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A series of bad things.
What a way to start a year.
I couldn’t believe Sabina was dead. It hit me so hard. It made me feel so bad. Made me wish…she’d just let me go. It made me wish I had never gotten involved with her from the beginning. Had I been a better man from the start, a man like my father or brother…this wouldn’t have happened. I had to be and do better from now on.
I swear to God, I will.
“Gale.”
“Hmm?”
“Pardon Ambrose.”
I glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if that was divinely inspired because of my little oath just now.
She lifted her head and looked me in the eyes, exhaustion and sadness written over her face. “Please. The beginning of the year should be good. We should try to do as much good as we can. Even to people we don’t think deserve it.”
I hated Ambrose.
But that day when I went to see Sabina that last time I also hated her. And now I felt so sorry for her death. I didn’t want anyone else on my conscience.
“Okay.” I nodded.
Chapter 20
“My answer is no.”
“I invite you to reconsider, sir.” Prime Minister Hermenegild stared sternly. “After all, you have proven yourself to be movable, before.”
That jab was clearly directed at the last movable moment. It had been a little over a month since I had pardoned Ambrose. He had come to me the day before Ambrose’s sentencing, and there was a clear agreement I wouldn’t. He had come to me the morning of the sentencing, and still, we were on the same page. So he, with confidence, went before the public and stated that there would be justice and that justice would not be subverted due to the views of the “few.” The next day, I called him and told him I would pardon Ambrose and did…I got praise from the public for it. However, he clearly saw it as a betrayal. He was right. It was. That being said, I wasn’t going to do whatever he asked because of it, especially not this.
“Never, and I truly mean never, will I allow this. The queen is not a prop of the state. She is the mother of the nation. Like I said to you before, her identification is the crown on her head. You lift a picture of her anywhere, and the people will know who she is, without a doubt,” I replied with the same sternness.
His chest rose, his grip on his cane tightened, and through gritted teeth, he said, “Thank you for your time, sir.”
“Of course. See you next week,” I replied as I rose from my chair.
He bowed his head and took a single step back before turning and marching out the door. Exhaling, I lifted my watch to check the time when the door opened.
“We’re running late, Balduin,” I said, glancing at him. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, sir, the queen is already waiting at the back entrance to leave,” he said as my valet entered with my coat and gloves. “I believe she is excited, sir.”
“Paris does that to women, for some reason… Thank you, James,” I said, putting the coat on that had been given to me before walking to the door.
It was our first foreign trip as King and Queen, and there was a lot of commotion over it. Everything we did was always political, so there had been a long discussion over where we were going first. Some optioned for America, saying that since the queen was from there, it would be good to use it as an excuse to improve our relations more with Americans. Others worried that we would be ignoring long-time allies. There was a push to go to Austria because of the state dinner that was ruined last spring. The prime minister was in attendance and then had to leave as we dealt with all that drama. Then there was also Switzerland and Germany. But I chose France, for three reasons: first, it was where my father went for his first trip, second, it was close enough that I could return for my birthday, and third, because when I mentioned it to Odette, she got a dreamy look in her eyes. We couldn’t stay for Valentine’s Day, but it was better than nothing.
“You’re late,” Odette called out to me, her head tilted. She was waiting at the door in all pink—from her coat to her dress underneath, even her beret and a tiny purse.
“Forgive me, Queen Barbie.” I tried not to laugh as I reached her.
“You don’t like it?” She gasped, looking down at her outfit. “Should I go change?”
“I love it”—I took her hand—“and if we were to wait for you to go change, we might as well go tomorrow.”
“I do not take that long.” She made a face at me.
I glanced behind her at her permanent shadow. “Wolfgang, how long did this outfit arrangement take?”
