Royal Arrangement #6

by Renna Peak

  “Great. Then let’s go.”

  He only stands there, nodding, until I pull him by the hand to the door.

  William and I walk through the empty corridors of the palace. The quiet is almost eerie. At this time of day—and especially with a coronation happening this evening—the palace should be a hive of activity. Instead, it’s silent.

  I find myself hoping that the staff have returned home and are sitting with their families. Though I’d love the counsel of every citizen right now, I know there isn’t much else that can be done. My brother can’t be forced into giving up the throne any more than I can take it by force. We can only hope that the plan we’ve put in place will work—that Reginald’s vanity will be his downfall.

  We finally make it to the entrance of the palace, and we leave. The guards from Montovia follow us closely behind. There are Royal Guardsmen out here, too—but it looks like the palace is missing at least three quarters of the usual number.

  It isn’t until we walk down the driveway and round the exit that we see why.

  The streets are filled with protesters—some with Royal Guard uniforms on. And many of them are holding up signs.

  Don’t send my children to die in your war.

  No one agreed to war.

  Rosvalians for peace.

  I don’t hesitate, and I don’t wait for William. I take a sign from the woman standing near the gates, and I join the crowd.

  William

  As soon as Justine grabs a sign, I grab one as well. People are only too happy to shove more our way, and I take one without even bothering to read what it says. I follow Justine into the crowd.

  I can’t believe how many people are here—I didn’t realize there were enough people in the city to pack the streets like this. A few people step aside when they recognize Justine and me, allowing us through, but mostly we’re jostled from every side, caught up in the press of people. Everyone is shouting and waving their signs, and to the right, someone begins a chant: “No war! No war! No war!”

  After a couple of weeks of working side by side with these people, I’m not surprised by their spirit or their dedication to their country—they’re proud, resilient, and willing to fight for themselves. And I couldn’t be prouder to be standing among them now.

  I keep my hand on Justine’s waist as we move through the people. Even though she doesn’t want me to treat her any differently now that she’s pregnant, I can’t help but feel protective of her right now. Even if the protest is peaceful, there’s always a danger when this many people are pressed together. Thankfully, she doesn’t try to pull away from me.

  Over the cheering and the chanting, I hear someone call my name. I twist around, wondering if I’ve imagined it, and then I see Marcell and his wife, waving us over. I squeeze Justine’s arm and point to them, and she nods. Together, we weave through the street until we found ourselves next to our friends.

  “Glad to see you two made it back safely,” says Marcell. “Glad indeed. We were worried about you.” He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Nasty business with those mines.”

  “Glad to see you safe, too,” I say.

  “For now, anyway.” He glances past me to Justine. “Though it’s good for morale, having you two out here. Knowing there’s at least a couple members of the royal family on our side.”

  “It might not do any good,” Justine says. “My brother won’t listen to me.”

  “Then we keep protesting until he does,” Marcell says, nodding as if that settled it. “That’s all there is to it.”

  Neither Justine nor I comments on that—we both know what Reginald is capable of, and despite the fact that stirring up a few protests was part of our plan, we know what a risk this is, too.

  A roar goes up from one end of the crowd, and we all twist around to look, but it’s impossible to see what’s going on over the heads of all the people.

  “Here,” Marcell says, tugging at my arm. He gestures toward the street lamp beside us, which has a relatively large concrete base—wide enough for a couple of people to stand on. He gestures for Justine and me to climb up.

  I go first, and when I have my balance, I help Justine up beside me. We grip the street lamp and look out over the sea of protesters.

  The doors to the palace have opened. A dozen members of the Royal Guard filter out, flanking Reginald. If I thought Justine’s brother dressed pompously before, it’s nothing next to what he’s wearing now. He’s clothed in silk and velvet from his neck down to his shoes, and there are so many silver embellishments that he seems to shine in the sun. He wears an ornately embroidered sash across his chest, and a couple of decorative swords hang at his waist. Even the sling on his arm has been replaced with one of dark velvet.

  He certainly didn’t take very long to embrace the role of king, did he?

  He looks as smug as ever, but his usual sneer is gone as he looks out at the crowd. I’m too far away to read his expression any better than that, but I don’t have to—I can only imagine how he feels, seeing how many people have showed up at his palace to protest his and his father’s actions.

  He stops only three steps down, then raises his good hand as if he expects silence. Instead, the crowd’s shouting and jeers grow even louder, and a number of people start booing. Reginald’s countenance breaks, his mouth turning down into a scowl when he realizes his citizens won’t obey him. His mouth moves—he must be speaking—but I can’t hear him over the screaming of the people in the streets.

  He makes another gesture, this time to the guards around him. They fan out, shouting at the crowd, trying to quiet them. But that only encourages everyone. Even those around us, who probably can’t see what’s going on, are caught up in the energy, shouting and booing. Marcell’s yells alone are loud enough to deafen me.

  Reginald’s face gets darker and darker, and his anger is plain, even from this distance. His eyes scan the crowd, fury clouding his expression, and I can tell the exact moment he sees Justine and me because he visibly starts.

