Sordid Empire

by Julie Johnson

  “Is certain circles code for amongst the peasant class?”

  “I’m sure Miss Caulfield can describe the demographics of your online followers with more clarity. I suggest you ask her if you are in need of further insight.”

  “That could be difficult,” I murmur, head tilting. “Considering I fired her several weeks ago.”

  Simms goes still. “W-what?”

  “Mmm. Despite my more plebeian tendencies, she wasn’t such a great fit for me after all.” I pause. “It seems, contrary to what you might think, I have a bit more respect for the glorious tradition of our Lancaster legacy than anyone ever would’ve guessed.”

  He’s staring at me with wide eyes. “Well… I… That…”

  “I’ve shocked you.” My lips twist. “I didn’t think that was possible, anymore.”

  “You never fail to keep me on my toes, Your Majesty. It certainly makes this job… interesting, to say the least.” He catches himself. “Made. Made the job interesting.”

  Our eyes hold for a long moment. “And how would you feel about a reversion of that verb tense? A return to more traditional tactics, as it were.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “What would you say if…” I steeple my fingers and press them to my lips. “I offered to make you my Press Secretary again?”

  Simms sucks in a sharp breath. “I… Your Majesty, that’s…”

  “It would have to be different, this time,” I say flatly. “I’m not looking for someone to control me or manipulate me or hide things from me. If you come back, you do it with full transparency.”

  The silence yawns between us, My olive branch hovers in the air, waiting to be claimed or batted aside. After what seems an eternity, Simms clears his throat.

  “It’s not that I’m not grateful for the offer. I’m simply confused as to why it’s being extended. After our last interaction… you made it quite clear you no longer trusted my council, Your Majesty.”

  “I may not fully trust you with personal matters — I may never trust you with personal matters — but I need your help,” I say bluntly. “I’m sure you’ve seen the news. You know I’m calling for a referendum, so the public can voice their opinions about Parliament. But to do so… I will need to outmaneuver adversaries who would rather see my efforts fail. I will have to learn the choreography of a dance with steps I’m only beginning to grasp. It would be helpful to have someone at my side who mastered them a long time ago.”

  He stares at me for a long moment. “I do have a certain amount of experience when it comes to these matters. But I’m afraid sharing that with you will do no good — for either of us — if my motives are constantly in question.”

  “I’ve never questioned your motives, Simms. Only your methods.” I sigh deeply. “And over the past few months, I’ve learned that doing this job, being a good queen… It’s not really about me, is it? It’s not about surrounding myself with sycophants and yes-men, who’ll agree with everything I say without question. It’s about doing what’s best for the entire kingdom.” I tilt my head at him. “Putting my own grievances aside for a second… even I have to acknowledge you’ve always acted in what you believe is the best interest of the crown. Because your loyalty is not to me, or my family name, or even the storied legacy you are so fond of touting. It’s to Germania. And that… That is immeasurably valuable.”

  He shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable, but I notice his eyes are a bit red around the rims. When he speaks, there’s an undeniable catch in his voice. “I’m quite pleased to hear you say so, Your Majesty.”

  “Non sibi sed patriae,” I whisper. “You, more than anyone I know, lives by that standard, Simms.”

  “Thank you, My Queen. That means more to me than you could ever know.” He can’t quite maintain eye contact as he continues. “After your father’s death… I admit, I was hasty in my decision-making. These past few months have been a period of unprecedented turmoil. Never in my twenty-five year tenure have I had to deal with so many losses so rapidly. If I was ill-equipped or over-eager… if I stumbled in my role as your advisor… I regret that. I regret it deeply, Your Royal Majesty.”

  It’s probably as close to an ‘I’m sorry, I screwed up’ as I’ll ever get from someone like Simms. But an imperfect apology is better than no apology at all.

  “If you want it, the position is yours. Effective immediately.” I brush imaginary lint from my pants. “So long as we get one thing straight.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Under no circumstances are you to sell the movie rights of my life to Netflix.”

