Page 100 of A Problem Princess

She shouted back with all the imperial indignation she could muster, “Idemandyour attention!”

Her fierce shout captured the attention of the room, and the men had no choice but to fall silent, even Scepter’s pawns, as they were shouted down by others who wanted to hear what Cordelia had to say. For all their numbers and influence, they couldn’t control a room this size, and Clayton took hope in that.

Apparently, so did Cordelia. “I am here to announce to you that the reign of the house of Renaldi has ended in Monrovia. Further, we give up all claims of succession to the British throne.”

Surprised gasps went up around the hall, followed by bewildered mumblings.

She continued over the grumblings, “I speak for myself, for my uncle Monrovia, and for our entire family.”

Clayton kept his eyes fixed on the princess. She was being propelled along by sheer bravado and by her duty to her country. He’d never seen her more courageous.

Buoyed up by the surprised reactions, she walked slowly toward the raised dais at the end of the hall where sat a gold throne, the same throne used by the monarch for the opening of Parliament and the coronation ceremonies. It was a clear reminder of history and tradition and a firm statement of the strength of the British constitution.

“As you can see, I am unharmed, and neither the Home Office, the palace guards, nor my royal cousins should be blamed for any attempts of violence toward my person.” Her gaze darted toward Clayton. “No oneshould be blamed.”

She stepped onto the dais and held out her arms as she turned in a slow circle so everyone present could see that she was fine. More than that, Clayton decided as he moved down the hall to stand at the edge of the dais to be closer to her, she was simply magnificent.

She cast an imperial glance around the room, one that reached clear up to the men in the upper galleries and far back into the corners. “Monrovia throws its full support behind His Majesty King George the Third, Queen Charlotte, our cousin the prince regent, and all the royal dukes and princesses.” She lowered her voice and muttered so quietly that only Clayton could hear, “Well, perhaps notallof them…”

Clayton cleared his throat to fight down a laugh.

“I want to be very clear today as I address the representatives of Great Britain, its military heroes, the finest of its gentlemen, and its leaders of tomorrow.” She paused to emphasize her words. “Both my uncle and I will refuse all calls to bestow upon us Great Britain’s crown, its orb…”

She picked up a banner hanging from a stand on the dais that showed the Monrovian coat of arms with its gold key, and she ripped it in two.

“And especially itsscepter!”

***

A thunderous cry echoed through the great hall, followed by the pounding of fists and feet, but Cordelia kept her back impossibly straight, her head held high. Never had she been forced to make a performance like this before in her life. But she couldnotfail.

She held up her hand to silence them. She wasn’t yet finished.

“I also announce to you today that my uncle Monrovia has abdicated the throne of Monrovia,” she continued, putting voice to her most hopeful wishes, even if they weren’t true.Yet.“Our entire family will rescind our royal duties and status as a way to counter the wrongs committed by my uncle that you shall surely hear of in the days to come—”

When the crowd around her began to call out, she held out her hands in a plea for quiet so she could continue.

“And the Crown Council of Monrovia will quickly appoint a new reigning prince,” she shouted over the growing noise of disbelief and shock among the crowd, “one worthy of our friendship with Great Britain, one worthy of leading Monrovia into the future while also honoring its past.”

She reached up with trembling hands to remove the tiara. She stared at it in her hands. It wasn’t hers, yet all it represented remained the same.How heavy it was… How had she never noticed before the sheer weight of it?

She pulled in a deep, ragged breath and summoned what was left of her courage. She had one more announcement to make. Oneveryimportant announcement.

“Today, I entered Westminster Palace as a princess royal to address you on behalf of my country. Now I leave you as…”

Her courage finally failed her, and her voice trailed off.

“As plain Jane Smith,” a deep and familiar voice called out from beside the dais.

Clayton.His love for her shone in his eyes. Buoyed by this strength, she cast a beaming smile across the room and finished, “As nothing more than a dear friend of Britain and all her people.”

Chaos broke loose across the great hall as everyone in the room began to talk and shout at once. The men jumped up from their seats and poured down from the galleries to crowd onto the narrow floorspace. Angry shouts of all kinds and bursts of applause echoed off the stone walls and wooden beams overhead, along with the stomping of feet and the pounding of fists on the wooden railings. Stunned confusion competed with both anger and approval, and arguments and shoving matches broke out throughout the hall.

The crowd surged toward her and engulfed her on the dais. The guards ran toward her from the edge of the room, but they weren’t fast enough. In the melee, she was jostled down to the main floor and fought to remain on her feet. She could just make out a stream of men—undoubtedly Scepter loyalists—fleeing for the doors, while others hurried to her side to ingratiate themselves with her in a blatant show of support for the royals.

Caught on the current in the sea of bodies, she was swept away from the dais and into the middle of the hall. Panic surged through her. She wasn’t safe here in the lion’s den with enemies all around, enemies who might yet attempt to kill her even in the very heart of Parliament.

“Clayton!” She strained to see through the crowd, but she couldn’t find him. Her heart raced with fear, and she desperately held up her hand above the heads of the crowd around her, like a swimmer drowning in the sea—