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“Do you want to go to the woods and sneak in through the garden?” I ask.
“No. I’d rather face whatever this is and get it over with,” Etienne says.
I give his hand a squeeze, and we march on.
News reporters are gathered on the front step. One of them knocks on the door. One of them turns to another one standing behind him, her arms crossed as she holds a microphone.
“I don’t think they’re home,” she says.
Just then, one of them spots us coming up the lane, and it’s like a stampede.
Before we can change our minds and hide under a rock, a microphone and recording devices are thrust into our faces.
“Any comment on the king’s decision?”
Etienne and I exchange a look.
“What decision?” Etienne asks.
One reporter with an accent that tells me she’s traveled here all the way from America pipes up with, “The king has declared you mentally unfit to serve as king, so he won’t be stepping down.”
Some part of me knew it would come to this. I didn’t want to entertain that thought, but now it’s happening.
“Etienne? Let’s go inside and clean up first. They can wait for a statement,” I say.
“No, I’m ready to comment right now,” he says, his expression calm and relaxed.
Oh my stars and planets, don’t cuss. Please, husband, do not cuss at these people.I glance around, and this is not the paps. These are legit news organizations. Someone from the BBC is here, the CBC and CNN.
“The king is within his rights to stay in power as long as he lives. I wish him a long and healthy life with that decision.”
One of the reporters turns to me. My throat dries up.
She asks, “Now that you know you’ll never be queen, what’s going through your mind?”
At this, I know exactly what to say. Although I don’t like the way the king and queen have treated their children or the underhanded way they’ve connived to see them married off, I have always enjoyed my company with the queen. She’s never spoken an unkind word to me. For that, I cannot bring myself to say anything against her.
“I could never fill Queen Hilda’s shoes. She is a legend, and she raised a fine man. I’m more than content to live simply as the Princess and Etienne’s wife.”
I glance up at him and smile; the look he gives me is pure love. A hundred shutters snap, but it’s just us.
In minutes, everyone with internet access in the country will witness this moment between us. But for now, it’s just us.
40
Etienne
The next few days bring a barrage of the wildest tabloid stories about me.
I’ve never had this much media attention in my life.
Anyone taking these stories seriously will be of two schools of thought: I’m an unstable abuser who is isolating his wife and making up a whole story about my recovery. Or, my wife is a shrew bent on driving a wedge between me and my family.
My wife finds me doom scrolling again and pacing back and forth in the orchard one morning after I’ve skipped breakfast to be alone.
“They can say what they want about me, but they cannot and will not say such things about my wife,” I growl when Kala tries to take my phone away to mitigate my internet consumption.
She sighs softly and offers me my coffee with her gloved hand. It’s autumn in Gravenland, and the winds from the north are getting colder and harsher. The weather chaps my wife’s lovely cheeks, and I have the impotent urge to shield her from the forces of nature and the media.
