“So it seems.” I kiss her and we all pile out of the SUVs.
“Go fix the country,” she tells me. “I’ll help Margarite whip up something for lunch for everyone.”
“You’re the queen. You don’t have to do that.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I like to. Don’t take away all my fun.”
Rowan and Javier start talking as they head inside. I’d like nothing more than to join them, but Emily intercepts me.
“Sir, the prime minister is here. He is waiting for you in the gold parlor.”
I grumble under my breath. “How long has he been here?”
“Not long,” she tells me. “But I believe he feels a strike so soon after his election doesn’t speak well for him as a leader.”
“No. I suppose it doesn’t. Then again, he is only half the leader of Messalina, so I won’t let him get into too much trouble.”
She gives me a wry grin. “Coffee?”
“God, yes. Please.”
I head into the palace and wind my way across the first floor to what has been termedthe gold parlor, simply because most of the furnishings, along with the wallpaper, are, well, gold in color. It’s one of my least favorite rooms here, but it is where a lot of state business is conducted, and it’s been this way since my great-great-grandfather’s reign.
“Your Majesty,” Prime Minister Fernando says, standing and bowing when I enter the room. “I trust you enjoyed your time away?”
I don’t know Fernando all that well. He’s older and gentle and softly spoken. Everything Samil wasn’t. He owned half the olive farms on the southern Italian border before handing them over to his son. Thus far, he’s been a thousand times easier to work alongside than Samil, but I have yet to get a good read on the type of leader he is and will be.
“Indeed, I did, Fernando,” I reply, shaking his hand. “Only I wish it had been a few days longer, but a country waits for no man and does not care about family holidays.”
“Unfortunately not, sir. The transportation workers are unhappy about the number of hours they have to work.”
We each take our seats, and Emily comes in with a tray of coffee, mugs, and pastries and exits.
“So I’ve been told.” I fix myself a coffee and take a sip as Ilean back against the stiff sofa. “What are their main concerns? Overwork? Unsafe conditions? Unfair wages?”
“Mainly the long hours without proper compensation for the overtime, Your Majesty. They feel that working more than thirty-six hours per week is too much, and it’s affecting their health and well-being.”
A typical workweek in Messalina is thirty-six hours, which isn’t uncommon in the EU.
“And how many hours are they generally working at the moment?”
There is a knock on the door, and Althea comes in.
“Sorry for the delay. I was gathering all the briefing details on the strike.”
“Not at all. Please, join us.”
Althea comes in and takes a seat at the nearby table, setting up her laptop and handing me some papers to glance over. Most of these were emailed to me overnight, so I’m pretty familiar with them.
“They are working roughly forty to forty-two hours a week.”
“All right.” I swipe my finger along my bottom lip as I think. “Clearly, we must find a way to address their concerns without compromising the efficiency of our transportation system. Have any proposals been put forth?”
“None that have gained traction, Your Majesty,” Fernando admits a bit sheepishly. “My office has met with the head of the transportation union, who was less than thrilled with what was offered. Many fear that decreasing the hours will lead to a shortage of workers and delays in transportation.”
“That’s what was proposed? Fewer hours?”
Fernando nods and I hold in my ire at that. It’s required for the prime minister to assume all roles and responsibilities in my absence if there is no sitting regent. Since Rowan was with us, the prime minister was in full charge as it says in ourconstitution. However, he could have spoken with me prior to offering something so useless.
