A Royal Engagement: The Young Royals Book 1 (18 page)

"Thank you, Benjamin," I said softly before sliding out of the cart.

I walked down the short path and greeted Phillip, one of my mother's security detail.
 
He opened the door for me and I walked inside, taking in the changes my mother had had done.

The Chalet had been my grandmother's home before she died and I hadn't been inside since she'd lived here.
 
It may be considered a cottage, but for the greater populace, it was an above average size home.
 
Four bedrooms, four baths, chef's kitchen, formal dining and lounge, library, sitting room and, of course, a conservatory.

I was led by one of the house staff into the sitting room where I found my mother watching television.
 
I smiled to myself and wondered what our people would think of the Queen watching her soaps.
 
Except, she wasn't the Queen anymore, I was.
 
The smile fell from my lips as she looked up at me.

"Oh, Alyssa," she said, her face lighting up, "It's good to see you."

I bent down and kissed her cheek, "Sorry to barge in on you," I said, "But I was hoping for a little motherly advice."

"Sit," she said, patting the couch beside her, "What can I help you with?
 
Is it about Jordan?"

I laughed and shook my head, "No," I said and then sobered, "I'd like some advice about how to approach Parliament."

Her face blanked and she turned away from me, her eyes seeking the flickering screen across the room.

"Mum?" I asked when she didn't say anything.

She turned back to me, her face sad, "I can't help you," she said.

"But you've been dealing with them for years," I said.

"No," she corrected, "I've been dealing with their wives."
 
She sighed and looked away again.
 
"Do you think you should do this?"

"What?
 
Do what?"

"Go through with the coronation."

That stopped me in my tracks.

"You don't think I should?" I asked.

"You're smart and capable, Alyssa, but politics is a man's game.
 
Surely you don't want to get mixed up in, what is undoubtably going to be, a long drawn out fight that you may lose anyway."

"You want me to abdicate without a fight?" I asked, disbelieving.

"If you choose to step aside, we will be looked after, maybe given a quiet duchy somewhere and you could finish your studies and get a job like you have always wanted.
 
You wouldn't need to have your reputation dragged through the media and every aspect of your life judged by armchair warriors.
 
You could live the life you've always wanted."

"What about daddy's legacy?
 
What about the St Benét name?"

"You father's legacy died with Jacob," she said flatly, refusing to look at me.

 
It was a punch to the gut.

I stood and walked out of the room, moving like a zombie.
 
Was it my mother's grief that made her speak this way or did she really not believe that I could do this?

Chapter Twelve

I went through the next few days like an extra from 'The Walking Dead'.
 
I smiled when I was told to, I met with people I was supposed to meet.
 
I ate food that turned to sawdust in my mouth and I generally put on a show for all and sundry, but inside I felt dead.
 
Not even my daily ride on Monty could lift my spirits and I often found myself sitting near the stable yards and watching Jed work with Mistborn, wondering if the stallion felt as out of place as I did.
 
It was worse than when I'd first heard about the deaths of my father and brother.
 
That had hurt, but what my mother had said to me was soul destroying.

Did all of the women of Merveille think like my mother?
 
Were we, as a country, so far behind the rest of the western world in our attitudes towards women in leadership?
 
There were no women in Parliament, no women in local government and I ventured to guess that the majority, if not all, of the corporate and small businesses were run by men.
 
I had been away so long that I hadn't realised how stunted Merveille's growth was.
 
After looking through my father's office, it was no wonder why.

It was Wednesday before I started to feel something and that something was anger.
 
I was angry with my mother for her dismissive attitude towards me and I was angry at my father for his lack of initiative.
 
And I was angry at myself for letting it get the better of me.

I pressed the intercom on my desk, "Alex, could I please see you for a moment."

The door to my office opened almost immediately and Alex stepped in, tablet in hand ready to take notes on whatever it was I wanted to talk to her about.
 
I liked this about her, she was always prepared and never thought a job was too small or beneath her.

"Take a seat," I said to her, indicating the sofa in the corner.

She sat primly on the edge and I pushed back from my desk and walked over to join her.
 