  He looks aghast at the prospect. “That will not be a problem, I assure you.”

  “Excellent.” I smile. “Seeing as you’ve worked here longer than I’ve been alive, I think we can skip the castle tour.”

  “Very wise, Your Majesty. I assume I’ll be keeping this as my office?”

  “Of course. I believe everything’s as you left it. Caulfield didn’t believe in sitting down to work. She said her cellphone was the only office she needed.”

  “How… modern.”

  “I’m not sure where she kept her interns. I never saw them here at the castle.”

  “Interns?”

  “Apparently, she hired several.” My brows lift. “Do you feel you need interns to assist you, Simms?”

  “I haven’t for the last two decades. If something changes, I shall keep you apprised.”

  My lips twitch. “Great.”

  “By the way — happy belated birthday, Your Majesty. I believe you turned twenty-one, during my…”

  “Unpaid hiatus?”

  “Let’s call it a sabbatical, shall we?”

  I laugh. “Well, thank you. I didn’t really celebrate, what with everything that’s happened.”

  “King Linus…” Simms’ expression twists a bit at the mention of my father. “He was planning a ball in honor of your birthday, you know.”

  “I didn’t, actually.”

  “Half the kingdom was set to be invited. It may be overstepping to say this, but the King… He was… Your father was immensely proud of you, Your Majesty.”

  My eyes are stinging precariously. I turn my head swiftly away so Simms doesn’t see, swallowing several times to clear the lump in my throat.“Right. Anyway, glad to have you back, Simms. We’ll have a meeting tomorrow, after you’ve settled in, to discuss our first steps for moving forward with the referendum and bring you up to speed on everything you’ve missed.”

  “All right.”

  “Around eleven o’clock?”

  “Let’s do ten instead. If you truly want to make traction with aristocratic voters, you’ll need to attend high tea at the Solarium tomorrow at noon sharp, Your Majesty.”

  I snort. “Sorting out my schedule already, are you? You’ve only been back at work for about three minutes.”

  “Not a minute too soon, it would seem.” His solemn face holds a hint of warmth I’m not accustomed to seeing. “I’m inclined to mention, if Lady Morrell were here, she would strongly urge you to remember that the queen is at her most regal when she dons the customary royal colors. Especially when attempting to garner favor with her subjects for a referendum.”

  My voice drops to a nasally impression of Morrell’s scolding refrain. “A tiger without his stripes is simply a large cat.”

  Simms actually chuckles.

  “I’m sure she’s already halfway to apoplectic over the glove fiasco. Not to mention the purple hair,” I mutter. “Wouldn’t want to drive her over the edge by wearing neon to greet the society set.”

  “She merely wants you to be your best, Your Majesty. We all do. No matter what clothes you wear or what customs you choose to abide by… We have nothing but the highest hopes for your reign.”

  My amusement fades swiftly. “Well, then I’m sure you’ve been disappointed, watching me these past few months, Simms. I haven’t exactly reigned with any sort of aplomb or assuredness. I feel like I’m consta
ntly on the verge of losing my footing.”

  “In my experience, it’s not about whether you stumble, My Queen. It’s about how you carry on afterward.”

  I’m silent for a while, listening to the crackle of the fireplace. Perhaps it’s because Simms has been with me since the very first day I was pulled into this life… Perhaps it’s because I’m in desperate need of council from a father figure in the wake of losing Linus… Perhaps it’s because my heart has been so thoroughly battered, these past few days, it’s barely beating properly. Whatever the case, I’m feeling strangely vulnerable when I next speak.

  “If my father could see me now, he would regret ever thinking I was equipped to be his heir. I’m sure he’d say I’ve made quite a mess of things.”

