When I finally reach the podium, I turn to look out over the crowd. It’s a gorgeous fall day. The small square where they’ve set up the stage is full of several hundred civilians in hats, scarves, and thick wool coats. Alongside them, a slew of paramedics, firefighters, and policemen stand in their dress blues, supporting the heroes of the hour. There are a lot of children — I smile when I catch sight of them waving to their firefighter fathers up on stage.
“Good afternoon, everyone!” My voice rings out, clear with purpose.
Was it really only three weeks ago that I was terrified to speak to a crowd? That I had to rehearse everything in my bathroom mirror, afraid to say so much as a word out of order?
Polite applause fills the air. I hear the click of several dozen telephoto lenses — the press snapping photographs. The largest fire station in Vasgaard looms behind me, sure to make an impressive backdrop on tomorrow’s front page.
“It is my distinct privilege to be here with you today, in the presence of our best and bravest.”
Cheers ring out from the front row, where several of the firefighters’ wives are standing, beaming with pride at their husbands.
“I don’t know much about putting out flames. But I do know, it takes a special kind of courage to routinely rushintoburning buildings, when anyone else in the world would be running out. To put your life on the line for the sake of saving another. To risk never seeing your own loved ones again, just to ensure someone else gets to see theirs.”
The crowd is nodding along with my words. Several wives are dabbing tears.
I gesture at the line of uniformed men. “From what I hear, this particular company — the brave men of Station One — is especially close-knit. Whether it’s pot-luck dinners on Friday nights or summer barbecues at Chief Johansson’s lake house, taking on extra med-evac training sessions, or showing up at the local kindergarten to make fire drills a bit less scary for the six-year-olds… it’s clear the work you do here extends far beyond a mere job requirement.” My smile widens. More camera shutters click. “I couldn’t think of a more deserving group to receive the King’s recognition. And I’m so very honored to be the one who gets to present you all with the National Medal of Valor for your service to both crown and country.”
Cheers fill the air as I step out from behind the podium and approach the table to my right, where twenty small black boxes sit waiting. Simms hovers beside it, nodding gravely. I grin happily at him and he flinches, unaccustomed to such a show of familiarity.
If it were anyone else, I’d tell him to loosen up. But this is Simms. Twenty years from now, he’ll probably still be addressing me by my full royal title.
Twenty years from now.
Wow.
The thought is nearly enough to make me stumble off balance. I’m not exactly sure when I started seeing my role of princess as permanent; not certain at what point things shifted from a temporary state of affairs to simply…
My life.
This is my life, now.
I used to look into the future and see a clear-cut set of goals. Graduating with my psychology degree. Completing my internship. Opening my own practice. Finding a nice man to settle down with and someday, maybe, having a family of my own.
Now, when I look ahead, I see none of that. My future is one big, fat question mark with a crown on top. Still, at some point, the idea of being the princess stopped scaring the shit out of me and started to seem…
Notentirelysuck-tastic.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not a huge fan of the constant paparazzi or the utter lack of privacy. I’d sell my left kidney if it meant I never had to attend another tea party with Ava, Octavia, and the other aristocratic gossips of polite society. But I’d be lying if I said I hateeverythingabout my new life.
I’m stunned to find I actually enjoy going to events like this one every day — chatting with people from all over the country about their backgrounds, learning their stories, recognizing their accomplishments. It’s fascinating to share in so many human experiences, to see how the faces in the crowd light up when I stop to exchange a few kind words.
Never in a million years did I think I’d become someone whomattered. At least, noton a grand scale. I pursued psychology because I wanted to help people — one at a time, case by case. When I had to give up my internship, I thought that chapter of my life was closed for good.
Days like today, though… I’m beginning to think Crown Princess Emilia Lancaster might actually be able to make a difference. Perhaps not in the same way Dr. Emilia Lennox would have, but a difference nonetheless.
Maybe taking on this new role doesn’t have to mean losing all the pieces of the person I used to be.
Maybe I can still help people.
Maybe I can still do good.
Maybe, like Carter said, it’s time to stop being so afraid of losing the girl I once was… and to embrace the change. To reforge myself, through fire and blood and iron, into a woman strong enough to withstand this new reality.
Filled with a new sense of purpose, I grab the first box off the table. The audience cheers as I cross back to the waiting firefighters, their chests puffed with pride as they prepare to receive their honors. When I place the medal around Chief Johansson’s neck, the explosion of applause is so deafening, it takes a moment for my ears to register the other sound suddenly filling the square, growing louder with each passing second.
The unmistakable revving of an engine.
What the hell?