  We’ve done it now, I think. Any chance we had of peacefully persuading Reginald to give up the crown is gone now. We’ve chosen our side, made a public stand against him. And he’s not going to forget it.

  For a moment, I wonder if I should pull Justine down and escape with her deeper into the crowd. When her brother is this furious, who knows what he’s capable of? He may be seconds away from ordering his guards to capture us and throw us into the dungeon.

  Before he can say a word, though, I see something go flying through the air, launched by someone in the crowd. I’m too far and it’s too small to make it easily identifiable, but it soars through the air from the street over the palace’s wrought iron fence, arcing toward Reginald. He doesn’t seem to notice it, not until it’s too late. It lands on his boot, splattering against the shiny leather. He looks down in shock.

  Whatever it was, it was definitely some sort of soft vegetable. For a moment, everyone seems to be stunned. Even the crowd quiets slightly, waiting to see what happens next.

  And then another vegetable flies through the air. Reginald is still looking down at his boot, and he doesn’t see it coming. It hits him on the side.

  His head snaps up, and he appears to shout something, but it’s too late—another projectile flies through the air. Then another. They start coming from all different parts of the crowd—vegetables, shoes, and some other unidentifiable objects of a similar size. Reginald shouts again and throws his good arm across his face, trying to protect himself. He stumbles back up the stairs, toward the safety of the palace.

  Part of me wants to laugh at his humiliation. Another part of me, though, is suddenly terrified.

  “We need to get out of here,” I shout to Justine. “Now.” This is about to get really ugly.

  Justine looks at me in surprise, but she doesn’t argue when I jump down from the lamppost and help her down, too. I turn to Marcell.

  “We need to leave,” I tell him. “You, too. Let’s get out of h
ere.”

  “Why?” Marcell asks, frowning behind his thick beard.

  I don’t even need to answer him. The angry shouts at the front of the crowd have turned to shrieks. I don’t know what Reginald ordered his guards to do—or what they may have decided to do all on their own—but the moment that first vegetable flew through the air, all bets were off.

  I tug Justine through the sea of people, away from the palace. As the shouts behind us grow louder, others decide to do the same, turning and running as we are. Still others continue to press forward, trying to see what’s going on.

  I grip Justine’s hand tightly. My first and only priority is to get her out of here safely. But as I’m trying to pull her around the corner, down a side street, we’re suddenly being pushed by people on all sides. Her fingers slip out of mine.

  “Justine!” I shout, twisting around.

  I already can’t see her—there are too many people, and Justine isn’t tall enough to spot among a crowd of this size.

  “Justine!” I shout again.

  If she hears me, I don’t hear her response. I push back through the crowd, but there are too many people coming this way now. And many of them are panicking.

  “Justine!”

  I can’t see her anywhere. God, if something happened to her…

  I charge back into the crowd, my heart thudding against my ribs. No matter what it takes, I’m going to find her.

  Justine

  I turn, looking for William, but the crowd is too thick. People are beginning to panic, and the air is filled with terrified screams.

  I push closer to the gates, craning my neck to get a look at the palace steps, trying to see if my brother has really run like a coward from the protesters.

  As I near the gates, I can see a few of the Royal Guard have linked arms and are trying to form a barricade. People are still throwing items—I think I just saw a shoe fly overhead—and the guards are doing what they can to keep my brother and the palace safe.

  I’m not sure where William has gone, but I know I need to see Reginald.

  The guardsmen don’t even flinch as I walk up to them. “Allow me through.”

  Again, nothing. They don’t even make eye contact with me.

  “I am Princess Justine, and I demand you let me into my home.” A banana hits me on the side of my head—perhaps the crowd is beginning to turn on me, too.

  None of them move at all—they just stand at their posts, blocking entry through the gates, probably as my brother directed them to do.

  If I can’t get in through the main gate, I’ll have to think of something else.

  The secret passages. There are a few ways in and out of the palace through the tunnels—I just have to figure out how to get to one of them.

  I make my way to the opposite end of the palace grounds, weaving in and out of the protesters as I go. I’m hit a few times by other vegetables—a tomato has soiled my shirt—but I don’t let it stop me. I’m nearly to the west end of the palace grounds—I’ll have to get to the back somehow. There’s a broken gate near the stables—it’s the same one William and I used when we escaped the last time. If I can make it there—

  As if out of nowhere, one of the Royal Guard grabs me. “Trespasser!”

  I struggle to get myself out of his grasp. “I’m not a trespasser. This is my home. I am Princess Justine—”

  I’m interrupted by a thud, and I see the man’s head arch to the side before he falls to his knees, releasing me.

  “Justine!” William edges around the guard with his friend Marcell in tow. “I was…I was… We have to get out of here.” He throws a glance over his shoulder at the injured guard. “Now.”

  He takes me by the hand and we run to the end of the grounds, scurrying around the west side of the palace.

  William hunches over for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “We can’t be separated again like that. It isn’t safe.”