  For a moment, Simms digests my words in silence before clearing his throat. “With all due respect, My Queen, I think you’re wrong about that. After the Vasgaard Square attack… Your composure at the funerals, your grace while speaking to the victims’ families… It was remarkable. King Linus, rest his soul, was never forced to handle such matters during his brief reign. And, if he had, I doubt he would’ve managed them any better. You have shown an inner strength your father never possessed. Why else do you think the entire country is so fixated on your every move? Why do you think the world is watching you so very closely on social media, in the press, in person?”

  “Because they’re waiting to see how badly I’ll screw things up…?”

  Simms shakes his head. “They’re waiting to see you surpass all expectations. To rise above all the norms that have been laid out for you and instead become something… unexpectedly greater. As you’ve done since the moment this mantle was shoved upon your shoulders, one rainy night last October.”

  I suck in a gulp of air. “But…”

  “Queen Emilia. If I may be so bold… In my twenty-five years working as an advisor to the throne, I have never seen what I saw this afternoon when I passed onto the castle grounds: people gathered at the gates, arm in arm, singing the Germanian national anthem. Never. Not once.”

  My cheeks heat. “But—”

  “But nothing. They have pledged to you their fealty, Your Majesty. Proudly and publicly. So perhaps it is time you stopped second-guessing your own performance, and started trusting yourself as much as your subjects do.”

  My eyes are really pricking, now. I push to my feet and cross toward the door, unable to look back at him. If I do, I’m certain I’ll start to weep in earnest.

  Hand on the knob, I clear my throat. “Thank you for agreeing to come back.”

  “It is my pleasure. Truly.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Simms.”

  “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

  I’m halfway over the threshold when something else occurs to me. Pausing, I call back over my shoulder. “Oh, and Simms?”

  “Yes, My Queen?”

  “Get Lady Morrell back here, will you? I wouldn’t mind the occasional input on etiquette. But tell her I’m not going on any more dates. The purple hair streak is nonnegotiable. And the elbow length gloves? They’re staying off. For good.”

  His subdued chuckle chases me out the door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next few weeks pass in a blur of strategy meetings and political maneuvering. As the days roll steadily onward toward April, winter’s deathly hold begins to weaken. All around me, the world seems to yawn, stretching stiff limbs and shaking off icy shackles. Snowbanks shrink in slow degrees, then disappear entirely, seemingly overnight. The air is tinged with the promise of new life, pale green crocus shoots awakening in their flower beds after a long slumber.

  Spring has finally sprung.

  By the final week of March, mere days before the referendum, I have traded my heavy cloaks for light pea coats, swapped my fur-lined boots for stylish pumps — all under the careful supervision of Lady Morrell, who has reclaimed her position as my style and etiquette advisor.

  Despite a few despairing remarks about the purple streak in my hair, she’s been remarkably laissez-faire about my dress code since her return to the palace. I think she’s so happy to be back in her role, she’d let me try out a mohawk if I asked.

  (Luckily for her, I don’t have the bone structure to pull off the punk-rocker look.)

  It’s almost warm enough to resume my daily horseback rides with Ginger around the grounds — something I’ve missed dearly. Hans, the Master of Stables, assures me she’s been in good hands with his grooms all winter, getting regular exercise in the large stable pens… but I have a feeling I’ll need a hefty supply of sugar cubes to earn back her affection after so long apart. Not that I have much free time to ride, these days.

  My obligations outside the palace have increased tenfold since the vote was announced. I’m out the gates before sunrise and back well after dusk most nights — which suits me just fine, if I’m being honest. I welcome the distraction this referendum has delivered. After all, it’s vastly preferable to sitting around the castle, dwelling on my broken heart. Seeing blue eyes around every corridor corner. Surrounded by ghosts that stain my every memory.

  As the originator of this reform movement, I feel a certain obligation to be everywhere at once, the face of the campaign, greeting every potential voter in bustling cities and small towns alike. Over the past month, I have traveled from border to border, snaking my way along the Nelle River, stopping in places I’d never even heard of, let alone visited before. I have shaken more hands and held more babies than I ever thought possible; shared more laughs and greeted more of my countrymen than I ever could’ve imagined.

