“Just watch, Your Highness,” he says, leaning back. “And listen closely.”
His tone is much too grave for the occasion.What’s going on?
The video continues. I scrutinize it, searching for something, anything that might explain Carlo’s solemnity. The men and women are laughing, talking, a typical night out. As the tape rolls on, their conversation grows more animated, the gestures more emphatic. But nothing jumps out at me.
Then, Henri—my Henri—joins the group in the booth and orders a drink.
Once the server leaves, the oldest, barely older than a college student, raises his glass. “To the revolution that will transform Mount Evor into a republic!”
The others echo his toast, their voices hushed but brimming with youthful fervor.
My world begins to spin as I piece together the implications of what I’m hearing. The toasts continue, each one a dagger to my heart.
“Down with the monarchy!” a young woman murmurs.
Another one goes, “Archaic institutions belong in the dustbin of history!”
Then, to my utter horror, Henri raises his glass. “To the Republic!” His face is earnest, his voice clear and committed.
In the dimly lit booth, the group’s conversation takes an impassioned turn.
The oldest leans forward, his muffled voice tinged with conviction. “It’s a great social injustice when power is hereditary, handed down, regardless of merit.”
“Exactly,” another young man chime in. “There’s nothing right with undue influence and undeserved privileges. Why should we tolerate them in the name of tradition?”
“We shouldn’t tolerate them in the name of anything, not even national unity and cohesion,” a young woman says, banging a fist on the table.
She’s barely eighteen—and already so angry!
“Give me one good reason why we should continue to uphold such an outdated system,” another youth intervenes. “We want a republic where leaders are chosen for their abilities, not their lineage. No one should govern based on birthright!”
Henri nods. “It’s time for change.”
Oh no, Henri!
My heart pounds as I watch, hoping against hope for some redeeming context. But Henri and his rebel group give me none. Their gestures big and their voices muffled, each adds to the chorus of discontent. The air in the booth is charged with the energy of their ideals, a collective yearning for a future shaped by fairness and meritocracy, a shared vision of a transformed Mount Evor freed from… my family.
I keep watching, frozen and increasingly detached, as Henri’s words echo in my head.
The leader speaks again, “Let us swear that we won’t rest until our goal is achieved! We want the royals deposed and Mount Evor proclaimed a republic.”
Henri, along with the others, swears the oath.
Carlo pauses the video. I can barely breathe, let alone speak. So, I just sit there, stunned, my world turned upside down, struggling to process what I’ve just seen.
Finally, I turn to Carlo. “When did this meeting take place? How did you get this tape?”
“Just a few days ago, Your Highness.” He closes the laptop with a soft click. “The technicalities of how MESS got the recording are not important right now. What matters is what you just saw.”
“What is this group?”
“A bunch of bored gilded youth, college and grad students from the country’s most affluent families,” he replies. “Some aristocratic.”
“Who’s their leader?”
“A baron’s youngest son.”
“And Henri de Bellay is part of it?” I whisper, disbelief coloring my voice.
