Sordid Empire

by Julie Johnson

  My eyes press closed. “Please. Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why?”

  “It just makes it harder.”

  She sighs. “E… Look, I know I’m not exactly a relationship expert, but are you sure you’ve thought this through? Are you absolutely certain there’s no way the two of you can figure out a way for you to be together—”

  “No.” I cut her off savagely. “We can’t.”

  “Why? Because of what people might say? Because of media backlash? I thought you didn’t care what anyone thought of you.”

  “It’s not about that.”

  “Then what? I’ll admit, the whole stepbrother thing is a bit of a hiccup. And I suppose there’s the small fact that Carter technically has no lands or titles to offer in a strategic alliance with the crown. And, sure, all those stuffy, traditionalist aristocrats would probably call for your head in a basket…” She shrugs. “Not to be blunt, but it’s not like they have all that many other options lying around. You’re it, E. There’s no spare queen they can swap in if you screw up. That’s, like, the one benefit of being the last Lancaster, right?”

  “About that…” I quickly fill her in on everything I overheard Ava saying at the auction last night — the Sterling family’s plan to seize my throne by inserting some spineless, far-removed Lancaster relation. As I speak, her eyes get wider and wider until they’re saucer-round with horror.

  “Jesus. I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, this is Ava we’re talking about. Of course she has some nefarious plan to usurp you. But… damn. A coup? That’s coldblooded, even for her.”

  “If I screw up badly enough, if I’m forced to step down as queen… the Sterlings will insert a puppet on the throne. The whole kingdom will be under their control.” I shake my head slowly back and forth as I remember the hatred burning in Lord Sterling’s eyes when they clashed with mine in the House of Lords. “That family cannot ever be allowed to steer my kingdom.”

  “Your kingdom,” Chloe murmurs, smiling softly. “Spoken like a true queen.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t you dare apologize for finally embracing your destiny. For finally claiming what’s yours.”

  I suck in a breath, startled by the ferocity of her words as much as the feeling they stir to life inside my heart. The truth is, I’m not sure when this role became so important to me. I can’t pinpoint the moment this crown on my head stopped feeling so much like a burden and started to feel like… something I might actually be good at. Something I might actually enjoy.

  But I do.

  Impossible as it may seem… I enjoy being a leader. I enjoy standing up for those whose voices have been drowned out by the status quo of an outdated aristocracy for far too long. I enjoy seeing the look in people’s eyes when they realize they have gravely underestimated me. That I am no mere figurehead to be pushed aside; no little girl to be sidelined.

  My heart is suddenly racing. “I never had the Lancaster name. I wasn’t raised to embrace this legacy. Six months ago, I was a normal girl who wanted nothing to do with this life. With this future. It seemed like a pair of gold shackles around my wrists, holding me back from everything I wanted to accomplish. But now… everything’s different. I’m not sure why.”

  “Because you’ve seen how much change you can effect as the queen. You’ve touched lives. You’ve altered the course of history in such a short amount of time. Imagine what you could do with a full reign. With forty or fifty years on that throne.”

  “Altered history? That seems like a bit of an exaggeration…”

  “It’s not, though.” Her head shakes. “What you did at Parliament yesterday? Calling for a referendum? Championing equal representation for women? That’s big. It’s huge. It’s freaking historic.”

  “It wasn’t even planned. I didn’t think about it in advance. I just… I was so pissed off, I said what popped into my head. No filter.”

  “Because you have good instincts. You lead with your heart. And you aren’t afraid to stand up to bullies who have hoarded all the power in this country for far, far too long.” She snorts. “Why do you think they’re all so intent on getting you out of this castle? They’re terrified you’re going to bring Germania out of the dark ages, shedding much-needed light on their corrupt little regime.”

  My lips twist. “You should’ve seen their faces, Chloe. I wish you’d been there.”

  “Me too. I would’ve paid money to see those great gray-haired farts all worked up.” She laughs, then quickly sobers. Her eyes are intent as they hold mine. “You may not have been bred for this life, Emilia Lancaster… but you were born to do it. You were destined to be queen.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. Chloe’s words tumble around inside my head, brushing up against all my self-doubts and feelings of inferiority. I think about what my mother used to say on the rare occasions the royal family came up in conversation during my childhood.

  Those who actively seek out power are those who least deserve to wield it.

  Of course, at the time, I had no idea of my own connection to the Lancasters. I never could’ve predicted those words would one day apply so aptly to my own life.

  I wonder what advice she’d give me if she were here now. These days, I miss her so much, it hurts like a physical wound — one that never healed properly. One that never will. Her loss echoes endlessly inside me, a perpetual ache between my ribs. But I’m glad for the pain. Because that ache is all I have left of her. I’d rather cope with that wound than walk around as though she never existed.

  The deepest scars of our hearts are traces of the people who left them behind. The stronger the love, the crueler the mark it carves out inside you.

  After all the things I’ve lost, the organ inside my chest must be a mangled mess of scar tissue and trauma. Still, it beats.

  I’m still here.

  I’m not done yet.

