Despite the pain, despite the loss, despite everything that’s happened to me… I do believe I was meant to wind up here. The youngest monarch in the world. A ruler leading her country into a more progressive future, one tenuous step at a time… alongside the newly established House of Peers, which recently swore in its first ever female Parliamentary Ministers.
That thought brings a rare smile to my face.
Once the wedding is behind me, perhaps there will be time to turn my eyes toward new political pursuits. There are so many causes I could champion — from accessible healthcare to affordable college.
Student loan forgiveness.
Climate change.
Renewable energy.
Options sprawl out before me in a kaleidoscope of moving parts. I merely need to reach out my hand and take one. To add my voice where it is most needed.
Perhaps this is enough for one person. Perhaps the love of my life will not be a man at all, but a country.
My country.
My Germania.
Before this period, I had not allowed myself to give much thought to my future on the throne. I’ve been so consumed in just making it through each day — in keeping my head on straight from daybreak to dusk — that I barely had room to wonder about the rest of my reign.
That’s changing, though.
I have never felt so secure in my queendom. My marriage to Alden has effectively shut down my most vocal naysayers, just as my advisors predicted. The wedding — and the resulting boost to the Germanian economy — has soothed many a ruffled feather amongst the aristocrats.
Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it seems quite capable of purchasing loyalty.
Without the support of the nobility behind him, Ludwig von Strauss fades a bit more into my rearview with each passing day. Octavia and Ramsey were his foremost champions, railing against my reign and calling for me to abdicate; in their absence, those calls have all but ceased.
Evidently, no one wants to be associated with two felons or their feeble political puppet.
Whatever objection to my reign still exists has been effectively eliminated — swept away by the tidal wave of support the royal wedding has unleashed. For if the treason trial stirred a publicity storm, my marriage has produced a full-blown cyclone.
The closer the wedding creeps, the more intense the media frenzy. By early August, it seems the whole world has its eyes on our small nation. Press coverage reaches a crest, with reporters from all over the world camped outside the castle gates twenty-four-seven.
Twelve days.
Eleven.
Ten.
In the week leading up to the ceremony, dignitaries and foreign leaders from all over the world begin to arrive. I’m told citizens have begun pitching tents in a line outside Windsor Abbey, staking out their spots on the sidewalk for a glimpse at the royal processional.
Six days.
Five.
Four.
Time is slipping through my fingers like sand through an hourglass, impossible to keep hold of. I feel like a passerby in my own life, watching events unfold from afar with very little say in the matter.
Stand here.
Sit there.
Smile.
Wave.