When I step out the front doors into the crisp mountain air, leaving the House of Lords behind in all their stale self-importance, I greet the waiting press with a smile.
“Queen Emilia, how was your first day in Parliament?” the first reporter calls.
My smile widens. “Funny you should ask…”
Chapter Nine
The charity auctionis held at the Germanian Museum, which boasts the finest collection of artwork, historical artifacts, and interactive exhibits in all the kingdom. The stately columned building sits on the banks of the Nelle River, surrounded by a network of sprawling gardens. Tonight, as we pull to a stop at the front entrance, its facade is illuminated by thirty-nine pale blue spotlights — a tribute to the Vasgaard Square bombing victims we’ve come to raise funds for.
The museum is closed to the public during the event, but at least a hundred of Germania’s most well-endowed members of society are expected to attend. Nearly that many members of the Queen’s Guard will be here as well, judging by the fleet of SUVs I saw rolling out the castle gates earlier; Riggs isn’t taking any chances with my safety, especially after the reporters’ crazed reaction to my speech on the steps outside Parliament this afternoon. I am ensconced in a net of invisible yet impenetrable security.
The stone steps are lined with a red carpet, adding a touch of glamour to the atmosphere. There are already several dozen guests making their way up to the entrance. They stop and pose at studied intervals, their tailored suits and designer dresses practically dripping money. Evenmyeyes, which are more accustomed to The Gap and Zara than they are Emilio Pucci and Ted Baker, can’t miss the obvious show of wealth.
“Oh, Christ,” Chloe mutters, pressing her face up against her window. “I think that’s Simon Haldorff. He’s been on a mission to ruin my life since archery camp at age fourteen.”
“Why?”
“He may’ve… possibly… caught me hooking up with someone else while we were seeing each other.”
I shake my head. “Poor guy.”
“And thesomeone elsemay’ve been his twin sister.”
“Chloe!”
“I know, I know. I’m terrible. But in my defense… you haven’t seen how hot his sister is.” She grins wickedly. “Hey, maybe she’s here, too!”
“It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?”
She just laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll avoid him. I should warn you, though: the odds of Haldorff being my only ex in attendance are decidedly slim.”
“Just remember, we’re trying to keep altercations to aminimumif possible.”
“Me? What about you, Miss Millennial Feminist Icon? After the stir you caused at Parliament, you’re trending on Twitter again,” she reminds me. “I doubt anything I do tonight could possibly top that.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a challenge?”
She smirks.
“Chloe!”
“Oh, chill.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Hashtagbuzz kill.”
I sigh. Impending drama notwithstanding, I’m thankful to have her by my side as we exit the Rolls-Royce. Not only will several of the ministers I sparred with earlier be here tonight, there’s a large contingent of press gathered, snapping photographs of the attendees as they arrive and ascend the stone steps.
When Galizia pulls open my door and I step out onto the flagstones, I’m hit with a crushing wave of sound. Six months ago, it would’ve made me flinch. Now, it’s as familiar as breathing.
“Queen Emilia! This way!”
“Look over here!”
“Love the new hair, Emilia!”
“Is there any significance to the purple streak?”
“Planning to bid on anything tonight, Your Majesty?”
“What designer are you wearing?”