Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ELLA
It takes my mind a moment to fully register what Archer said.
I am not a shy person, in general. It takes a certain degree of people-person-ness to last as a barista.
But public speaking, especially with a thousand cameras pointed at you, is a whole different ball game from taking orders and making friends.
I watch Archer give Queen Merinda a sharp bow of the head before disappearing into some sort of tunnel at the bottom of the royal box.
The announcer asks the crowd to welcome the crown prince, and a roar of applause follows Archer all the way to the podium.
Even from the back, he cuts a dashing figure: tall and formal and just very princely in general.
If the high-pitched screams are anything to go by, the other girls in the stadium agree.
I clap along with the rest of the crowd.
Alya whoops and earns a glare from Her Majesty.
She doesn’t seem to care much about her mother’s disapproval, but I’m glad I’ve kept any outward swooning to a minimum.
Blood princesses might get a pass for lack of decorum.
But I don’t think people would be as forgiving with a pretend royal fiancée.
The screaming and clapping last for another ten seconds before cooling down. Archer leans towards the microphone. He speaks with crisp, clear, noble diction.
“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, the honorable representatives of Argenterre, Sanbellini, Andova, Schanberg, and Drenland, on behalf of Her Majesty Queen Merinda, we the court of Northandria welcome you—to the one hundred and fifty-eighth Carvarell Games.”
A wave of applause crests and then eases.
Archer continues, “On this land, our ancestors have conducted, for generations, competitions that honor strength, athleticism, strategy, and grace. From their dignified examples, we learn the value of competition and unity. And through these games, we continue to celebrate the gifts of skill, diligence, talent, and above all, sportsmanship and collaboration.”
Archer looks out at the crowd. Their cheers surround him, but he doesn’t bask in the applause like a superstar.
He doesn’t wave or draw more attention than he naturally commands.
He surveys the scene like the dignified royal that he is.
Someone born to reign and born to serve.
Someone who knows everything there is to know about Northandria and stands proudly as its representative.
It’s honestly incredibly entrancing.
The cameras agree, alternating between shots of the crowd, the queen, and various flattering angles of Prince Archer. And there are plenty.
“We honor the past and revel in the present,” Archer continues.
“And we stand hand in hand as we usher the Games, and the legacy of the Carvarell Compact itself, into the glory of the future.
Together, you and I form the backbone of a society that treasures the past as much as it welcomes the future.
Without the past, the future charges forward in recklessness.
And without the future, the past fades into irrelevance.
“But today, we share the unique and irreplaceable honor to wield together the two in a celebration of harmony and achievement. For your presence, I thank you. For your friendship, I honor you. And as we celebrate the 900 years past of Northandrian tradition, we herald with you the 900 years to come. May each year be a testament to the enduring legacy of collaboration, unity, innovation, and strength.”
People cheer the way they’re expected to for big, dramatic speeches. It’s the same way from valedictory speeches in high school all the way to political conventions. But Archer doesn’t shout over the noise. He waits until the applause quiets, and then he continues.
“For we are more than a compact and more than an alliance.” His tone softens slightly, his words still clear but with the oratory flair dialed down.
“For me, the Carvarell Countries remain, more than anything, an enduring family. Together, we are a family that has weathered catastrophes, wars, failures, and successes. Together, we have faced down the challenges of history’s fickle fortunes.
And together, we will continue to triumph.
“Every person present today is important to Northandria, and as such, is important to me. From the richest to the humblest, from the strongest to the most in need among us, we uplift you as a family. And we will remain your greatest cheerleaders no matter the successes and strains of the days to come.”
He looks straight at the camera, his blue eyes crystal clear. “It is to this Carvarell family that Queen Merinda, Princess Alya, and I pledge our lifelong allegiance and service. Long live the Queen, Long live Northandria. Long live the Carvarell Games.”
He steps back from the podium as the crowd roars. The camera zooms in on the royal box, where Queen Merinda raises a regal hand in acknowledgment. The royals around her applaud in various serene poses. All eyes focus on the Northandrian monarch.
All eyes except mine.
Because walking back towards me is the man who ties the past and the future of Northandria into one solemn, handsome package. A man who managed to rouse in me a sense of patriotism for a country I have been in for less than a week.
There’s a slight difference in Archer’s bearing compared to earlier this evening, as if the weight of the speech has been lifted.
It’s just one of the many sacrifices he makes for his role, a role that he carries with the natural distinction of a man born to lead.
And when he locks his gaze onto mine for the last few strides back to his seat, I know for the first time in my life what it means to have your heart racing at the mere sight of a person.
If this were a movie, this is where the slo-mo edit and the soundtrack of throbbing heartbeats takes over.
I stand to welcome him back, or for whatever reason my brain cannot manage to explain right now. The announcer’s voice fades into the background, as much of a blur as all the other faces around us. All I see is Archer walking back, eyes trained on me, or maybe even my lips.
Is he actually going to kiss me in front of everyone?
And do I actually want him to?
He steps up next to me, slips a hand on my waist, and presses a chaste kiss on my forehead. Judging from the squeals that suddenly erupt all across the stadium, the camera must have caught the kiss.
And that’s probably all there is to it. A camera kiss. A publicity kiss.
I try not to shake too much as we both slip back into our seats.
“Great speech,” I manage to say.
“Thank you.”
And that’s probably all there is to it.