  My eyes are suddenly smarting with tears, but my voice is the farthest thing from weak when I whisper something I’ve never said aloud before. Something that, quite frankly, scares the shit out of me.

  “I want to make my mother proud. I want to fulfill the legacy my father left behind. I want to make sure all the things I’ve sacrificed to get here weren’t for nothing. I… I want to be queen. I want it more than I ever thought possible.”

  Chloe’s eyes look a little red, but she smiles as she reaches out and grabs my hand in hers. “About damn time, Your Majesty.”

  I’m too emotional to say much of anything, so I just squeeze her fingers tightly in return. We sit there for a moment in silence, both trying our best not to cry. It’s a struggle.

  Finally, Chloe clears her throat roughly and changes the subject. “Did I mention, you are absolutely blowing up on social media right now? I’m talking atomic — no, nuclear level.”

  I sigh. “I was afraid that might happen.”

  “Christ, E, I thought Twitter went crazy after you ditched the royal dress code. Now that you’re rocking purple hair and calling for a referendum of Parliament… it’s straight-up bananas. Honest to god, people are losing it.”

  “They’ll simmer down in a few days.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. You’re the number one trending topic on every website and news outlet I’ve looked at today. And that’s saying something, since Taylor Swift dropped a new album yesterday.”

  My eyes snap open. “I’m out-trending Taylor Swift?”

  “Yep.”

  “No freaking way.”

  “Swear to god.”

  She pulls out her phone and shows me the screen to prove she isn’t lying. My eyes go even wider when, sure enough, at the top of trending search topics, I see my own name, along with several familiar hashtags.

  #RoyalRebel

  #QueenE

  #RebelQueen

  There’s a new hashtag, one I’ve never seen before, trending alongside them. I suck in a breath when I
read the words after the pound sign — the same defiant words I spoke to a room of men yesterday, setting off an unintended political and social avalanche.

  #IDoNotAssent

  “Cool, right?” Chloe grins.

  “I guess so,” I say weakly, a bit overwhelmed as I watch new results populating on the screen every few seconds. They tally in the tens of millions. The thought of that many people discussing me is frankly hard to wrap my mind around.

  “I don’t think you understand — you’ve set off a whole movement, E. Women are using the #IDoNotAssent tag to call attention to all sorts of injustice across a ton of different industries, from healthcare to tech to publishing to engineering to entertainment. It’s pretty fucking amazing, actually. This is way bigger than Germania. You’ve gone global.”

  I sit up in bed, leaning over so I can see the screen better. My eyes go wide as they digest the long thread of posts — snippets from women all over the globe.

  Women make eighty cents for every dollar our male counterparts make. #IDoNotAssent

  On the first day of my advanced computer science class, the professor asked if I was lost. #IDoNotAssent

  My new boss calls me ‘sweetie’ and ‘pumpkin’ instead of my name. #IDoNotAssent

  Politicians rescinded all funding for the women’s health clinic in my city, leaving millions without access to birth control and cancer screenings. #IDoNotAssent

  I’ve been passed over for promotion by less qualified male associates three times in the past decade, despite my stronger job performance. #IDoNotAssent

  My rejected manuscript only got published after I submitted it using a male pseudonym. #IDoNotAssent

  No matter what I was wearing, I did not ask for my sexual assault. #IDoNotAssent

  They go on and on, an endless stream, making my breath catch and my heart pound twice as fast as normal. For at least fifteen minutes, Chloe and I sit shoulder to shoulder in my bed, reading in silence. It’s awe-inspiring to see so many women brought together by my words. Empowered to speak their own truths, just as I spoke mine.

  “You should be so proud of this,” Chloe says, smiling over at me. “I’m absurdly proud of you, E, in case that wasn’t obvious already.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. It’s brilliant.” Her elbow bumps mine. “Though, frankly, I’m a little worried you’ve fired your social media manager at the precise moment you decided to become a mega-influencer.”

  “Need I remind you that Caulfield wanted to sell my life story to Netflix?”

  “She was misguided and slightly manic, to be sure, but she knew her way around a Twitter feed. I fear without someone to manage your online presence, your message will get lost in the deluge. Or worse — twisted into something you never intended. I’ve seen it happen before. Left untamed, the internet can shift from supportive to shit-show in the blink of an eye.”

  “It is a bit overwhelming,” I admit. “Truth be told, I’ve never been much for social media in general. My former Instagram account featured pictures of dogs I spotted while walking around on campus. I think I’ve sent, like, two tweets in my entire life, and they were in protest of my favorite cookie brand discontinuing the macadamia nut variety.”

  Chloe snorts. “How can you even call yourself a millennial?”

  “I never said it was a good thing! But you’re right — ignoring my sudden online… popularity… won’t make it go away.” I press my spine harder against the headboard, sighing deeply. “I may not enjoy it, but I suppose I should at least keep a finger on the pulse of what people are saying about me.”

  “Not just that — you can use it as a tool. You could be the first royal in history to interact directly with her subjects on a digital platform. Think about how many people you could reach with just one post. One hashtag. One tweeted message.” Her blue eyes are dancing with excitement. “You want support for your referendum, right? You want a direct line to the people before they get into those voting booths and determine the fate of this kingdom? You want to reach the young people of this country before their opinions can be swayed by old men with deep pockets who are desperate to remain in power? This, right here, is how you do it. It’s your gateway to the people.”

