“I don’t see the problem, Princess. Our soldiers are here to put a stop to this ridiculous gathering of ingrates…”
“This isn’t how you de-escalate a protest.” I shake my head. “This is the exactoppositeof how you do that.”
Christ, I’m a freaking college student and evenIknow that responding in riot gear is the surest way to turn a peaceful protest into full-fledged war zone. It’s basic human nature: treat someone like a criminal, they’ll act like one.
Bane just poured gasoline on the sparks he set out to extinguish.
The sight of the soldiers takes immediate effect — the protesters’ agitation spikes in a fever pitch. I can feel the change in the air, the sudden violence that steals over the group. The chant dissolves into chaos as they begin to hurl vulgar insults at the steadily-advancing line of guards.
FASCIST PIGS!
DEATH TO THE CROWN!
LANCASTER TRASH!
My heart hammers against my ribs as I watch their middle fingers waving in the air, their angry eyes flashing above the kerchiefs on their faces. As the space between the two groups dwindles, they hurl their homemade signs at the line of soldiers — thin cardboard missiles that bounce off the riot shields and fall to the ground, only to disappear beneath a stampede of heavy boots.
Please, for the love of god, no one fire a gun or set off a canister of tear-gas,I think, barely breathing.Please, no one escalate this further.
My prayers are answered. Seeming to realize they are outnumbered, that this is a fight they cannot win — at least, not today — the protesters finally yield their position. They begin to clear away from the motorcade, scattering up onto the sidewalk.
Following them every step of the way, the riot squad breaks marching rank to line the street, shoulder-to-shoulder. They form a gauntlet of protection around our limousine that stretches all the way to the gate, their shields still held aloft as though the protestors might try to rush onto the roadway and surround us once more.
For a moment, there’s tense silence as the two opposing sides face off — protest sign vs riot shield, t-shirt vs tactical gear, bandana vs bulletproof helmet — in a tense staring contest. I can’t help feeling we are balanced on the edge of a powder keg, holding a box of matches; one wrong move from either side… and things are going going to explode.
Please, please, please,I pray, fingernails digging into my palms.No one do anything stupid.
Galizia gestures to our chauffeur driver, then glances straight at my window and gives a reassuring nod, despite the fact that she can’t see me through the tinted glass. She knows I’m watching.
All good now, Princess.
A breath I didn’t know I was holding slips out of my lungs as the limo starts moving again. My relief is only on the surface level; beneath it, I am consumed by mounting anxiety.
We may be safe for the moment, but judging by what I just saw…This problem isn’t going away anytime soon. Even through the barrier of soldiers, I can feel the weight of thirty sets of enraged eyes, all seemingly fixed on my window. Their hatred is palpable. So thick, it could swallow me whole.
Death to the monarchy!
Simms sighs deeply, as though all of this was no more than a minor inconvenience. “Don’t let them bother you, Your Highness. These radical groups act up from time to time.” He shakes his head in disapproval, but his attention is already fixed on the contents of his email inbox. “They’ll slink back into the shadows when they realize such displays are a foolish waste of time. You’ll see.”
I wish I shared his lack of concern.
I wish the sight of those men calling for my extermination didn’t send cold shivers of foreboding down my spine.
I wish I could ignore the fear that curdles in my gut whenever I realize my guards can — and will — kill to keep me safe.
But, most of all, I wish like hell I hadn’t looked quite so thoroughly at the protesters surrounding our limo. I wish I hadn’t recognized the head of floppy blonde hair at the very front of the crowd, or the set of familiar brown eyes staring out at me from above a black bandana, or the broad shoulders filling out that anti-Lancaster t-shirt.
But I did.
I’d recognize my best friend anywhere; even if it’s the last place on earth I ever expected to see him.
Owen, I think helplessly, as the castle gates clang closed behind the motorcade, shutting me safely inside my gilded cage.Oh, Owen…
What on earth have you done?