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“Yes.” She waved her spoon, joyfully looking over her cake. “It was nothing of importance, really. A small nuisance of sorts. But your mother assured me it will be taken care of.”
What?
What was this nuisance? Was this the thing she was rushing back home for?
Oh, God.
“You should try the raspberry one.” She used her spoon to point to the cake on the table. “It is truly sublime.”
I wondered if Marie Antoinette had lived long enough to be a grandmother…would she be like Arabella?
“Gale,” my mother said to me with a heavy sigh. “Do not let your grandmother influence you too much. Please.”
“Mother, I understand you two have issues. But that doesn’t mean she is always wrong. And I agree with her on this. Ambrose should get what he deserves. What he almost did to Odette… I have no sympathy for him at all.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then just stopped herself. “I’ll see you at dinner,” was all she said before she took her leave.
I wasn’t sure if I was grateful she seemed more concerned about sparing Ambrose than the fact that I was currently being mocked and humiliated in the papers.
All the lectures I’d ever gotten from my parents. All the lectures Arthur had given me…from the very last one, where he asked me, “How many women do you need exactly?” The last time he and I were face to face, he condemned me for my sex life. And I was so annoyed. It wasn’t that big of a deal to me. In my mind, no one was getting hurt; every relationship was consensual. I was just having fun, and they were the old bluenoses, sticks in the muds, the prudes…I had truly believed that. Even if the press found out, I thought, what was the worst they could say? The prince was having sex? Each and every time they scolded and criticized me, I went on doing whatever the hell I wanted to do. Because nothing bad ever happened… Only now, my sins were catching up to me. And they weren’t just harming me, but they were harming the image of everyone in this family.
They were harming Odette.
I knew she was doing her best to brush it off. I knew she understood it was the past. But it still had to be maddening to see her husband splashed over the news with other women. If the roles were reversed, I didn’t even know what I would say. Even now, the mere thought of it pissed me off.
“Sir?” Balduin drew my attention, reminding me that I wasn’t completely alone, even though everyone else had left.
My mother and my grandmother often made it harder to breathe when they both were going back and forth, sucking the oxygen out of the room with their short jabs at each other. But at the same time, it also reminded me I wasn’t a kid any longer. Before, on the rare occasions that my grandmother came to the palace, my mother would hold her tongue, would avoid speaking against her, at least when we—Arty, Eliza, and I—were present. She was always the model queen. Now that she no longer seemed to have that title, she seemed so much freer to speak her mind anyway she wanted against her. It was almost like she’d served her time of silence, humility, and patience; now, she was going to do whatever she liked.
“Sir?”
“Forgive me, Balduin, as you were saying?” I lifted my head to look at him.
“The prime minister would not simply try to do something to gain your approval for nothing, sir,” he replied, placing the tablet in front of me. “There is growing unrest about the Reform Act. More and more people are getting discontented with it, especially now that some of the policies are closer to taking effect.”
I stared at the list of scheduled protests planned for the weekend against the prime minister. “You believe he is going after Ambrose in order for me to help him improve support for this law?”
“You explained that he suggested the queen get a new identification?”
“He could convict Ambrose ten times. I would never let her do that.” What was with everyone trying to use the queen as some sort of tool? Not only had they suggested that she be my shield against these scandals, but they even suggested, after she left, that she do an interview in a few weeks.
“I fear he might not leave it alone that easily,” Balduin stated before leaning forward and swiping the page on the tablet. The article there read, “Palace Traitor, Thomas Ambrose, Is the Prime Minister’s Biggest Fan.” Good to know I wasn’t the only one having a bad news day. “Many feel that the Reform Act is a bit nationalist...racist. Having an actual neo-Nazi and traitor as a supporter, does not look good for him.”
I frowned as it clicked. He didn’t just want Odette because she was the queen. He wanted her because she was black.
“So, his idea is to say, the policy is not racist? Here is a black woman happy to accept the new law,” I mocked, slack-jawed.
“And I rebuke neo-Nazis; I am seeking the death penalty for one,” Balduin added.
“Even when it is a policy, the man still makes me want to punch him in the face,” I grumbled, rubbing the side of my temple.
“What do we do if he keeps pushing?”
“We do nothing!” I said angrily. “I don’t care who he puts on trial. I don’t care what his reasons are. The monarchy—the queen—is not a prop!” At least, apparently, to anyone but me.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” I exhaled, leaning back into my chair. “Now for a lighter conversation, please, have all the things I requested for our trip been prepared? I want to make this trip memorable for all the right reasons. Hell, have something romantic for her.” Somehow, I was always failing at that part.
