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Rebecca gave her a polite but stiff stare, picked up the card, and nodded.

???

Palmer hadn’t left the meeting with an agreed-upon interview, but she felt good about her chances. Her contact said that he could get her a meeting with someone who worked with Elizabeth when she was Her Royal Highness, Princess of St. Rais, as well as her younger sister, Victoria. She wasn’t exactly certain of what Rebecca’s title was, and the woman failed to provide it to her. Palmer hadn’t wanted to press the issue. She was five days into the story, and at this rate, things were going fine but not at the pace she’d prefer. She had a lot of notes and several recordings from people she’d met while traveling around the capital of St.Rais, and she’d even stood outside the fence of the palace where flowers, signs, and candles had been laid for the people who’d been lost so that she could take pictures as well as interview a few of the locals.

Palmer’s favorite spot to get honest responses to her questions, though, were always bars. In St.Rais, they were called pubs, and she’d already gone to several, choosing to sit near the rowdiest group of men and women in the place. She’d struck up a few conversations, stirred the pots until the topic of the monarchy or the bombing came up, and then, she’d listen.

“I liked King Maxwell,” one man had said before he finished his pint. “When the fishing unions got into a fight over rights, he came out on our side. He visited, shook our hands, asked questions, and got to know us.”

“His son was a twat,” a woman had added. “He wouldn’t have made a good King. I’m not saying I’m glad he’s dead, but I would love to have seen little Edwina take over one day. She was a feisty little girl; always giving her parents these little glares and not curtsying when she was supposed to. That’s who I wanted leading the country.”

“But your Parliament and Prime Minister are actually the ones leading the country,” Palmer had reminded.

“I’ve always believed the King was more involved than just shaking hands and kissing babies,” another man had replied. “He had weekly meetings with good old Albie, but he also had meetings with key members of Parliament, including the opposition. I don’t know what the Queen’s going to do, but maybe she’ll do the same.”

In another pub, Palmer had found a group of staunch anti-monarchists and had been more careful there.

“It’s all bullshit, isn’t it? We came from a country ruled by someone who got the job because he was born into it, and then St.Rais went and did the same damn thing; even letting the same fucking family rule. If you want my opinion, America got it right. Sure, you’re fucked up now, but the idea of a government run by the people and not someone born into the right family is a good one.”

“So, you would prefer the monarchy be abolished?” she’d asked the guy.

“Legally, yeah. There’s never been enough of a ruckus to put it to a vote. This whole bombing thing only makes people like me look like nutjobs. They’ve put our cause back at least a decade. Had they just gone about it the right way – petitioned their representatives to get it into Parliament for a vote – we might have stood a chance.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” an older man with snow-white hair and matching beard, causing him to resemble Santa Claus, added. “They don’tdoanything, but they’re not harming anything, either.”

“They’re using our tax dollars to support their lifestyles,” the other guy remarked.

“You think Parliament isn’t abusing our tax dollars, too? What government in the world isn’t full of some kind of corruption or abuse? Name one, and I’ll buy your next round,” the older man rebuffed, lifting his own half-glass. “King Maxwell was better than our previous three Prime Ministers combined. Besides, his father helped keep us out of a war before you were even born, kid. Parliament didn’t do that. Our PM didn’t do that. The King did.”

“I thought you wanted them gone,” the younger man said, nodding to Santa.

“I don’t care either way,” the man replied. “I’ll be long dead before any decision is made on that. I just don’t think it’s worth all the fuss.”

???

Palmer hadn’t started forming her story yet, but she had compiled her notes into categories and themes using one of her favorite apps on her computer. It allowed her to list things and then examine the keywords, mapping out those themes for her automatically and allowing her to get an idea of where the interviews and facts were taking her story. When she turned the map from text-based to visual, she found a few things sticking out. One was that everyone admonished the bombers and what they’d done, regardless of whether they were pro or anti a royal family. That made Palmer feel better about humanity. The second thing she noticed was that even the rational anti-monarchists seemed to at least think the former King was an okay guy, more man about the people than any royal in other countries. The third thing she noticed was that people were unsure of their new Queen, who was about to celebrate her coronation.

“She wasn’t brought up for this,” one woman had commented.

“She wanted to be a doctor or something. I’m not sure how that will make her a good Queen,” a man had replied when she’d asked him a few questions outside the palace.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, but that’s only assuming she can move past this horrible tragedy. We lost a King;shelost a father. We lost Princes; she lost her brothers,” another woman had told her.

Palmer decided that her story would have short sections on the history, the bombing, and the former king, but the crux of her story, assuming she could pull it off, would be about the new Queen and how she adapted to her unexpected role, the loss of her loved ones, and the growing pressure of an entire nation now resting on her shoulders. Palmer pulled up a bio for the Queen on the palace’s official website and read the blurbs to herself. Most of it, she already knew, but some of it was news to her. Elizabeth was, what St.Rais called, an Honors Scholar of the First Degree in physics. As of the writing of the bio, the woman was only a year away from a master’s degree and planned to pursue a Ph.D in theoretical physics from the nation’s top university. The biography also touted the charities Elizabeth was the patron for, including food banks, an organization that helped victims of domestic abuse, a program that supported girls in STEM, and others. As Princess, she wasn’t required to perform many royal duties, so she wasn’t interviewed often or even seen at many events outside of weddings.

The people Palmer had interviewed had been right: Elizabeth hadn’t been raised for this. As she looked up Martin’s pedigree on another page, though, it was obvious that hewasraised for this. Alexander seemed to be the typical modern-day second-in-line. He partied a lot in his early twenties, was seen with a different woman on his arm every few months, and did his required stint in the army for two years before leaving, while Martin remained in for four extra years.

???

A few hours later, after enjoying dinner in the hotel restaurant, Palmer returned to her room to continue her research when her phone rang.

“Hey, what time is it there?” she asked, answering the call.

“Night there, so it’s morning here. I just wanted to check in. When exactly are you coming back?”

“I told you, I’m working a story. I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Palmer replied.

Then, she heard the sigh and waited for the frustrated comment that would follow.