by Nina Levine
"Don't fuck this up."
I chuckled, picking up my wine and taking a long sip, considering him over the delicate glass. "Where is your faith, Patrick?"
He rolled his eyes before shrewdly considering the room. "We've been working towards this moment for ten years. We can't afford for you to cock it up at the final moment."
"And somehow, despite your overwhelming lack of confidence in my abilities, here we are." I gestured to the room at large. "Perhaps even you can admit I did good."
"Don't be an idiot, of course you've performed well." He shifted, straightening his suit jacket. "But this is just the start, Jon. The change you want requires sacrifices the likes of which you can't even imagine."
Oh, I can imagine.
It had been all I'd thought about for the last ten years as I sacrificed my morals and soul to get to this very moment.
Winning the election will make it all worth it.
Laughter from the Queen's table drew my attention. The Queen's smile met her eyes for perhaps the first time all evening.
A thread of desire worked its way through me, anticipation coiling.
The election will make it all worth it…. Or will she?
"You can't manipulate that one," Patrick commented quietly. "She's out of your league."
I cleared my throat, forcing my gaze away from our country's most dazzling jewel. "I don't plan on manipulating her."
He snorted into his wine glass.
I plan on marrying her.
Katherine
The Great Hall, Parliament House
I tried not to be distracted by the man across the room. Dinners like this could be tedious affairs filled with meaningless chit-chat and monotonous observations. I'd often find myself with a barnacle or two, the individuals in question clinging desperately to me as if I were where they would find salvation or meaning.
I am nothing but a face for a crown. A body that must become a vessel for the next generation.
Awareness simmered in my blood, the faint vibration of attraction licking at my skin as I made small talk with yet another table of candidates.
The waiters began to clear away the penultimate course, the signal for those seated at the table that it was to move on.
"Thank you so much for your time, Your Majesty," the older woman gushed enthusiastically. "I'll be sure to count on your vote at the election."
"I'm afraid I'm unable to vote, Ms. Green. It would be against the constitution for me to participate in something in which I must, rightly, remain impartial."
"Of course." She gave me a wink. "Impartial from your crown all the way to your wee little toes."
On the inside I bristled, frustrated by both her tone and condescension.
Do not question my loyalty or integrity, madam. In years gone by I'd have had your head.
The words, like so many others, burned like acid on the tip of my tongue, begging to be set free. And they, like every other, were swallowed back down, left to simmer and corrode in my belly.
"Your Majesty." The warm greeting elicited a primal response in me, desire heating my blood, my body clenching as I twisted, taking him in.
I noted with approval that he still wore his peripuni, the feathers fluttering gently as he bowed, waiting for me to grant permission for him to approach.
"Mr. Tuhana, please, take a seat."
Behind him the rest of the table began to follow, each curtseying or bowing until they had all been invited to sit.
I glanced at the clock on the far side of the dining room, mentally tallying the length of time it would take before I could escape. A headache had begun to build behind my right eye, a sure indication that I'd been exposed to far too much flash photography.
"Your Majesty? Coffee? Tea?" The senior waiter hovered at my elbow.
"Tea, peppermint if you have it. Also, if you could assist, I'd love if you could ask my assistant to call Thompson about the fountain. I quite forgot to do it today and it needs to happen tonight. She'll know what I'm asking for."
"Of course!" The waiter bowed, obviously thrilled to be of assistance. I wouldn't burst his bubble by telling him there was no fountain, the direction was a cleverly veiled code that indicated I needed some ibuprofen, quickly.
Experienced waiters refilled glasses and took coffee or tea orders then slipped away, leaving me with the final candidates.
I looked around the table taking stock of each of the faces before me. Conservatives and progressives were purposefully intermingled, a ploy on my behalf in an attempt to encourage bipartisanship. My biggest fear remained polarization of ideals, that our political system would become so corroded, so infested with personality and ego rather than integrity and community that we disintegrated into infighting.
Not on my watch.
I raised my wine glass, which had been filled throughout the night with sparkling water, offering the table a welcoming smile. "To the election. May the Gods be with you as you serve our people."
"And you," the table echoed, glasses clinking.
While we all drank, I considered the table, weighing who would be the best to engage first, who would guide the others to interact, who would be a problem, who I'd need to encourage.
A lifetime of training had gifted me with the ability to assess people with one glance. Rarely did they surprise me these days, and yet here I sat, surprised when it was not Mr. Tuhana who started the conversation but the meek Ms. Laney Hazelwood, an Independent.
"My Queen, you sent two bills back for debate—a virtually unheard of event. Do you expect to do the same with the new government?"
I caught sight of Victoria making her way to our table, moving in time to intersect the waiter carrying our dishes. In a practiced move she'd slip my pain medication onto the plate so when I lifted them to my lips no one would be the wiser.
A queen must never show weakness. That particular lesson had been drilled into me following my father’s funeral. Where my father had been praised for his vulnerability, I was scorned.
A woman cannot show emotion.
