Twenty-One #2
Walking to the podium, I pass six Court members and Nicholas, all seated in high-backed chairs. My queen and the other Dragons spread out on the other side of the stage.
Silence descends as I face the room. Looking out at them all, I wonder if one of them is Evangeline.
She’ll be wearing a new face, a new body.
I’m never able to spot her, but she better fucking be here, willing to lay down her life to protect my queen.
I hate the idea of using her as bait. Hate how open this stage is despite the snipers we have above and the guards we have on all sides.
Arienna is just sitting there. What if the traitor in the Court doesn’t want her alive at all? What if she’s beside my queen right now, planning to prick her with a poisonous needle while everyone is watching me? She could die before anyone could save her.
Feeling my jaw tighten, I force myself to relax.
It’s me they want dead, not her.
All I need to do is protect her until this vote is over. Then we’ll no longer be royalty, the Court will be dead, and the majority of the threats against us will be eliminated.
Addressing our people, I begin to speak. “Many of you opposed Raza having a king. Many of you hate how I have ruled. I have left your loved ones to die on the front lines. I have blatantly sacrificed them, reducing them to little more than magic fodder and human shields.”
Anger poisons the air, but no one says a word.
“But I come to you today with the opportunity for you all to make those decisions for Raza. You can be better leaders than me.” I pause as confusion overrides the anger. “I want to end the monarchy.”
Now there is noise – a lot of it.
Heads turn as they ask each other if they heard me right. A loud buzz of discussion fills the room. Disbelief, shock, denial – it all wraps up into thousands of words that float up to the rafters in the high ceiling.
“Echo,” I say, and she lifts her staff off the ground. The other guards copy her. As one, they bang their sticks down hard.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The room quiets. The staffs still, and I launch into the basics of the law, then build on more of the specifics. When I finish and open up the floor to questions, a woman raises her hand.
“Yes?” I ask her, liking how enthusiastic she looks.
“What’s your morning routine for your flawless skin? Do you use products in your hair or is that a natural curl? And that tunic – who’s it by, Your Majesty?”
Fighting the urge to call her up to the stage just so I can deck her, I ask the crowd, “Does anyone have a question about the new law?”
“Your Majesty, when you were drafting it up, how much of it did you write naked?” a man hidden in the crowd asks.
My jaw tightens as I ignore him. Finally, someone asks a question of substance.
“What sort of test are we going to have to take in order for our vote to count, Your Majesty?”
Facing her, I answer, “It’ll be no more than ten questions, normally less, just so we can be sure each voter understands what they’re voting on.
For example, if you wish us to leave the Gaeriera Union, you will need to be able to first define what the GU is and then answer a few questions about how being in it affects our lives. ”
“And if we don’t know the answers?”
“You will get a short lesson before you can then vote.”
Another man speaks up. “Who will ask these questions? Who will make sure they’re not biased?”
“They’ll be factually based.”
“But we all know facts can be twisted.” He turns to look at those around him. “The bombs came from Vylian stalls!” He waves a hand at me. “Yet, our king claims they were the targets.”
“I received that information from Evangeline Sinclair.”
“And yet, they’re all alive, unlike my wife! So how could they have been the targets?”
The urge to explain that for someone to be resurrected, they first have to be dead makes my jaw tight, but I keep the words back.
This isn’t the time, and he won’t fucking listen.
He has a reality he’s desperate to hold on to, one that gives him someone to blame, one that makes it easier for him to navigate his grief and the cruelties of life, and nothing I can say will change that.
Because this isn’t about justice. This is about his need to not crumble when he’s already dragging his feet through hel.
Which is why those in poverty are more likely to be swayed by rage – because rage so often is all they have to keep them going. I cannot argue with the instinct to survive.
So I don’t.
I give him what he wants instead. “With this new law, you’d be able to vote for the files of this investigation to be released.
” Moving on before he can get another word in, I nod to a woman with one eye.
“Earlier, you mentioned there will be a separate court and budget for military operations, but what happens if the majority votes not to raise taxes in a recession, Your Majesty?”
“Why the fuck would we want to raise taxes?” someone grumbles. “They’re high enough already.”
My focus on the woman, I ask, “What’s your job?”
“I work in security, Your Majesty.”
“Is it your own company?”
“No.”
“How long have you worked for them?”
“Almost ten years.”
“And have you had a raise during that time?”
She looks nervously at those around her.
Continuing so she won’t have to answer in a full room, I say, “Most of you give your lives to corporations.
They profit exponentially while many of you struggle to get by.
They are dependent upon you without wishing to acknowledge that, claiming that you are replaceable while their CEO is not.
But a queen ant without her soldiers, even though she is the only one who can reproduce, is no queen at all.
“So in times of hardship, the most profitable corporations will be required to supplement a scaling percentage of their profits to the kingdom. We’ll start at the top and work down until we have the funding to take care of our people.”
“Will they be compensated later for that?” a woman asks, dressed almost as regally as my wife.
“Their compensation will come in a boosted economy.” At least then their profits won’t be at the cost of the lives of the poor, just their blood. “That tax will then be lifted.”
As the talks continue, I start to pace across the stage. I glance at the Court members every so often, seeing if they want to add anything to the discussion. But every time, they sit perfectly poised – not bored, not cowering. Just waiting.
Ignoring the crawl of unease across my skin, I answer question after question, and I can see the crowd coming to terms with the future I want. The murmurs of acceptance. Of hope. The nods and calculating eyes as they realise what this could all mean. For them. For their children.
I glance at Arienna, sitting behind me. She smiles as she meets my gaze, and all the knots in my back don’t feel so twisted. We’re going to have a future together, away from the responsibilities of the crown. With Jace and Nicholas and Fabia and all the monsters she wants.
As the four hours I planned for this debate near their end, Petre finally approaches the podium. I step back to let her have her say. The room quiets, expectant faces turning towards her.
“I only have two things for you all to consider,” she says calmly.
“Ruling a kingdom is not an easy task. You must compromise, and sometimes, you must sacrifice the present to secure the future. So first, I ask you to think about how much more work you wish to take on day to day. You will be required to keep up with all political matters enough to pass the quizzes. You’ll have to vote on every matter, taking up hours of your time – time that is already so precious due to work and war.
The twelve of us discuss politics full time.
So do you really wish to commit to all that we do? Without getting paid?
“The other point I wish to make,” she says, then pauses as she looks around the Red Ballroom.
My skin itches with the need to move. Clenching my jaw, I stay still, ‘relaxed’. They will understand that the amount of work this new era will require will have nothing on their gained freedoms.
“Is to really think about how dumb your boss is, your coworkers. Those that can’t get an order right or help you deal with a simple return.
Then think about all the people even dumber than that.
Those who are too stupid to work or to understand a simple concept you try to explain to them.
All of them will be allowed to vote. Do you really want the town idiots to have a say?
Or would you rather keep your free time and let us do our jobs. ”
As the atmosphere in the room shifts, Petre turns to me and smiles.
Fuck.