“You realize it would require a full press blackout, if we wanted to keep you safe.”
“We could negotiate that,” Jeff insisted.
“What does Daphne think?” Something about the look on her brother’s face made Beatrice pause. “Jeff. Do you still want to get married?”
He stared down into his whiskey. “I can’t imagine losing Daphne. She’s always been there for me when I needed her, especially over the past few months.”
It wasn’t a direct answer, but Beatrice didn’t press him. She knew that feeling well—the need to cling to something, or someone, constant, when the world was changing all around you.
“So, what are you going to do about Madison?” Jeff asked, after a beat. “I got the sense that he’s going to move forward with or without my help.”
“You think he’s already gathering votes against me?”
“He’ll request a vote for your removal in the new year. I think he knows about your memory loss, or at least he suspects.”
And if Madison found proof that she had hidden her memory loss, he could argue that she was deceiving her subjects.
“The only good thing in all of this is that he talked to me first. He revealed his hand too early. Now you know what he’s planning,” Jeff pointed out.
“But what should I do?”
“Go on the attack, right? If Madison is gathering senators to support his bill, then you have to find senators who will vote against it.”
Beatrice nodded slowly. As the monarch, she wasn’t traditionally meant to engage in campaigning or politicking; that was for Congress or elected officials.
Maybe it was time she stopped worrying about what she was meant to do, and focused on what she needed to do.
Beatrice reached for her phone, newly galvanized to action, and pulled up the list of senators—she used to think she knew it by heart, but there’d been some changes over the past year, and she could use a visual aid. Jeff came to stand behind her, bracing his hands on the back of her chair as he studied it with her.
“Madison will get most of the Old Guard,” Beatrice mused aloud.
“That’s only thirteen duchies,” Jeff pointed out, in an attempt at optimism. “You just need to recruit some other heavy hitters.”
“Heavy hitters?”
“You know, people who come with entourages. Key votes that swing an entire region in their direction.”
Beatrice nodded, slightly amused by his terminology. Trust Jeff to frame everything in sports terms. “The Duke of Ohio tends to set the tone for the Midwest….”
“What about Anna Ramirez? I mean, Texas is a pretty big deal, isn’t it?”
The Duchess of Texas. She was formidable, a force of nature in the Senate—and Connor was currently working for her.
“You’re right, Texas is a pretty big deal,” Beatrice agreed, repeating her brother’s words. “I should probably talk to her.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
She was touched by the offer, but shook her head. “You should focus on school now that you’re back.” Normally a student who’d missed so many weeks would have to drop out for the rest of the semester, and start over in the spring, but not Jeff. His professors had quietly excused his absence and were letting him take his exams alongside his classmates, which meant that Jeff was still on track to graduate with his class.
“Jeff…” This next part was hard to say, but Beatrice forced herself to get it out. “If Congress does vote on this, and it passes, then promise me you’ll do it. You’ll be king.”
He shook his head adamantly. “I’ll refuse!”
“And what, leave Uncle Richard to pick up the pieces?”
“Maybe they’ll let Sam do it?” Jeff asked hopefully.
Beatrice barked out a humorless laugh. “If Congress is opposed to me, they’ll certainly be opposed to Sam. No, it has to be you.” She looked over at his profile, dim in the light of the sconces. “Thank you, though, for warning me. And for taking my side.”
He seemed startled by that. “Of course I took your side. You’re my sister.”
They both fell silent, achingly aware of Samantha’s absence. Beatrice wondered what she was doing now. At least she was staying with Nina; Beatrice trusted Nina to get Sam through anything.
Her eyes drifted to the portrait of their father hanging above the fireplace. “I miss him so much,” she murmured.
“Me too. All the time.”
It felt like their grief was a physical thing, like they were holding it between them, knees buckling beneath its weight.
Beatrice stood. “We should get some sleep.”
Jeff nodded and drained the rest of his whiskey. Before they stepped back out into the hallway, he surprised her by pulling her into a hug. Beatrice was stiff for a moment, then relaxed into the embrace.
“If Dad was here, he would tell you that you can do this,” Jeff told her.
“Thank you.” Beatrice attempted a lighthearted tone as she added, “Wish me luck in Texas. I think I’ll need it.”
“I love Washington in the winter,” Sam declared as she and Liam walked the few blocks home. Their other friends were still at Enclave, singing karaoke into the microphone, but Sam had begged off. She felt tired, in a satisfied way that reminded her of the boat in Hawaii—the sense of having accomplished something, even if it was only pouring beers.
Liam shot her a skeptical glance. “No one likes Washington in the winter.”
“Well, I do. I’ve never gotten to walk outside like this before.” It felt liberating, strolling past apartment doors and the canvas awnings of bodegas, their steps lit by the golden glow of streetlamps. In her old life Sam had gone everywhere in a chauffeured car, or at best walked with a protection officer on her tail.
“It’ll get old fast,” Liam warned. “Especially once we’re shoveling snow off the driveway.”
“I don’t mind shoveling snow!”
He laughed. “Then you can be the first one out there once we get a heavy snowfall. It can be your chore,” he added, teasing.
Her first morning at the house, Sam had kept asking what “chores” everyone did—she’d seen enough sitcoms to know the term, and was proud of herself for asking. But the other housemates had just looked at her with amusement. “We all do things when they need doing,” Jessica had explained, which made zero sense to Sam.
She had watched them all day, mystified at their silent choreography. How did they each know when to unload the dishwasher, or take out the trash? How did they keep track of each other’s groceries, or buy toilet paper? By now, though, she’d settled into more of a rhythm, and could even help contribute to the house expenses with her earnings from Enclave.