"A good question, Ms. Hazelwood. But one I'm afraid I can't answer. The circumstances of those two bills have little bearing on those brought to me in the future. I consider each on its own merit. But if you are asking will I continue this practice of returning them to the parliament, then the answer is yes. Every motion, every bill, every decision must be weighed against the good of the people. If I am not persuaded that it is the best option then I will return it for further work."
"Doesn't that overstep the role of monarch?" Ms. Hazelwood's companion asked, his expression dark and judging.
What the devil is his name? George? Geoff? Jim? Something like that. Either way, I don't like him.
"I quite think the role of the monarch is to unify. Unlike our British cousins, I'm honour bound to interject in the political sphere when the needs of the people aren't being met. Rarely has that been the case, but the recent introductions and overwhelming objection from the populace issued in the form of protests guided my decisions."
The man's lips twisted into a thin line and something glinted in his eye.
The waiter placed my dessert in front of me, the pills strategically hidden in the form of a dinner mint that had been added to the plate.
Gods bless, Victoria.
"Please," I reached for my spoon. "Let's eat."
I spooned a mouthful of the rich panna cotta, savouring the taste for a moment as the table began to eat. Temporarily distracted by their meal, I unwrapped my pain medication, quickly slipping it into my mouth and taking a sip of the sparkling water to down them.
They'd kick in quickly and I'd be able to get through the rest of tonight, and perhaps, sleep later.
I turned to the woman seated on my left, opening my mouth to ask after her son when Jim-Geoff-George interrupted, calling my attention back.
"You say you're guided by the protests, but what happens if you ignore them?"
I suppressed a frustrated sigh, ignor
ing the tickle of annoyance at his question.
"I believe that would be to my detriment. Many a leader has ignored the calls of their people only to find themselves no longer in a leadership position." I smiled, attempting to close the conversation. "Thankfully, I'd say our country is rational enough to settle our differences by words rather than violence."
I twisted, turning to Mrs. Helen Johnson. "Now, Mrs. Johnson, you must tell me how your son is doing. I hear he's attending Oxford now?"
"Death to the Monarch!"
From the corner of my eye, Geoff-Jim-George pulled a knife from his jacket, shoving up from the table.
Oh, fuck.
My training kicked in. Already in motion, I rocked back on my chair, tipping it over. I tucked my head then rolled backward, cartwheeling until my feet hit the ground, allowing me to spring up, arms at the defensive.
The man advanced, the knife waving wildly as diners scrambled and my bodyguards fought through the crowd, struggling to get to my side.
They're not going to make it.
The knife-wielding extremist was far too close.
Focus, Kit. Today is not your day to die.
He advanced one step, then another, leaping towards me with a swing. I dipped, the knife slicing through the air where my body had just been.
Look for a weakness, keep out of reach, stay alive until the guards arrive.
I pulled back as he made to swing again. Just as he drew his arm back, an almighty roar echoed through the room and a blur of movement distracted him. Jonathan, his head dropped and shoulders braced, charged at the knife-wielding lunatic.
The extremist whirled, attempting to scare Jonathan off with his knife but he was far too late. Jonathan caught him around the waist, lifting him into the air, then slamming him down in a full body crash. The knife skittered across the floor, and I dove, scrambling to snatch it before the man could do further damage.
Jonathan reared back, his fist pounding into the man's face, his expression fierce as blood splattered, dotting clothes, table cloths and skin.
And I thought a headache was the worst part of this day.
Bodyguards arrived a moment later, pulling Jonathan from the man, as others pinned Geoff-Jim-George, shoving his bleeding face to the floor and handcuffing him as he continued to call for my death.
A single thought penetrated the shock surrounding me.
If he'd succeeded, I'd have been the first heirless monarch to die in over three hundred years.
I swallowed, turning away from the arrest, straightening my clothing, and patting my hair.
No weakness. No weakness. You may break later, Kit. Now you need to be Queen.
With a deep breath I yanked on my emotions, forcing them into a box and locking it tight.
Today I must be less than a woman and more than a queen. I must be warrior and justice, vengeance and peace. I must be all equally if I'm to prevent this from escalating.
"Your Majesty, are you hurt?"
The gentle voice had me turning, a smile painted on my face.
"I'm fine, Victoria. Thank you." I threw back my shoulders, my peripuni sliding back slightly, settling into place. "Good. Then let's check on the guests. I imagine the police will be here shortly, no doubt the media following hot on their heels. I don't want any misinformation spread about my welfare."
She nodded, her face pale behind her large glasses. "Of course. They're moving them into side rooms. They all need to be interviewed, statements taken and what-not before they can leave."
"Are you alright?" I asked, reaching over to brush a stray petal from her lapel.
She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. "Yes, I mean, no. But yes. He saved you. Jonathan. He looked like… like…."
Like a warrior.
"Come, Victoria," I swept past her, straightening my shoulders, and lifting my head, determined to present a picture of health and calm. "Let's see to our guests."
Jonathan
The Great Hall, Parliament House
Hours had passed since the attack but still adrenaline surged through my veins, my body alert to any potential attack.
