Page 5 of Awestruck (Starstruck Love Stories #4)

Chapter Three

Freya

“We have talked this topic to death and recommend we move forward with more pressing matters.”

“I agree. A few rallies in the streets do not mean the government is under attack.”

“They are looking for attention. This younger generation is too influenced by the internet.”

“Precisely. Now, we need to discuss this year’s Celestial Ball…”

When the endless conversation moves to the annual ball, my focus shifts from the notes I have been taking on my tablet to the amphitheater in front of me, where the members of the House of Lords have convened for the weekly Parliament meeting.

The tiered semi-circle of blue velvet-gilt chairs rises from my seat next to my mother at the base, and this position has always made me feel as if I am on display.

Today, however, the conversation has proceeded with little input from the queen, and I have gone mostly ignored.

Apparently, political unrest in the weeks before I take my mother’s place is far too trivial a thing to bother the royal family, but the more I have heard, the more nervous I have become.

I am, to put it lightly, shocked by the abrupt shift in topic as the lords and ladies discuss the Celestial Ball.

I have sat through more of these meetings than I can count, and somehow I have never noticed how thoroughly these men and women have distanced themselves from the rest of the country.

I can admit I came into this meeting with a similar opinion to most of the assembly, namely that Markham Grimstad’s platform is not something we need to worry about, but now…

Looking back at my notes, taken from today’s short discussion as well as my own research, it is clear that more and more people are giving Grimstad their support, claiming that my family has lost sight of our people.

They want change, even if that change means a shift in the way our government has been run for centuries.

Candorans are out in the streets, rallying for Grimstad and demanding a reformation.

What I hoped would be an election easily won is quickly turning into an uncertainty I am not prepared for.

I sense Reid behind me, as he has been for the last several days, and I am certain he has grown more tense as the meeting has gone on.

This is his first session, and every few minutes, he lets out a soft scoff or mutters something under his breath.

He has, surprisingly, kept his opinions to himself this week, though he has yet to display any adherence to my wish for space. He is always right there, looming.

“What is your opinion, Your Highness?” someone asks.

I stopped paying enough attention and therefore have no idea who addressed me just now.

But of the sixty people in the room, there are few who ever choose to address me specifically when my mother is next to me.

Lady Branthorn is deep in whispered conversation with her mother, and Lord Velbrant, the executive lawyer of the House of Lords, is reading something on his tablet.

That leaves the Duke of Rensvik, who is gazing at me fixedly.

Why could it not have been one of the other two? The duke has never been afraid to voice his opinions on my inability to lead a country and is one of the primary causes of the insecurity that I have never been able to overcome.

Sitting up straighter, I offer a nod of acknowledgment and berate myself for not remaining focused. My lack of attention will not soften his opinion of me. “Forgive me, but I do not—”

“He wants to know your thoughts on the ball,” Reid says, his voice low.

Heat washes over my face, but gratitude keeps full embarrassment at bay. “I do not think my opinion of a party would be an important use of our time,” I say coolly. “However, if you would like my thoughts on the growing unrest of our people, I would be happy to—”

“That is a topic better discussed in the Commons,” Rensvik says with a scoff. “We have already dismissed—”

“I was not finished speaking, Your Grace.” I narrow my eyes at the duke.

“What I would have said before you interrupted was a remark on my desire to investigate how unhappy the people are and how much potential Markham Grimstad has to change the political climate of our country. As his platform directly opposes mine, you can see why that might take more of my attention than an annual ball.”

Mum clears her throat, disapproving, but several members of the House of Lords have turned their attention to me in surprise.

I usually remain quiet, as I technically do not have any power until I take my mother’s place, and it seems most of the assembly cannot decide what to make of my sharp response.

“As such,” I say, when no one offers up a reply, “I suggest we discuss how Grimstad poses a threat to some of your positions if he manages to win the coming election, however unlikely. Again, more pressing of a topic than table arrangements, would you not agree?”

