21. Nina
21
NINA
I’m surprised at the relief washing over me when Aunt Beverly arrives. Perhaps it’s the familiar face at a stressful dinner.
Tonight, I genuinely consider my future.
Ever since discovering my lineage, I haven’t considered the history of the crown or its function. I need to learn about the government and understand its fine-tuning. My aunt explains that Maldana has a constitutional monarchy—they’re the face of the country and show strength, courage, and excellence. I don’t know what it means to be a princess, let alone a queen.
But my stomach sinks at the idea of taking this administrative job in September. It’s not what I want. My goal has always been to bridge the gap as a translator, possibly for an organization as big as the United Nations. I love to help people, and my knack for language science is the way I can best help them.
But what if I can do more?
As we wait for the remainder of the guests to arrive, I sit in a lounge area with Maia, Aunt Beverly, and two other early arrivals—George and Nico. George is from the Higher Court’s communications office. He has plenty in mind for what my sister and I can do and is convinced the public will adore us. I’m not eager to find out. Nico, the head of the Lord Chamberlain’s office, explains how he and his people arrange our trips and functions.
“Functions for what?” Maia asks.
Nico gives a hearty laugh. He leans back on the loveseat and sips his liquor. “Everything. The list goes on. Dinners, ceremonies, luncheons. We’re your calendar come to life.”
Maia and I exchange glances. The thought of being busy enough that we need an entire office to manage it is a little more than intimidating. It’s frightening.
Within the next twenty minutes, the heads of the human resources and treasury offices arrive, and so do the staff belonging to them. I ask about Helen’s recovery when she arrives, and she’s pleasantly surprised by the question. By far, she’s the kindest member of the Higher Court by trying to learn more about Maia and me as individuals, while the rest like to dive into business, contrary to what Aunt Beverly had told me. At least twenty-five people fill the room, and I stopped memorizing names after the tenth person.
Despite Wesley being largely out of sight tonight, it’s a comfort knowing that he’s here somewhere. He handles everything with ease and relaxation, and even his distant presence inspires me to emanate that.
When all the guests arrive, we settle at the table in the center of the circular room. Aunt Beverly had taken care to inform the kitchens of my and Maia’s vegetarian diet, and although I’m reluctant to taste the eggplant parmesan, it’s delicious.
The Court becomes more welcoming as the evening goes on, and it’s noticeable that they love Maldanians. Even though they praise the people, I’m skeptical of anyone who holds power like theirs. Should I ask them candid questions about where taxpayer money is spent? Where the funding comes from?
The attention of the gathering is so focused on Maia and me that it’s difficult not to close into myself. My sister, on the other hand, thrives in it considering she typically loves being the center of attention.
Once dessert is served, conversations disperse among the many seating areas around the room. I slip free from my discussion with Helen to head upstairs to the balconies. I’ve been socializing for over two hours and my body is starting to send me warning signs.
I let the fresh air calm my rapid heartbeat. For the first time tonight, I slouch my shoulders and roll out my neck. Tension slowly leaves my body as I spot an alcove overlooking the barely lit garden. I flinch at the sound of shuffling feet behind me.
I huff. “Can you—not now. I need a minute alone.”
“I won’t speak.” Wesley knots his hands in front of him, and although the sight would be a pleasant distraction, I want privacy.
“No,” I insist, waving a hand and gesturing for him to leave. “Go away. Vanish. I need space. You said yourself the palace is heavily guarded—so shoo .”
Shooing him away reminds me of Maia. Before I fall into a state of worry about how my sister would adapt to being princess, I push everything from my mind and take a sip of my drink.
For a single moment, I don’t want to think about anything. Not my crippling relationship with Dad. Not the check-in texts Raven sends me. And definitely not how invigorated Wesley makes me feel from a simple touch, yet at the same time, his steady presence calms me beyond expectation. I press a hand against my cheek and close my eyes.
Breathe in, breathe out.
“You should see it in the autumn.”
I try not to get angry at the gentle voice. A brunette man around my age saunters up to me, his dreamy gaze on the dark landscape. In heels, I have a solid four inches on him.
“Yeah,” I breathe out, my hand tightening around the champagne glass. I don’t even like champagne. “I bet it looks breathtaking.”
I don’t remember his name or know how to politely tell him to leave me alone. “What do you think of the country so far?” he asks, his Maldanian accent strong.
I have yet to come up with a blanket reply to people asking me this question. He’s seeking a hint about what my decision will be. “It’s absolutely beautiful here. I love it.”
“Do you feel at home?”
I tense. What a weird question. “Well—with my mother from here, I certainly feel a connection.”
From the corner of my eye, I spot him nod. He speaks in a soft voice. “Nice… That is nice.”
Awkward silence fills the space. It’s odd that he doesn’t get the hint I don’t want to engage in conversation. My answers are brief, reserved. I need this time alone before I go back to the crowd.
Speak up, Nina. Demand your space.
“Um, if you wouldn’t mind?—”
I barely have time to gasp as his hands around my throat dig into my windpipe. My chest immediately explodes with pain, begging for more air. The man’s kind eyes turn dark as he leans into me, and my entire body is aflame with nerves when I feel the breeze against my bare arms.
He’s choking me.
He’s killing me.
Panic washes over me and I don’t know what to do first. Grab onto the ledge so he can’t throw me over. Hit him with the champagne glass! But my hands are empty. When did I drop it? I don’t remember hearing the glass shatter.
“We don’t want you here,” the man whispers, his hold around my neck tightening as his breath fans my cheeks. “Death to the monarch. Vi ponte lo revínastí.”
Is this going to be the last face I see?
My ears burn. My vision blurs. No amount of clawing at his face and hands stops the breath draining from me. I have no more energy to panic; all of it rushes to my core and tries to fight for air. Black dots hover in front of me. My legs weaken, and he starts to lower with me until two big hands cover his face from behind and rips him away like it’s nothing.
I collapse as air rushes back into my lungs. Alive. Breathe. Tears well in my eyes, a few escaping despite the effort. Through my foggy vision, I can see who tore him off me.
Wesley .