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“I think it looks nice.” I smiled, cupping her face. “And if you want it long, it will grow back. Big hair is also a lot of work. My mom has to help me with mine.”
“My mommy isn’t here anymore,” she muttered, and I was just failing up and down apparently. “Daddy tries, but he needs more practice.”
“You both do, apparently.” I pinched her cheeks. “Don’t give up just because someone said something. Don’t go trying to copy people. It never works. You have to be you.”
Oh, dear God. I sounded like one of those holiday specials we’d all heard a thousand times, preaching clichés to the youth.
“See, not a big deal. Now can you help me become a knight?” Leo asked for the dozenth time, clearly frustrated.
I listened to them talk and laugh and tease each other for almost an hour before their parents came rushing. All of them were very apologetic and panicked that their children had “disturbed” me, but in all honesty, it was entertaining. I hadn’t spent much time with kids. So, seeing them talk fast, eat, and play was like an adventure of my own.
Victoria held on to her father, a thin, geeky-looking kind of guy with bright hazel eyes that hid behind thick-framed glasses.
“I hope she wasn’t overwhelming, ma’am,” he said to me in English with a heavy accent. “If so, I apologize. She’s been wanting to say her hair is like the queen’s to kids at her school.”
I froze.
Talk about a heavy burden to carry.
I glanced at Victoria, who looked back at me, her face bunched as she tried to figure out what we were saying. But from the look on her face, she seemed to know her dad was ratting her out.
“No, she was great. They all were. And thank you for letting us all spend time here. It is very nice. I’m sure the kids like having a playroom; it makes you forget you are in hospital.”
“If you’ll give us a moment, we can show you around if you’d like,” Leo and Orien’s father offered. He was the complete opposite of Victoria’s father. Very very tall and muscular. Almost like a bodybuilder, which made lifting both of his boys into his arms easy.
I glanced at Thelma, hoping she’d tell me what to do, but she just stood and looked back at me. That wasn’t her job. No one else was here but me, and it would be a bit wrong not to see the hospital where I was treated.
“Okay,” I agreed, allowing them to show me the rest of the children’s wing.
And it spread like wildfire that I was there. The hospital seemed to wake up. I said hello to the night shift nurses and doctors and a few children sitting by their parents’ side. They all lit up when I came to see them as if I were someone super important. As if I had any real power over them. I was just me, just a rich girl from Seattle. I didn’t know anything. I couldn’t change the world. I couldn’t make their day easier. Nothing in their lives would change from meeting me or not meeting me. I did not want to be queen in the beginning. I accepted it eventually because I wanted to be with Gale. But deep down, I still didn’t want to be anything but my complicated self.
“I’m not a hero,” I whispered to Thelma when I finally reached the door of my room. “I’m not even a princess. I’m a girl who fell in love with a guy who happened to be a prince. So why did those kids—that little girl—want me to be their savior?” I glanced back at her, and she stared blankly at me. “I can’t even save myself. That’s why I’m leaving.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, miss.”
I frowned. Of course, I was talking to the wrong person. “Thank you for the walk.”
Entering my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned on it. I wasn’t fit to give little girls hope or to lead anyone. How could someone as scared, emotional, and weak as me be anyone’s queen? I was a coward. Nothing like my mother. And no genius like my father.
So the answer was simple. I couldn’t do it anymore.
Getting back into bed, I lay down and closed my eyes. By this time tomorrow, I’d be home, and this would all feel like a dream one day.
“Is that all Balduin?” I asked, giving him the last of the briefs for the day—well, the night. Seeing as how we were once again finishing late.
“One more thing, sir.”
“Well? What is it?”
“Tomorrow, formal charges shall be filed against Mr. Am—” Balduin paused, knowing I did not want to hear that name. “Since we have been silent to the media, allowing the police to do their jobs, now would be the best time to put out an official statement.”
He set the single piece of paper, with a single paragraph, on the desk for me to read. But I did not want to see it because I immediately knew that it was inadequate. The things I wanted to say were much longer than that page—my curses and ill-wishes alone were at least two paragraphs. But I did have to boil it down. It would be simple. “I hate him, and I hope they give him the death penalty. Can that be my official statement?”
“Sir, the death penalty was prohibited as of fifty years ago.”
“Unless the action is taken against the royal. I know the law, too, Balduin. I did go to school for it.”
“Yes, sir. However—”