As a young man I'd been a soldier, serving my country in wars created by men I'd never met. I'd lost friends; brothers, and sisters whose blood I still carried on my skin.
"Well, if that doesn't win you the election, I don't know what will," Patrick remarked, leaning against the wall beside me.
I shot him a side glance, then turned back to watch the guests as they mingled. For the majority, the adrenaline had worn off. Between the police taking statements, the waitstaff handing out drinks, food and blankets, and the Queen making sure she spoke to each and every attendee, they'd begun to process the shock.
"The first exclusive interview with a guest has finally hit the news," Patrick remarked, playing with his phone. "They must have started releasing the guests." He laughed, still scrolling through his phone. "The Queen issued a formal statement immediately after the incident and another just now. Do you think they have that kind of thing pre-prepared?"
I ignored him, my gaze on the woman standing with a group of teary-eyed strangers offering them comfort.
"You're playing well in the media. They're calling you a hero. We can use this. I'm seeing an ad campaign around—"
"Patrick?"
"Mm?"
"Shut the fuck up."
His mouth snapped close, his head bowing as he continued to scroll through his news feed.
The Queen produced tissues, handing them to a distraught woman and offering her a gentle hug.
"Oh, that's a good shot."
I turned, seeing Patrick snap a photo of the moment.
"Patrick!"
"Nope." He held up a finger, shaking it at me. "You employed me to be your campaign manager. I'm doing what I do best— campaigning. Don't shoot me for being the political powerhouse that will win you that coveted position."
I ground my teeth together, too full of fire and fury to remain near him a moment longer.
"I'll be in the garden. Call if they want me."
I craved the freedom of sky and stars, cold air on my face and the earth under my feet, needing the connection to the land to rid me of this terrible raging fear.
Outside I found silence and stillness, yet was still unable to find my calm.
He tried to kill her. To slit her throat. He wanted blood and destruction and not one person stood between them. If she hadn't rolled….
The door on the far side of the garden opened, a woman stepping out into the cool air.
My Queen.
"Please," Katherine said, holding a hand out to halt someone behind her. "I just need a moment."
"We need to clear the garden, ma'am."
She sighed. "If I stay within arm’s distance of the door, will you allow me a moment? The only way to get into the garden would be through this door or via grappling hooks from above. You've already swept it once. Please, Alec. I need a moment."
I stepped forward, clearing my throat, Alec immediately palmed his gun, his hand sweeping Katherine back behind him.
"I'm the only one here," I said with a shrug. "If Your Majesty doesn't mind the company, I wouldn't be opposed to remaining out here for a few moments more."
Alec considered me; his face impassive. "You're the one who wrestled the radical."
My lips twisted into a half smile. "Yeah. Learned that one in Turkey."
Alec relaxed, glancing around the garden. "You sure you're alone?"
"Yep."
"Ma'am?"
Katherine eyed me, her expression blank. After a long moment she turned to Alec.
"I'll be fine. Stay close. I just need a few minutes of fresh air."
He nodded, sent a meaningful glance my way, then moved back inside, shutting the door.
"Mr. Tuhana?"
"Yes, my Queen?"
"Will you turn around please? I understand you need to look after me but I want a moment alone."
I nodded, turning s
lowly even though I was loathed to do so.
In the quiet of the night I heard her move, her feet light as she shifted through the space, then settled, falling silent.
For a long moment we neither moved nor spoke, the only sounds coming from the road on the far side of the building, and the soft sounds that accompanied the night.
"I owe you a debt, Mr. Tuhana."
"Jonathan," I corrected, keeping my back to her. "Please. Or Jon."
She paused, as if surprised by my request.
"Alright. I owe you a debt, Jon. And while a Prime Ministership is beyond even my capability to give you, I'd like to offer you a favour. You need only say what you wish and if it is within my power then I'll try to grant it."
My heart hammered through my chest, the pounding reminded me of the drums my ancestors used to signal war.
"May I approach?"
"Yes."
I pivoted on my heel, closing the few lengths to her.
She sat on a stone bench, her spine curved, her expression tired and guarded.
"I have only one wish, my Queen."
Something passed over her face, something fearful yet excited.
"Speak, warrior."
I leaned in, bending until my mouth sat parallel to her ear, ensuring that she would hear every word I uttered.
"As the warrior who saved your life, I ask for the right to invoke the akaternok ah yalonel."
She sucked in a breath, pulling away from me, surging to her feet.
"You can't! You're to be Prime Minister. You're unable to be both."
I stepped forward, closing the gap between us. "For you? I'd resign. If you accept my right then I'll do it, I'll step away. I'll fall into line. I'll do whatever you bid."
Her gaze raked my face. "But why?"
I suppressed a smile, shifting back as I heard the door behind us open. "Accept and I'll tell you."
Her assistant called to her from the doorway. "My Queen, the police are ready for you."
She stared at me for a moment longer, then turned, brushing past me.
"Speak to Victoria, she'll organise a private dinner for later this week. We'll discuss your request then."