  I give Marcell a polite nod and a tight-lipped smile before turning back to William. “I think I know my way around the city. I was perfectly safe, at least until that guard—”

  “Your blouse…” He shakes his head, and his eyes widen. “Are you bleeding?”

  I look down at the stain for a moment. “It was a tomato. I’m fine, I assure you.” I look over my shoulder at palace. “I need to get inside. I have to speak to Reginald.”

  “I don’t think that’s a great idea. Marcell was just telling me he knows a way we can get out of here—”

  “I’m not running from this, William. Not today. After this…melee, I think my brother might be a little more amenable to speaking to me. And I’m not going to let this chance pass me by.”

  “Justine.” William’s gaze narrows. “It is not safe for you in there. It isn’t safe for either of us.”

  “I realize that. I do. But I also realize that I can’t do anything else.” I pull his hand into mine. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this.”

  William gives Marcell a sidelong glance before turning his gaze to mine. “We’re coming with you then.”

  Marcell nods in agreement. “Yes, we’re coming with you.”

  “Fine.” I glance between the two men, dropping William’s hand. “We’re going to have to go in the way we did before.” I look over at Marcell. “I hope you aren’t afraid of getting a little dirty.”

  “Me?” The man gives me a jolly laugh. “Never.”

  “Okay. Then let’s go.” I lead the men around the fence that faces the city, and we head to the back of the palace grounds.

  As I suspected, nothing has been fixed from when we were here before. I turn to William and Marcell. “If they sealed off the passageways—”

  “Then we’ll think of something else.” William smiles. “Considering how much effort your family put into repairs after the storm, I have a strong suspicion that sealing off those tunnels was about the last thing they were thinking about.”

  “Me, too.” I try to return his smile, but my chest is tight with fear. Even if we do somehow manage to make it into the palace, there’s a strong chance my brother will have us dragged to the dungeon. With the kind of mood he’s in today, I wouldn’t put anything past him.

  William motions for me to enter the shed where we exited the last time. “After you, Princess. You know your way around those tunnels a hell of a lot better than either of us.”

  I nod, turning to go into the shed. It’s only then that I realize I have no flashlight this time—no way of illuminating the pitch-black passageways at all. It’s going to be a long, slow, and dark journey. And that’s if my family didn’t have the tunnels sealed.

  As I open the door, Reginald almost knocks me over—he was nearly in a full sprint.

  “Wha-what are you doing here?” His voice is cracking, and if I didn’t know better, I would swear he was holding back a sob. He’s cradling his casted hand—his velvet sling has torn and is hanging in tatters around his neck. His purple silk and velvet suit has stains of various colors all over it, marks from the produce our citizens were throwing during their protests.

  “I could ask the same of you.” My brow furrows. “I should ask the same of you. What are you doing out here? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your coronation?”

  He bites his lip, looking first at me, then over at William, and glancing at Marcell before turning back to me. “I-I can’t talk about this here. Not in front of him.”

  I frown. “Fine. Then let’s talk in there.” I motion inside the shed.

  William takes a step toward me. “I’m not leaving you alone with him. No. Way.”

  I look between the two men. If I’m being honest, the thought of being alone with my brother is somewhat terrifying—he didn’t seem afraid to injure me when we were standing outside the library at Yale. In fact, I was certain he was going to throw me down the steps at one point during that confrontation.

  “William is right, Reginald. You haven’t exactly been gentlemanly in the past several weeks
—”

  “Try past forever.” William shakes his head. “I will never allow you—”

  “There’s no one here now, Reginald.” I look at my brother for a long moment. “Anything you might say to me, you can say in front of either of these two men. I trust them with my life. I have trusted them with my life.”

  My brother’s gaze only narrows, and he says nothing.

  “You used the tunnels to try to escape?” I wait for his reply, but none is forthcoming. “Where were you planning to go?”

  Reginald’s lower lip quivers the slightest bit. “I-I hadn’t thought about it. I only needed to get out of the palace. It was getting…unbearable in there.”

  “It’s been unbearable in there since the day I arrived.” William lifts a brow. “What were you going to do? It isn’t like the new King of Montovia can just go prancing about the continent wherever and whenever he pleases.”

  Reginald looks first at me, then over at William. “If I am king, I can do anything I want—”

  “But you can’t,” William interrupts. “The protests outside your doors didn’t teach you anything? You have to answer to your citizens. You have to act in their best interests every single day—every single moment—for the rest of your life.”

  “This…this isn’t what I wanted. I was supposed to be an old man when I became king. I wasn’t…I wasn’t supposed to have to give up my life. And for this?” He looks down at his soiled clothes, running his hands over his ceremonial coat. “They don’t even appreciate me.”

  “You haven’t done anything for them to appreciate.” William’s hands ball into fists at his sides. “And it hasn’t just been in the past few days. You’ve never given these people a second thought.”

  “You!” Reginald turns to Marcell. “You! What do you think?”

  Marcell’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “Me? You want to know what I think?”

  “That’s what I said, didn’t I? Have I represented Rosvalia well?”