  My eyes have gone wide. I’ve never before heard Chloe speak with this much enthusiasm about anything, let alone take an active interest in something as boring as politics.

  “I just think ignoring this opportunity would be a mistake,” she continues softly, still scrolling through the stream of posts. “Caulfield isn’t the only social media manager on the planet, you know. Someone else could help craft your identity without betraying your interests. You should at least consider hiring someone to help you learn to navigate the online world.”

  “I don’t need to consider it.”

  She sighs. “Well, that’s just stubborn—”

  “I don’t need to consider it, because I already have the perfect person for the job.”

  Her brows lift. “Who?”

  “You.”

  “Me?!”

  I nod. “Yes, you.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “Why would I joke about this?”

  “Um, maybe because I’ve never done anything like this before! I don’t know the first thing about public relations.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me? You’ve spent your entire life as the daughter of a Duke, interacting with royals and regular people simultaneously. You excel at reading hidden intentions from years of cocktail parties with shady aristocrats. You’re a whiz at pop culture. You know every meme under the sun. You’re fluent in that unique internet language which often, to an outsider like myself, seems comprised entirely of inside jokes and unfathomable references.” I elbow her lightly. “I think all of those things make you uniquely qualified to help shape my online voice.”

  “But…”

  “What?”

  “You’d really trust me with something so important?”

  “Chloe. There’s no one I’d trust more.”

  When I see the gloss of tears in her eyes, I fight the swell of my own emotions. For the first time all day, my heart fills with something besides crushing sadness.

  Hope.

  For the future. For the girl sitting beside me. For the fight still to come.

  Perhaps this is exactly what I need to do — throw myself into work. Commit myself fully to my role as queen. Push through the pain, instead of wallowing in it.

  I push off the duvet cover I’ve been hiding beneath all day and slowly swing my legs to the floor. My spine creaks as I stretch my arms overhead, stretching out all the knots of tension. Turning to Chloe, I find her watching me with an expression of cautious excitement. As though she’s trying to keep from getting too carried away, in case my offer is some elaborate practical joke.

  “So?” I prompt, brows raised. “What do you say? Do you want the job? Or do I have to post an advertisement in the classifieds?”

  “Official Palace Social Media Manager Chloe Thorne,” she murmurs, a grin dawning across her face like a sunrise. “Has a nice ring to it.”

  “It certainly does.”

  “You won’t regret this, E. I promise. I’m going to take this opportunity and run with it.”

  “I know you will.”

  “I have so many ideas! I need to start brainstorming…” Jittery with excitement, she vaults off the bed and starts walking toward the door, muttering to herself the whole way. “First, I need to get a more comprehensive picture of what people are posting… Not just with the #IDoNotAssent movement, but about you in general. I need to understand your image before we can improve on it. Then, we’ll need a strategy to get them talking specifically about the referendum, instead of just your outfits and epic hair…”

  “You know, when I suggested you start this job, I didn’t mean you had to start right this instant.”

  “Why not? Now is not the time for hesitation. We have to mobilize! If this vote is really going to happen, we
need a plan of action. In fact, we’re probably already behind where we should be. When is the vote happening?”

  “I’m actually not sure,” I admit sheepishly. “This is uncharted territory. Not just for me — for all of Germania. The last time a royal called for a formal referendum was during World War II. I’m not fully sure where to start.”

  Chloe glances back at me, a fissure of concern appearing between her eyes. “You need someone who knows the ins and outs of kingdom politics. Someone with a buttload of experience, who’s willing to work with you to get this vote in motion and who can anticipate any opposition. Because, E… if you think the aristocracy is going down without a fight, you’re wrong. Especially with the Sterling family actively campaigning against you behind the scenes.”

  “I know. I need help. I may’ve overestimated my own abilities, here.”

  “You haven’t. You just need help, that’s all.”

  “Well, I have you, don’t I?”

  “You’ll always have me.” She winks. “I’ll do my best to help you with the social media stuff. I’m confident I can help you reach young voters, build buzz, get a groundswell of support online… But I don’t think that’s going to be enough. You’ll need the older generations’ support, too, if you actually want to win a majority vote at the polls.”

  I nod slowly, possibilities tumbling around inside my head. There’s an idea taking shape in the back of my mind. One I’ve been considering for weeks, since I fired Caulfield. I’ve talked myself out of pursuing it more than once, unable to overcome my own wounded pride to make amends.

  But things have changed. Chloe is right; there’s no time for pride in this scenario. If the referendum is going to pass, I’ll need advice. I’ll need allies. I may be stubborn, but this is too important to screw up. Even if it means owning up to the mistakes of my past.

  “You have your plotting-world-domination face on.” Chloe’s head tilts as she regards me. “It’s a little scary. No wonder those fossils in Parliament are afraid of you.”

  I snort. “Good. Maybe a healthy dose of fear is what they need to spur some change.”