  It’s been overwhelming. Utterly exhausting. I am tired down to the marrow of my bones. I could sleep a year and still not catch up on all the rest I’ve missed. And yet… it is also undeniably wonderful to see so many hidden corners of my kingdom up close and personal, rather than hiding out behind the stone walls of my castle, reigning from a throne completely out of view of the people I am supposed to stand for.

  Each time my limo slows to a stop in a new town square, each time I look out to a sea of strangers — waving signs, screaming my name, showing off their freshly-dyed purple hair — I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  This is my life.

  I am their queen.

  This is my country.

  Campaigning in person has surely helped spread the word about the referendum. Most of the villagers I meet don’t watch the nightly news or keep up with politics. Without explaining to them why I feel so strongly about establishing equality within Parliament, they’d likely never take the time to head to the polls.

  According to Simms, my countrywide tour has become something of a fixture on the nightly news channels. Every program is flooded with footage — there I am, learning how to churn butter with ancient women in Skvelt. And again, shearing sheep with farmers in Hvarda. Once more, playing chess with old timers in the Pardi town square. Jumping rope with children on the streets of Uvendon. Skipping stones on a lake with locals in Saalk. Kicking off my shoes to run through the wheat fields in Hanton.

  Rebellious Queen Emilia is at it again!

  So long as I step outside the castle gates, it’s guaranteed that there will be a televised segment dedicated to the upcoming ballot question. It’s been a highly effective form of marketing — one made all the better since I don’t have to do much of anything, except be myself.

  It must be said, back at the castle, Chloe has been doing an incredible job getting the word out on social media. The buzz she’s built — particularly among millennials — should give us a big turn out, come election day.

  Already, Riggs and the rest of the Queen’s Guard are coordinating with local law enforcement in every town and city across Germania, preparing what is expected to be a record-breaking ballot. Experts project this to be the biggest political decision in well over a century, since Parliament was first established. The biggest question ever voted on regarding our political structure.

 
Will Germania finally grant women admittance into the hallowed House of Lords?

  The truth is, this referendum is much bigger than just me. I may’ve struck the match that sparked this fire, but it has grown into something I never imagined, igniting the entire kingdom in a blaze of change. It’s now so large, I cannot even see the outer limits of the inferno anymore.

  I find comfort in the collective heat we are generating. I am no longer by myself on the front lines, a lone ember shining against encroaching darkness; I am but one of many, glowing together to cast a great light on shadows that have lingered far too long.

  Hundreds of volunteers have stepped forward to help with the campaign — making phone calls to on-the-fence voters, drawing up signs that say VOTE FOR REFORM in screaming capital letters. I try to stop by headquarters every week, to thank every member of the team in person. Most of them rock bright purple hair and are fond of wearing t-shirts that say THE FUTURE IS FEMALE or ANATOMY IS NOT AUTHORITY or another equally pithy phrase.

  Their office in downtown Vasgaard is a hive of activity and energy and hope for the future. I find my spirits bolstered every time I step through the doors; something I need greatly, these days. For the other portion of my campaign efforts targets a far less pleasant demographic of Germanians.

  The nobility.

  My attempts to garner support from those least inclined to give it are as tiresome as the aristocrats themselves. The last thing I want to do after a day of traveling around the country is attend a boring black tie function — just another in the endless stream of elite events Simms somehow manages to arrange for me each night. He tells me it’s a necessary evil if I want the popular vote to succeed.

  No victory was ever won without some sacrifice, Your Majesty.

  And so, I go. To gala after gala, dinner party after dinner party. Evening balls and late afternoon lunches and lauded performances from the royal box at the opera.

  The Lords of Parliament ignore my presence completely, their scowls and sneers unflinching; their wives do their best to make me feel like a dung beetle, whether we’re sipping tea in the Solarium or making donations to save an indigenous owl species over dried-out chicken dishes.