Harper blinked. “Oof. Brutal.”
“And then she said she expects me to be a credit to the institution. That I’ll be judged constantly. Probably unfairly.”
There was a bitter laugh rising in her throat,but she swallowed it. The Queen hadn’t said anything Emilia hadn’t already feared. She’d just said it with centuries of tradition behind her.
“Welcome to the job,” Harper said. “You’re no longer a person, you’re a national symbol. And the entire country is your performance review committee.”
“Thanks, I feel a lot better now,” Emilia muttered. But the sarcasm was automatic. Inside, the words echoed.Not a person. A symbol.She was losing herself one expectation at a time.
“Sorry,” Harper added. “I could write some nice puff pieces about you if you’d like.”
That earned a real laugh, small, but honest. Emilia clung to it like a lifeline.
“So, did she at least respect you for not melting down? Even a little?” Harper asked.
“I think she acknowledged my existence as a sentient being,” Emilia said dryly. “Which might be more than most people get.”
“With Eleanor? It absolutely is.” Harper studied her for a beat longer than usual, then set down her mug again, more carefully this time. “It means that you’re going to survive this.”
“Based on what evidence?”
“Based on the fact that you just went toe-to-toe with Queen Eleanor and walked out with your dignity intact. That’s genuinely impressive.”
Emilia shrugged faintly and finally took another sip of her tea. It was still lukewarm.
But before she could settle into that fleeting comfort, she noticed Harper’s posture shift: subtle, but telling. The way she toyed with her mug. The way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Speaking of survival,” Harper began, voice a little too casual, “we probably need to talk about something.”
And just like that, the calm shattered.
Emilia set her cup down. “What’s wrong?”
Harper fidgeted, fidgeted, which she never did. “It’s not ‘wrong,’ exactly. It’s just… a thing. A professional thing.” She exhaled. “I’m switching desks at the paper. I’m moving off the political beat.”
It took a second to register.
Emilia blinked. “What? But politics is your life. You’re the best they have. Why?”
“I went to Craig this morning. To discuss… you know.” She gestured vaguely, as if her hand could summarize a whirlwind of crowns, headlines, and engagement rings. “My byline on anything political is a massive conflict of interest now. It’s not fair to you, to Alexander, or to the paper’s credibility.”
The guilt landed like a sucker punch.
Emilia felt the air leave her lungs.This is because of me.Because her life had suddenly become a constitutional flashpoint.
“Oh, Harper,” she whispered. “This is because of me, isn’t it?”
“No,” Harper said, firm now. “Don’t do that. This is the reality. It was always going to happen.”
But Emilia wasn’t convinced. She knew her friend: knew that every inch Harper had climbed in her career had been hard-won. And now she was stepping aside. Quietly. With grace.
Emilia’s eyes stung.
“What will you do?”
Harper shrugged like it didn’t matter, but Emilia could see the edges fraying. “Craig is moving me to the business and tech desk. I’ll cover IPOs and fintech bros with too much money and not enough ethics. It’ll be fine.”
“Don’t you dare pretend like it’s not a big deal.” Emilia’s voice was quiet but sure. “Your byline is your life. Political reporting is what you do.”