She is elegance personified. She’s wearing a dress made of ivory silk and she looks as perfect as a wedding cake topper.
“What do I call your grandmother?” I whisper.
“Her Royal Highness,” Stellan whispers.
He leads me right up to the people gathered in the circle. Without a word, the circle widens, leaving a gap forus to step through. Her Royal Highness is just finishing a story and several people laugh.
She looks right at me, her face creasing ever so slightly. I can feel her gaze as it traces down to where I cling to her grandson’s hand. She cocks an eyebrow, looking at Stellan.
“Should we go somewhere more private?” she asks him.
Stellan grips my hand harder. “Why would we? I just wanted to introduce you all formally.” He turns to me. “Margot Keane, this is Her Royal Highness, the Queen Dowager. And right beside her is Prime Minister Finley, the Prime Minster.” They each lower their heads for the barest second. “Everyone, this is Margot. My girlfriend.”
Every pair of eyes within hearing distance is suddenly on me. Every drop of blood in my whole body rushes to my cheeks.
“Hello,” I say softly. “It’s a pleasure.”
Prime Minister Finley clears his throat. “Girlfriend, you say?”
Her Royal Highness fastens her gaze on me. “I suggest we withdraw to somewhere we can speak alone, Stellan.”
Stellan gives everyone a bland smile. “We are perfectly fine,Momse. Thank you. Actually, I promised Margot that we could head to another engagement as soon as she had formally met you.”
The expression of astonishment mixed with a frosty anger looks right at home on her face. “I would speak with you in private?— “
That’s the moment that I hear the first angry shout. I whip my head around and see a few of people wearing all red coming into the ballroom.
“Danmark ønsker frihed!” one cries, raising a fist in the air. The others shout in support.
“Frihed fra tyranni!”
“Frihed!”
My eyes widen and my jaw drops. They are protesting. Worse, they are protestingus.
I look at Stellan, who instinctively steps in front of me. “What are they saying?”
“Afskaffe monarkiet!” another one screams.
Stellan’s face is stony as he watches the protestors as a swarm of security guards moves in to surround them. “They’re calling for freedom from tyranny. I assume that they are Red-Green Party protestors, calling for the abolishment of the monarchy.”
I turn back and look at the protestors, my face going beet red. Though I’ve been too wrapped up in Stellan lately to be a rabble-rouser, I have been in their shoes. I’ve even been to Red-Green Party meetings.
How am I on the other side of the issue now? My heart starts beating at a frenzied pace.
Am I turning my back on the issues I once so cared about?
A bodyguard materializes out of nowhere.“Vi må flytte dig et andet sted, Prins Stellan.”
He starts to corral Stellan, who has a good four inches on him. “Vi tager afsted,” Stellan says. “Come on, Margot.”
I allow myself to be hustled out of the ballroom while the protestors are being herded out the opposite side. One of the protestors throws a balloon filled with red paint, which bursts against the doorway just as I pass under it.
Red paint falls on my head and the back of my dress, but Stellan shelters me from most of the fallout.
“Rend mig i røven!” he mutters. “Fuck! We have to go. Come on, let’s get out of here before the press gets wind of the protest.”
Still stunned, I let him lead me down the back stairway and to a waiting car.
