always have less influence than she does.
“I wish you had not ended the meeting when you did,” I admit. “I have been watching some of Grimstad’s videos,and—”
“Mr. Reid,” Mum says, cutting me off. “Do you have any opinions from today’s session?”
I scoff, knowing my guard will speak freely now that he has been given permission. For some reason, my mother seems to think he has a useful perspective to give, though I cannot understand why. “Yes, do tell us.”
Reid, who kept himself back by the door, steps forward and nods to my mother without acknowledging my comment. “I can’t say I’m familiar with a lot of the politics yet, but I’d be curious to see what they talk about in the House of Commons.”
“We do not typically attend Commons,” Mum replies, offering a brief smile. “The people need a voice without sovereign influence, and anything of consequence is sent up to Lords in a quarterly memo.”
Reid’s jaw tightens as he briefly glances at me. “I wonder if you should let Grimstad, as Speaker of the House of Commons, attend Lords each week to balance things out more. Maybe he wouldn’t be so set on running for power if he felt he had a voice.”
“Says the man who admits to not understanding our politics,” I grumble. “I cannot wait to hear more of your thoughts.”
“Freya,” Mum says sharply. “If you cannot contain yourself, you are more than welcome to leave.” She gestures to the door, which means it is not an invitation. It is an order. The only reason I comply is because this could be my only moment to get a break from Reid’s constant hovering.
As I slip through the door, I meet Reid’s gaze long enough to see the worry in his eyes, which only fuels my desire to put some distance between us. I would have preferred he did not witness my mother treating me as a child rather than her successor, but I will accept this respite with my head held high.
I do not know where to go—Reid will inevitably find me, as he always does—but my feet take me outside to the courtyard and into the weak sunshine. A thin layer of clouds blankets the sky after the morning’s rain,leaving the world in a soft haze. But there is fresh air out here, and I have spent too much time in the castle of late.
I make it as far as the doors to the stable and garage before a palace guard blocks my path, his expression apologetic. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” he says, “but I can’t let you go beyond this point on your own.”
His orders could have come from anyone—Mum, Gregor, Reid—which makes it difficult to know where to place my ire. Obviously I know better than to venture out of the castle on my own, but I would have liked the choice.
Feeling trapped, I alter my course to the training grounds where several of the guards do their workouts and weapon training. I used to come here more often when I was younger, learning self-defense and archery, but my life has become a nonstop calendar of social events and political meetings. For the most part, I enjoy those things, but the last week has been stifling.
I blame Reid for the suffocating sensation that constantly follows me. Even if I wanted to take a trip into the city, I doubt he would allow it. He would say it is too dangerous until we know more about Grimstad’s supporters, but if I could talk to some of my people and understand their needs, I would have a better knowledge of what I need to do going forward into this election. I cannot get that from inside these walls.
Spotting my brothers among the palace guards, I find a seat on a wrought-iron bench to watch the sparring. Hex, as always, makes fighting look easy and has barely broken a sweat as he boxes with a fellow guard. His footsteps light and his body quick to move, he seems to float over the dirt as he dodges, punches, and kicks. Neither he nor his opponent are hitting hard enough to injure, but their skill is evident. Particularly Hex’s. I do not think I have seen him lose a fight in years.
Sander is much the same, though he has always had a quieter style, keeping to defense until he finds the right moment to strike. Most often,he manages to take his opponents down in only a few offensive moves. Where Hex’s skills and confidence are immediately obvious, people tend to underestimate Sander when they first meet him.
In truth, I have no idea which of them is the better fighter because they made a pact years ago to never go up against each other. Heaven help anyone who chooses to take them both on.
A thought sparks to life as I watch my brothers defeat their opponents almost at the same time, eliciting applause from their observers. Reid would never approve of a trip into town, and I would be foolish to go on my own. But I happen to know two incredibly skilled fighters who could keep me safe and would likely agree to my reasoning.
I need to know what the people want from me, and that is not something I can learn from inside a castle.
Freya:
I need a favor.
Hex:
