The podium and microphone are already in place, because Sloan thinks of everything.
Whether I’m ready or not, this is my chance.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, of the country, I see that you’re just as ready as I am for a change. I’m not talking about a shift in small things meant to pacify us. I’m speaking of a larger change that’s long overdue.”
This was the other reason Paxton couldn’t deliver this speech. It would look like he was making a selfish and premature grab for the throne.
“King Regis attacked me while I was in prison.”
I pause for the gasps, coiling my fingers around the podium.
“That’s what he was doing when the police came in to arrest him for illegal dealings. You’ve all no doubt seen the pictures of me that have circulated in the papers. That was from a separate attack, but Regis is just as responsible for it, though he wasn’t the one who turned his hand against me that time. What your king did was look the other way when a steaming pile of garbage was dumped on my head. What your king did was dismiss the crimes of people who could fill his pockets and make his rule the wealthiest in history.”
I haven’t deviated from my speech. My notecards rest on the podium, reminding me to keep going, and not to chicken out.
My eyes scan the crowd, locking eyes with a woman about my age. Though I’m speaking to everyone, I direct my next words to her. “I tell you he is your king because anyone who looks the other way when your neighbor is being treated unjustly deserves Regis.” I start talking with my hands, my voice carrying. “Well, he is not my king!”
The sound of applause shocks me, widening my eyes. My obvious surprise no doubt steals any hold on authority I may have had.
I swallow hard, reminding myself that I have a right to my own voice. Whether they like me or not, this is who I am, and what I firmly believe.
A deep breath fills my lungs. “I don’t want an apology. I don’t even want vindication. I want Regis’ crown on a silver platter. I want him out of office, because he threw too many of his own citizens under the bus. It’s time that his son is given a chance to care for the country that’s been so badly overlooked. You deserve better than this selective conscience of his you’ve settled for over the years.”
Then it hits me how many people stayed silent when I was sent to prison.
When Charlotte was locked up, it wasn’t even a blip in the papers.
I shrug, suddenly filled with disgust. “Or, you know what? Maybe you don’t deserve better than Regis. Maybe you’re getting exactly what you deserve, and there’s nothing better for you.”
I look down at the podium, gripping the sides to steady my temper. I cannot leave this place until some forward motion happens. I cannot let my campers down.
Now that I’ve let my voice out into the open, I cannot take it back.
“I know the future I deserve.” My finger taps a staccato beat into my sternum. “I know the freedom I’m not willing to sacrifice for the king’s treasury. I know what I’m worth, and so should each of you! Your vote matters. Your voice is important. There will always be someone coming to silence you, but you cannot let them! You must press on. For me, I will not stop until the world knows that the Sins of the Father is a corrupt bill that has never benefitted society. It doesn’t stop crimes. It’s not giving anyone a better future, to give breaks to criminals with loads of money. That’s not a functional society.”
I know I’ve skipped a huge part in the middle of my speech, but I feel myself hurtling toward my main point, and I can’t stop. Passion is a tidal wave in my soul, pushing me farther than I ever thought I would go, and in public, no less.
I can’t believe I ever promoted fashion when I could have been doing this. A rush fills me, clouding out the self-doubt and worry that almost kept me confined and quiet in the backseat of my father’s car.
Not today. Not ever again.
“I will not be quiet about a corrupt policy! I will not leave my fellow fugitives to fend for themselves. And if you sit idly by, shrugging while we lose our very voices, then I have no use for your selfishness! You have your king who will protect your precious head as you bury it in the sand. You have your comforts that keep you warm at night. And what do I have?”
A wicked smile finds me as my plan to help fund my camp finally cracks out over the crowd. To Sloan’s credit, he doesn’t look worried that I’m going to choke. This is the part of the speech I wrote myself, without Father’s permission.
Someone should stop me. Goodness knows I can’t stop myself now. I’m in too deep.
I go for broke and take off my shoe, holding the blush heel high for everyone to see. “Well, you all know what I have. I’ve got four-thousand-dollar stilettos. Each pair was bought by King Regis himself, paid for by taxpayers like you, and gifted to me.”
I pause for the gasps, because they’re too loud for me to talk over.
“If you’re with me, you can have them, too. In fact, to help fund the camp for my fellow ex-cons, I’m auctioning off each and every pair he bought me. If you support the idea of freedom for those wrongly accused, then bid high. Every dollar spent at the online auction I’ve set up will go directly to house the inmates the king has turned his back on.”
I run my finger along the satin, the mania in my tone quieting to a sadness I cannot conceal. “And for those of you who don’t need another pair of designer shoes, we still need your assistance. We need volunteers who can help us set up a life that cannot be stolen away from us again. I’m willing to bet that everyone here would care if their neighbor was taken away and chucked in some dank prison. The question is: how much do you care?” I make eye contact with the woman my age in the crowd. “Will you make yourself uncomfortable to help someone get back on their feet?”
The woman stands up on her toes and shouts so triumphantly that my insides rally. “I will!”
The desperate nature of her cry draws more people to raise their hands, letting me know that we don’t stand alone. Gray’s words of focus come to me right when I need them. “I want this life, with you. Not that life, where I don’t know when I’m going to be yanked out of my bed and thrown away. This life, not that!”
I repeat the mantra twice, and it takes wing, flying through the street and attaching the sentient of hope to everyone within earshot.
When the crowd settles, Sloan reminds me quietly. “Call to action.”
Bollocks. This is why I should’ve stuck to the script. I told them Paxton should have delivered the speech.
Father’s face is red as he stands beside me. I can tell he’s itching to take the microphone away. He wants me dependent on him for life. Now that I’ve saddled myself with nearly five-hundred inmates, that’s what he assumed would have to happen. He wants me to need his deep pockets, so he would have something to hold over me. He wants another strand of my hair, so his magic can be further enhanced.
If I want to stand for what I believe, then I have to get out from under his thumb.
Daddy’s fuming, so I hurry to the end. “Right now, we need contractors and clothing. I’ve secured us houses, but we need foundations poured, which isn’t cheap. Every week, I’ll announce a new way you can help us. This week, we need contractors. And if you can go through your closets and thin out what you’re not using, I know almost five-hundred people who could use the literal shirt off your back.”