As the assembly dissolves into a buzz of murmurs, Reid coughs behind me, and I have my suspicions that he is covering a laugh.

I shouldn’t smile, but I allow the smallest twitch of my lips.

The soldier so rarely breaks that I feel a strange triumph for eliciting a reaction out of him, even if I still dislike his presence.

He has, for the most part, followed my orders this week, so I cannot be fully angry with him.

“I think,” Mum says, silencing the room, “we should adjourn for the day, and I will see to it that we have a more thorough agenda for next week’s session. Thank you, Lords and Ladies of the House.” She stands, and the assembly stands with her. “Freya.”

Reluctantly, I follow her through the side door reserved for the monarch and into a private antechamber, anticipating her lecture.

“Freya,” she says with a sigh and takes the paracetamol her protection agent, Margo, has waiting for her. “If you are going to antagonize Rensvik, at least do it in private. You know the sway he holds over Lords.”

I wait until she is drinking water to roll my eyes, as she would not appreciate the gesture if she saw it. “Yes, well, I would not antagonize him if he would stop treating me like a child.”

“Rensvik is stuck in his ways. I fear he will always see you as the girl you were when you began attending these meetings with me.” At least I am not the only one who dislikes the duke’s strict adherence to tradition.

Even my mother has not been able to sway some of his opinions, and I suspect it is because he believes a king should always have more power than a queen.

Unfortunately for the duke, no titles in Candora fall strictly to one gender or the other. Mum, as the daughter of the last king, is the ruling monarch. Despite being a king in title, Dad will always have less influence than she does.

“I wish you had not ended the meeting when you did,” I admit. “I have been watching some of Grimstad’s videos, and—”

“Mr. Reid,” Mum says, cutting me off. “Do you have any opinions from today’s session?”

I scoff, knowing my guard will speak freely now that he has been given permission. For some reason, my mother seems to think he has a useful perspective to give, though I cannot understand why. “Yes, do tell us.”

Reid, who kept himself back by the door, steps forward and nods to my mother without acknowledging my comment. “I can’t say I’m familiar with a lot of the politics yet, but I’d be curious to see what they talk about in the House of Commons.”

“We do not typically attend Commons,” Mum replies, offering a brief smile. “The people need a voice without sovereign influence, and anything of consequence is sent up to Lords in a quarterly memo.”

Reid’s jaw tightens as he briefly glances at me. “I wonder if you should let Grimstad, as Speaker of the House of Commons, attend Lords each week to balance things out more. Maybe he wouldn’t be so set on running for power if he felt he had a voice.”

“Says the man who admits to not understanding our politics,” I grumble. “I cannot wait to hear more of your thoughts.”

“Freya,” Mum says sharply. “If you cannot contain yourself, you are more than welcome to leave.” She gestures to the door, which means it is not an invitation. It is an order. The only reason I comply is because this could be my only moment to get a break from Reid’s constant hovering.

As I slip through the door, I meet Reid’s gaze long enough to see the worry in his eyes, which only fuels my desire to put some distance between us.

I would have preferred he did not witness my mother treating me as a child rather than her successor, but I will accept this respite with my head held high.

I do not know where to go—Reid will inevitably find me, as he always does—but my feet take me outside to the courtyard and into the weak sunshine.

A thin layer of clouds blankets the sky after the morning’s rain, leaving the world in a soft haze.

But there is fresh air out here, and I have spent too much time in the castle of late.

I make it as far as the doors to the stable and garage before a palace guard blocks my path, his expression apologetic. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” he says, “but I can’t let you go beyond this point on your own.”

His orders could have come from anyone—Mum, Gregor, Reid—which makes it difficult to know where to place my ire. Obviously I know better than to venture out of the castle on my own, but I would have liked the choice.

Feeling trapped, I alter my course to the training grounds where several of the guards do their workouts and weapon training.

I used to come here more often when I was younger, learning self-defense and archery, but my life has become a nonstop calendar of social events and political meetings.

For the most part, I enjoy those things, but the last week has been stifling.