A reporter in a navy skirt suit jumped to her feet like a wind-up toy. Beatrice nodded, mind racing as she tried to remember the woman’s name. “Yes, Miss…”
Her hands grabbed the sides of the podium in a death grip. God help her, she simply had no clue who this woman was.
“Helen Crosby,” the reporter supplied, seeming hurt. “Your Majesty, you should know that we were all so impressed with the bill you championed at the League of Kings conference. Now that you’re back in the office, what will you do to further its goals?”
Beatrice shot a panicked glance at Anju, who was standing in the wings. They’d spent the last day in a flurry of briefings on legislation and economic updates, yet Anju had never thought to recap the League of Kings conference? Anju was mouthing something, but Beatrice couldn’t tell what it was. Children? Had Beatrice proposed some kind of global children’s health initiative?
“I remain committed to global reform. Thank you for asking,” Beatrice said, well aware that it was hopelessly vague. “Of course we will all continue the work we began at the conference, for the good of children everywhere.”
The room felt suddenly stifling. Everyone was glancing at her with a puzzled expression, or whispering to one another, wondering if she had slipped up—and what it meant. She felt color rising to her face but forced herself to keep going.
When the press briefing was finally over and everyone rose to their feet, Beatrice fled into the hall. Her breath was coming fast and shallow, her throat hot with restrained tears—
She nearly collided with someone and drew to a startled halt. What was Lord Ambrose Madison doing at the palace?
“Your Majesty. Welcome back.” He bowed, though the gesture was so cursory that it bordered on disrespect. Beatrice couldn’t help marveling at his phrasing, the way he’d welcomed her to the palace as if it belonged to him. She’d never much liked the Duke of Virginia or his daughter, Gabriella, who was as coldly arrogant as her father.
And she couldn’t forget that Ambrose had authored the bill stripping Samantha of her titles. Not that Beatrice was defending Sam’s actions—it was hardly responsible of Sam, running off into the sunset like that—but hadn’t Congress overreacted by removing her HRH?
“I hadn’t expected to see you today, Your Grace.”
“I came to your press conference, of course,” he replied stiffly.
“Are you a member of the media now?” Beatrice said it like a joke, though her smile was edged.
The duke scoffed. “Please. As hereditary Queen’s Champion, I’m entitled to attend all your press briefings.” His voice was overly loud as he added, “I’m certainly glad that I did.”
As if Queen’s Champion were a real position. They both knew it was wholly ceremonial, the sort of thing that involved wearing an oversized plumed hat and standing onstage, reading names off a heavy paper scroll. No one actually expected Lord Virginia to monitor the queen.
“Well, thank you for your support.” Beatrice tried to make it sound like a dismissal, but instead of leaving, the duke fell into step alongside her, uninvited.
“Your Majesty, I was startled to hear that you’re already returning to work. I know I speak for my fellow congressmen when I beg you to slow down.”
“You mean your fellow members of Congress,” Beatrice corrected him. She sensed that he’d used the outdated term on purpose, as if the female members of Congress weren’t even worth a mention.
Ambrose ignored her remark. “It might be best if we formalized the current situation.”
“Current situation?”
“With Jefferson as your Regent. You’re so delicate, and you’ve been through so much over the past year, between the loss of your father and the accident. You need to focus on your health.”
His tone was slick with what he probably hoped sounded like avuncular concern, but Beatrice knew it for what it was—condescension.
“Let your brother carry the burden of government for you. You may think you’ve recovered, but after severe accidents, it’s best not to push yourself too hard.” He chuckled. “We wouldn’t want you hurting yourself because you’d returned to work on a whim!”
Of course. When a man wanted something it was a need, but a woman’s desires were merely a whim.
That thought sprang into Beatrice’s head without warning, surprising her. It reminded her of someone, though she wasn’t sure who.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m the best judge of my own recovery,” she insisted.
“You didn’t seem recovered during that press conference. You seemed rather shaky.”
When Beatrice kept walking, Ambrose reached out to put a hand on her forearm—as if he needed to physically restrain her, or warn her. To remind her of her place.
Beatrice jerked her arm away.
“Your Majesty, it’s come to my attention that you’re under the care of Dr. Malcolm Jacobs. A specialist in cognitive and neurological trauma.”
“I was in a car accident. Of course I saw a specialist.” Beatrice’s words came out cool, though panic spiked in her blood again.
“So you’re saying you suffered no mental damage? Your mind is exactly the same as it was before the accident? Because,” he pressed, “I must remind you that you are required by law to inform Congress if there is something we need to know about your health. Specifically anything that prevents you from adequately performing your duties as queen. If you fail to do so,” he added, “Congress can remove you from your position.”
“Excuse me?” Beatrice felt heat creeping up her neck.
“The Constitution states in article one, section twenty-four that if the king is unfit to carry out the duties of his office, Congress can remove him from said office by a majority vote. At which point the heir apparent will—”
“I’m aware what the Constitution says. I was asking why you’re threatening me with the unfit-to-rule clause,” Beatrice interrupted.
“Threatening you?” Ambrose chuckled. “I would never do such a thing. Our families have been friends for three hundred years.” A sour expression darted across his face as he glanced back toward the Media Briefing Hall. “You know, I always hoped that Gabriella might be the one to marry your brother. Just think…an alliance between the Madisons and the Washingtons. What a powerful couple they would be.”
“It’s not the nineteenth century anymore. I think we can stop talking about royal marriages as alliances.”
“But isn’t that precisely what you and Theodore have?”
He spoke the words carelessly, as if they weren’t shockingly intrusive.