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“We’ll be ok,” he says, and his voice sounds wet with tears.
And, somehow, I know he’s right. We’ll be more than ok.
…
I am so happy I’m almost skipping up the stairs on the way to Marco’s mom’s hotel room. She’s staying at a hotel close to the hospital where Marco is in—we’re in New York. And then, just as Hector is about to knock, it hits me:
Marco is still in a critical condition. He’s in the hospital because of me, and after that he might be put in jail because of me. She might not be ecstatic to meet me.
But before I can grab Hector and make a run for it, the door of her room opens, and she stands there. She looks so much like Marco, my knees nearly buckle.
She is tall, almost as tall as him, but something about her feels fragile. Her hair is blond, lighter than Marco’s, but he has her eyes. They have wrinkles at the corners, as if she smiles often. Or as if she used to. Her eyes travel from Hector to mine, in confusion, but then they stop. She takes me in, my wild hair, my dark eyes, my slacks. She does a double take on my face, trying to place me. And finally she recognizes me.
“You…” she says, “you are her. You are the… the highness.”
“Her Highness the Crown Princess Olivia,” Hector says helpfully, as if now is the moment to announce my title (it’s not).
“I’m Olivia,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs, and his sentence ends in a cough.
Marco’s mom’s eyebrows lift, and her blue eyes, so like her son’s, have an unreadable expression on them.
“You…” she says again. “You are why.”
/we the rotten royals/
Official statement
We would like to issue a formal apology to His Majesty the King of Asteria and the Crown Princess Olivia of Asteria. It is not our place to judge their choices, and we join the billions of people in their wishes for a speedy recovery and continued safety for them both.
We will make no further comment or announcement unless it is sanctioned by His Majesty himself, as a sign of respect. We do not condone his behavior but nor do we feel, at present, that it is up to us to judge it. The monarchy has many faults, and we will fight tirelessly to right them, as is our right. We will fight to make this rotten world a little less rotten. We sincerely hope to be able to work alongside His Majesty to do so.
His Majesty, our father.
Signed:
We the Rotten Royals
fourteen
I had promised myself I wouldn’t cry.
That was a stupid promise.
Even before she starts talking, her voice steady and warm, but thick with emotion, tears are already pouring down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry that I’m the reason your son is hurt.” I am shaking all over, and if Hector didn’t have his arm around my waist, I don’t know how I would be standing up right now.
“I meant,” she says, and her mouth softens with kindness. Infinite sadness shines in her eyes. Marco’s eyes. “You are why he is alive,” she says. “You are the girl he loves.”
I swallow. Hector’s arm tightens around me.
She has heard the messages, of course she has. I didn’t think the phone had enough battery to send them all back there in the barn, but I don’t remember how much time passed, or what he did exactly. I suddenly feel like such an idiot, having come all the way here for no reason at all.
“Have you brought me the rest of his voice messages?” she asks and my eyes snap to her face in question. “I only got the first seven,” she explains, “but I know there must be more. For some reason, only the first seven came through. But I wasn’t worried, I knew you’d come. Somehow, I knew you were that kind of person.”
“What kind?”
She smiles, and this time it’s a real enough smile that it chases away the sadness for a second. “The kind who cares,” she says, taking my hand in hers and pulling me inside.
