The Red Ballroom is packed when I take the stage. Nicholas has outdone himself, getting it ready on such short notice. Rows upon rows of chairs stretch across the wooden floor. The large double doors at the other end are thrown wide open, showing hundreds more people out on the branch. A rarity, Evangeline’s ants –the agents of FI-9– are in uniform rather than in civiliangarb as they guard the door. Though I do not doubt there are even more of her ants hidden in the crowd.
Echo stands between the stage and the first row of chairs, along with a mix of the Royal Guard and FI-9 agents. Jace, Marrabel, Irin, and Fabia stay along the back wall. They all hold a staff in front of them; swords are sheathed at their hips.
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 theGaeriera 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 claimstheywere the targets.”
