“Can you elaborate on that?”
Her chin jerks upward, a haughty move I remember well. “Perhaps if you were less absorbed by the romantic implications of Alden Sterling’s heroism, you would be more fixated onwhyit was necessary in the first place.”
The anchorwoman’s mouth drops. “Well, we certainly didn’t mean to give the impression—”
“Is it or is it not true that the queen collapsed on the steps of a National Assembly?” Octavia asks, eyes narrowing. “From all firsthand accounts, it appears that collapse was triggered by the boom of a car backfiring.”
“Well, yes.” The anchor nervously shuffles the stack of papers on her desk. “We have heard reports that Queen Emilia was startled—”
“Startled is a kinder word than I would use.Paralyzedis a more fitting descriptor, is it not?”
“I suppose that isn’t entirely inaccurate—”
“Then I ask you plainly: is this the kind of ruler fit to reign over our country? One who cowers at the first sign of danger? One so fragile she crumbles to pieces at the slightest of pressure?”
The anchorwoman’s brows pull inward. “Her Royal Majesty has never before been accused of being timid, Lady Thorne. She kicked off a referendum, flying directly in the face of the established order. She is a bold public speaker. She has broken eons-old dress codes and propelled our monarchy into the modern age. She even stayed behind to help victims during the Vasgaard Square bombing, saving countless lives.”
Octavia’s lips purse with displeasure. “And yet, that same attack seems to have rendered her an emotional wreck. Her post-traumatic-stress has long been whispered about behind closed doors, but now we have irrefutable confirmation of it. Video evidence of a breakdown. That simply cannot be ignored.”
“But, Dowager, I’m not certain—”
“It’s a shame, really. Much as Iloatheto question the competence of a girl so close to my heart—” Sniffling, Octavia presses a hand to her heart in faux concern. “ —Truly, I always saw her as my owndaughter—” She wipes a nonexistent tear from the corner of one eye with a silk handkerchief she just-so-happens to have on hand. “I am too worried about the future of our countrynotto question it.”
As if this woman is capable of even the smallest smidgen of compassion. As if she is capable of anything at all besides manipulation and malevolence for her own selfish aims.
The anchorwoman, clearly flustered, seems to have lost control of the interview. Her mouth keeps opening and closing like a fish out of water as she searches for a suitable question or counterpoint.
As she flounders, Octavia continues her well-rehearsed diatribe — directly to the watching world. “Are the people of Germania not deserving of a leader who is actually able to lead us into the future? A girl too fragile to endure the backfiring of a car engine is surely unequipped to steer us through far greater terrors: wars and trade negotiations and political alliances. It has become glaringly obvious that Emilia is too scarred by the trauma of her past to continue on as our queen.”
“Lady Thorne, those remarks border on treason—”
“I do not care,” Octavia snarls, a bit of her venom seeping through the facade of motherly concern. “Not when the entire monarchy hangs in the balance, one loud bang away from utter dissolution.”
The anchorwoman gathers the fraying remnants of her composure, clearing her throat lightly. “Dowager, validity of your remarks non-withstanding… you talk as though we have another option readily available. Her Royal Majesty is the last remaining Lancaster. With Crown Prince Henry still comatose and seemingly unlikely to recover, we are without any viable heirs until the queen marries and produces one. Unless you are advocating for abolition of the monarchy altogether…”
Octavia’s eyes gleam. The anchorwoman has perfectly positioned her to introduce her plans. A power-coup, couched in false mercy.
“I am not suggesting we sink the ship which has borne us steadily onward for hundreds of years. I am merely suggesting that we adjust our sails to a course that will not dash us fatally upon the rocks… In part, by changing the captain at our helm.”
“Change our captain — you mean the queen?” The anchorwoman’s brows are arched high on her forehead. “How, exactly, would that happen?”
I listen, heart pounding like a drum inside my chest, as Octavia nails the final stakes into my political coffin.
“It is true that my late husband King Linus produced no heirs other than Emilia; nor did his elder brother King Leopold, discounting Henry. But their uncle, the honorable Duke Lionel — younger brother of King Leonard — did indeed have a daughter… and a grandson after that.”
“You are referring to thevon Strausslineage, are you not?” The interviewer’s head cants in curiosity. “If my Germanian history lessons serve me, Lionel’s daughter Helga Lancaster married out of the Lancaster line — relinquishing any claims to the throne when she wed a Norwegian businessman named Carl von Strauss.” The anchorwoman pauses. “Their son, Ludwig von Strauss, has never lived in Germania. He has never had any association with the royal family.”
“Nor did our current monarch, until quite recently. Was she not raised as acommoner? How is a girl born asEmilia Lennoxany more qualified to rule than Ludwig von Strauss — a young man with exceptional potential and unquestionable emotional stability?”
“Are you—” The anchor swallows hard. “Dowager, are you suggesting—”
Octavia stares straight into the camera lens, her every word intent. “I am not suggesting anything. I amurging, with every ounce of gravity I possess, that we do not discount viable alternatives when they present themselves. We, as a nation, have an obligation to explore the option of new leadership on the throne.” Octavia smiles so coldly, it chills me to the bone. “Perhaps this illegitimate girl, who was forced upon us by a series of tragedies, need not be our downfall. Perhaps what Germania needs most is not a queen at all… but a king.King Ludwig von Strauss. Direct descendant of Crown Prince Lionel… and rightful heir to the throne.”
* * *
The next fewhours pass in a blur.
I sit in the conference room in a daze, feeling detached from my own life. Emotionless. Unmoored. As if the events of the last few hours are happening to someone else.