7. “Royals” - Lorde
“Royals” - Lorde
My phone rings before the morning light has even had a chance to slither its way past the curtains in my bedroom. As I should have expected, it’s Maisie.
“I waited as long as I could,” she says in greeting. “But I can’t take it anymore. You read the diary, right? All of it?”
I push myself into a sitting position and rub the sleep from my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Five thirty. So, did you? Because I’ve been thinking, and we need to come up with a game plan.
The best thing to do is to go into this fully prepared.
But first, tell me your initial reaction.
Were you shocked? When did you figure it out?
I had my suspicions pretty early on, but it’s so unexpected, I still find it a little hard to believe. What—”
“How much coffee have you had?”
“I don’t know. Five or six cups, why? Oh, and how did you—”
“God, Maisie. Slow down. Not everyone has a caffeine drip in their arm.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stumble downstairs. Neither my mother nor Beatrice are up yet, because in the Chapman-Payne household we follow normal-people hours, like rising at seven a.m.
I start the coffee maker before lifting the phone to my ear again. Maisie is still talking as fast as ever, and I’m not sure she even knows I haven’t been listening. I let her continue to ramble as I grab a mug from the cupboard.
Last night hurtles into my mind like a wrecking ball.
The diary. Helena. William II and Catherine.
Family trees. Henry. Me. The monarchy. God, what a mess.
Did the whole thing actually happen? I’d write it off as the craziest dream I’ve ever had if it wasn’t for Maisie’s incessant chattering about it through the phone.
“—which seems like something to consider too. Are you even listening to me?” She finally stops for a breath.
I fill my mug and take a sip. “I am now.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“Right now, I intend to enjoy every drop in this cup of coffee. Then I’m going to take a shower.”
“I mean about the diary!” she says impatiently.
“I think we should keep it in the Society’s safe. I don’t like the idea of displaying it in the museum.”
“You want to put it in the safe.”
I take another sip. “Correct.”
“Just until the news is out though, right? After that, I thought we could have an entire feature wall dedicated to it, with the pages detailing the pregnancy blown up so people can read it, along with pictures of Helena and maybe some of her gowns—”
“No, I mean for long-term safekeeping.”
“You don’t think people would be interested in seeing it?” There’s confusion in her tone. “It’s going to become a historical sensation overnight. I just thought—”
“It’s not going to be anything besides another daybook someone found in their attic.”
There is a beat of silence. I imagine her blinking repeatedly behind her glasses.
Finally, she says, “You want it to stay quiet.”
“Now you’re catching on.”
“I see.” Maisie’s voice is almost too hushed to hear.
“Did you really think I would want to tell the world?”
“To be honest, yes, I did. I thought this would be a dream come true.”
“Disrupting the country, informing people they’ve had the wrong monarchs for almost two centuries? Becoming Wesbourne’s pariah? It sounds like a nightmare.” An involuntary shiver passes through me, and I take another drink.
“It wouldn’t need to be like that. We could approach it properly, have a detailed plan before we make a move.”
“A detailed plan to blow up the country? We don’t even know if the diary is legitimate. People would only need a shred of doubt to tear me to pieces over this. I like myself too much to let that happen.”
“We’ll find substantial proof. There must be things we can check—records, evidence, something.”
“Why don’t we ring up Helena and ask her.”
“This isn’t funny, Celia.”
Of course it isn’t. It’s as unfunny as something can get, but try explaining that to the part of my brain that’s short-circuiting. “Just trying to help,” I say.
“I don’t understand why you’re responding this way. I thought you’d be thrilled. Imagine what you could do as queen!”
I did. For almost an hour last night, lying in my bed unable to sleep, my brain playing the scenes on repeat as though they were actual memories.
Meeting foreign dignitaries; sponsoring charities I’m passionate about; traveling across the country to meet my citizens, listen to their requests, and find a way to make their lives better.
But none of that changes the fact that sharing this diary with Wesbourne will bring more harm than good. And that’s something I can’t stomach.
“It’s too big of a risk,” I say.
“Think of Kira. You could make a difference for people like her.”
The thought stabs at me, but it’s one I’ve already considered.
As queen, I’d have the power to push laws through Parliament without getting signatures on petitions.
Still, there’s no guarantee I would ever become queen, even if the diary were made public.
Most likely, it would only cause me to lose all credibility I’ve earned to date.
“You won’t change my mind. The diary stays secret.”
“But—”
“I’m serious.”
Maisie sighs. “You’re giving up an incredible opportunity. Do you know how many people would kill for this?”
“Too many, I’m afraid. Why do you care so much?” I’m beginning to suspect everyone has ulterior motives concerning my future.
“I—” She’s momentarily speechless, but she recovers in perfect form. “I’m your friend. I want to see you reach your highest potential.”
“Then, as my friend, please respect my decision concerning this.”
“Don’t you at least want to talk to your mum about it before you decide?”
I shudder. “My mother is never to catch wind of this.” That would provoke a level of maternal interference even Elizabeth Bennett would be in awe of.
“Okay.” Maisie’s tone is subdued. It’s so unlike her that for a brief moment I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. But all I have to do is picture the aftermath of revealing the diary dynamite to reassure me I’ve made the right decision.
It doesn’t matter how good anyone thinks I would be at the job. It doesn’t matter that I might change things for the better. It doesn’t matter what I want at all.
What matters is Wesbourne. It’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.