“Those who work beyond their standard hours receive appropriate compensation,” I say plainly.
Russo’s eyes narrow as he considers my suggestions. “While I appreciate the thought behind these proposals, Your Majesty and Mr. Prime Minister, I worry that they will not go far enough in addressing the underlying issues.”
But since it’s not a no, he’s clearly ready to negotiate. “Then let us work together to find a solution that meets the needs of everyone involved,” I counter, determined to prove my commitment to resolving this strike. “We’re open to discussing other options that will achieve our shared goals if you have any terms you’d particularly like to discuss.”
“It is more than just the money. It is the lengthy hours as well.”
“So you’re asking for more money and less working hours?” Fernando questions, not pleased with that at all.
“Sì. The financial and mental health of your workers should always be your top priority.”
“Mr. Russo, we understand the concerns of your workers,” I begin, unwilling to play his game. “We’re here to find a solution that benefits both the people of Messalina and the transportation industry.”
Russo’s eyes flicker with doubt, but he doesn’t interrupt. The silence in the room is heavy, even the ticking of the ornate clock seems to hold its breath.
“Prime Minister Fernando and I have discussed the issue at length,” I continue, my voice unwavering. “Right now, we propose a pay differential for overtime worked. If your employees are required to work more than thirty-four hours per week, they will receive increased compensation, effectively rewarding their dedication. Thirty-six hours is the national standard for a full-time employee, and I am unwilling to discuss changing that. This deal allows two hours of what willnow be considered overtime pay for them. This is the bargain we are offering and nothing else.”
Russo furrows his dark brow as his fingers drum rhythmically against the table. He’s trying to rattle me, but that’s not something I’m known for as a man or a leader, and I know he’s aware of that.
“All right, Your Majesty,” he finally concedes, offering a terse nod of approval. “That is a fair suggestion.”
“Excellent,” I reply, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. “I trust this plan will help alleviate the strain on your workforce while ensuring the smooth operation of our transportation systems, which will restart the moment the deal is done.”
“Indeed,” Russo agrees, standing up and extending his hand. We shake firmly, sealing our agreement. The tension in the room dissipates like the morning fog, replaced by a sense of cautious optimism. For once, the curse doesn’t seem to have touched this.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Russo,” I say before turning to leave the room, Fernando following close behind, only everything stops when I see a text from Rowan.
Rowan: Commander Lawrence is here. How long until you can return?
Me: On my way now.
“Your Majesty, your ability to remain composed and focused under pressure never ceases to impress me,” Fernando remarks, kissing my ass slightly as we walk together toward our waiting vehicles.
“Thank you, Fernando,” I reply with a smile, although my thoughts are already drifting back to the palace. “I take it you and your cabinet can handle this from here?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
We shake hands and I slip into the back of the SUV, telling Javier about our waiting guest. Upon returning to the palace, Ifind Rowan in the front courtyard looking pensive, his brow furrowed.
“Sorry to call you back early. Did you get the deal done?” he asks, and I nod. “Good. Commander Lawrence is waiting in your study. I haven’t asked him anything yet.”
Together, we make our way through the palace corridors, our footsteps echoing against the hard surfaces. As we approach my study, I steel myself for the conversation ahead. Answers, I hope, will be forthcoming.
“Take a breath, Rowan. If anything, this is what you’ve waited two decades for.”
He throws me a side-eye but otherwise doesn’t speak as we enter the room.
“Your Majesty, Prince Rowan.” The head of the royal guard, Sir Lawrence, greets us with a respectful bow as we enter the room. His expression is stoic, betraying no hint of emotion, but I’ve known the man my entire life. He was there the night our father was murdered. The night Desta was taken. I didn’t realize he was in charge back then. I was too young to care or think about it.
“Commander,” I acknowledge, shaking his hand as we all sit down, the fire blazing in the hearth. “Thank you for coming. What we’re here to discuss might seem…strange or out of place.”
He gives me a curious look. “Okay. Whatever you need from me, I’m here to help.”
“We’d like to ask you about the guard’s former assistant, Marie Elonaise. What can you tell us about her?”
Surprise meets his eyes. “Marie?” he questions, his gaze distant as if recalling a long-forgotten memory. “That’s going back a long way. I take it I am not to ask why you need this information.”
We don’t reply, but the message is clear, and he nods, sitting back in his chair, his posture stiff, ever the soldier.
