“Nervous?”
I glance back at Chloe. “Of course I am.”
“Don’t be. Gerald and I had a final strategy meeting this morning. We both feel very confident the referendum will pass.”
“Gerald?” I scoff. “I didn’t realize you and Simms had grown so close. First-name-basis is a big step for two people who used to hate each other.”
“War makes strange bedfellows, so they say.” Her lips twist. “Never thought I’d find myself admitting this but… the old timer is actually rather amusing. In a dry-as-dust, stiff-upper-lip sort of way.”
“Well, if all else fails with this vote, at least you’ve made a friend other than me.”
“The vote is not going to fail! Don’t say that. Don’t even think it,” she scolds, smacking me on the arm. “You’ve put your heart and soul into this campaign, E. You’ve been to every village in this godforsaken country. If there was a world record for ‘Number of Selfies Taken With Excited Germanian Peasants’ you would be the unquestionable champion.”
“Don’t call my people peasants.”
“Oh, whatever. I’m just saying… You’ve done everything you can. At this point, you just have to let go. Have faith in the work you’ve done. Have faith in this revolution you sparked. And have faith inyour people, as you call them. They’ll turn out to support you.”
She sounds so self-assured, it makes my eyebrows arch toward my hairline. I stare over at my sister, somewhat awed by how far she’s come in such a short time.
Was it mere months ago we were prying pill bottles from her hands, scraping her drugged-out frame off the floor of dingy nightclubs? Was it only recently she worried she might never find her way back to sobriety?
You’d never know it, to see her now. The girl seated beside me radiates confidence. Her red hair is lustrous, her porcelain skin flawless. She looks healthy. Happy. Full of purpose.
“Why are you looking at me like that, loser?”
Blinking rapidly to clear the sting from my eyes, I lean forward and plant a quick kiss on her cheek. “Because you’re beautiful.”
Her brow furrows. “Okay… Whatever you say, weirdo…”
I laugh and turn back to look out my window. When I see the building looming back at me through the glass — the great domed roof of the National Assembly, blocking out the mid-morning sun — all amusement vanishes, quickly replaced by a gnawing sense of dread that fills my stomach.
We’re here.
* * *
The stepsof Parliament are lined with hundreds of members of the press, along with two distinct mobs of Germanian citizens — one clad in purple, the other red. From inside my limo, their shouts were deafening; now that I’m out, standing in plain view on the steps, they have reached a decibel that threatens to shatter even the sturdiest of eardrums.
My appearance is a lightning rod in an electrical storm that was already raging out of control. The clashing protestors, hyped up from weeks of sparring online, are even more frenzied now that their confrontations have shifted past the safe separation of a computer screen. Face to face for the first time, they hurl insults and campaign slogans with a vitriol that makes my bones shake.
Cheers of “WE DO NOT ASSENT!” are met with volleys of “KEEP GERMANIA ON COURSE!”The streets are so loud, when I step up to the podium to speak, my voice is barely audible despite the cluster of microphones amplifying it.
“My fellow Germanians — I stand here today not just as your queen, but also as your countrymen. For the past few months, I have had a chance to get to know so many of you. I have traveled from border to border, hearing your stories, sharing histories, and making new memories. In every town and city, I was welcomed with open arms — into your homes, into your hearts. You allowed me to make my voice heard in a manner unlike any before.”
I pause, pulling in a steadying breath as I look out over the crowd. They have gone utterly silent, hanging on my every word. I try to pick out familiar faces in the crowd, but there are too many to focus on — an undulating sea of features, some contorted into frowns, but many — so, so, many — rapt with hope.
“Booo!” a shrill voice suddenly screams from the opposition side. “Get back to the gutter where you belong!”
A gasp moves through the crowd. Though many attack me on nightly news programs and in print interviews, few are brazen enough to do so in my direct presence.
My eyes cut to the source of the attack — a tall blonde in an immaculately tailored red pantsuit. Her version of battle armor, no doubt. She’s accessorized to the hilt with ruby jewels, stilt-high stilettos, and a studded black handbag.
Ava.
I should’ve known. She’s standing with her parents at the front of the crowd, her expression full of that icy smugness she pulls off so well.
Bitch.
Holding her stare, I grit my teeth in what I hope resembles a smile and carry on with my speech. “There are those in our nation who claim I have overstepped my bounds as your queen. That, in expressing a political opinion, I am grasping at authority I have not yet earned.” I force myself to look out at the rest of the crowd, straight into the lenses of the hundred cameras beaming at me from all sides. “Today, I stand here to assure you: I have no interest in being a dictator. And yet, I am equally uninterested in being a mere figurehead, sitting on a great gold chair with little regard for those she reigns over.”