She waited with her stylus poised.

"I would like to meet with as many female leaders in the community that you can find," I said.

"When you say leaders..."

"Business owners, women in high placed roles in corporations, women with political aspirations, women who are innovative and who want to make a difference," I said as Alex scribbled furiously on her tablet.

"And I'd like to find out, as discreetly as possible, what women, in general, think of their next Head of State being a female instead of a male."

She looked up at me, "Has something happened?" she asked, concerned.

I sighed and turned my head to look out the window behind my desk.

"I had a conversation with my mother the other night and it caused me to wonder whether the people even want me to be Queen."
 
I looked back at her, "Am I making a mistake by pushing ahead with this or should I just move aside and let Parliament choose someone from the list of male heirs?"

Alex searched my eyes before putting down her stylus and tablet and folding her hands on her lap.

"You and I have not lived in Merveille for a long time," she said, "We've seen what it's like out there in the big wide world, we've seen the possibilities for women, we've seen the good, the bad and the ugly of women's rights.
 
Many of the older residents of Merveille have only seen the ugly.
 
They see only what the media portrays, and let's face it, the media like to sensationalise.
 
Any women who have wanted more, have either given in or left to seek their fortunes elsewhere because their cause hasn't had a champion.
 
But now you have an opportunity to be that champion.
 
It's not going to be easy and it's going to get dirty, but can you, in good conscience, walk away from the fight?
 
I'm sorry if I'm being blunt, Your Highness, but the fact is that if you turn your back on this, then you are no better than those who openly oppress the women of our country."

I sat back in my seat and stared at her.
 
She was absolutely right.
 
If I did nothing, then I was condoning the patriarchal society of Merveille.
 

"A lot of the world wouldn't think we had it too bad," I said, "We aren't as misogynistic as places like Afghanistan or some of the other Arab states."

"No," she said, "But it is just as damaging.
 
We are basically telling our young women that they have no value outside of marriage, that they are not intelligent enough or savvy enough to survive without the guiding hand of a man.
 
We are telling them that they are only fit to breed and to gossip and to make things pretty.
 
We are telling them that they are morally bankrupt and can never achieve anything on their own or for themselves."

I quirked a smile at her passion.
 
Alex was normally so controlled and mild-mannered, but I liked this feisty side of her and she was absolutely right.

"Thank you, Alex," I said warmly, "I really needed to hear that."

Alex flushed and dropped her eyes, "I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," I replied, "I want you to be straight with me, always.
 
I don't need or want to be surrounded by yes-men.
 
If you think I'm being an idiot, I want you to tell me, I need you to tell me.
 
Changing the long held beliefs of this country is not going to be easy and I'm going to need as many people in my corner as I can find."

She nodded and stood, and I could see a small smile on her face, "I'll get started on this list," she said.

"We have a problem," Savannah said as she breezed into my office a couple of hours later.

I looked up from my computer screen and raised an eyebrow.

"And what problem is that?" I asked.

She slapped down one newspaper after another on my desk until it was fairly wallpapered with broadsheets.

"This," she said pointing a perfectly manicured fingernail at the headline.

"A Swing and a Miss - The Princess' Fashion Faux Pas," I read and then looked up at her.

"They're all the same," she whined, "Apparently your fashion sense is boring, unoriginal and ages you by ten years." She flopped on the sofa dramatically, "I've failed you."

I rubbed my eyes and looked over the offending papers.
 
Every photo was awful, chosen to specifically humiliate and degrade me.

"It's not a big deal, Savannah," I said.

"But look at this one," she said, getting to her feet and shuffling through the pile.
 
She pulled out one of the more reputable tabloids and shoved it under my nose.
 
"They're comparing your first week in public with your mother's...
and she looks better
."
 
Savannah flopped back down on the couch.

I had never been a fashionista, I like comfortable and serviceable.
 
Savannah had been trying her best with me, but I just didn't care enough about it.
 
There were more important things in the world than what I wore.

"Seriously, Savannah, it's not a big deal."

"But it is," she said, sadly, "Don't you see?
 
They are more concerned about what you wear than who you meet or the things you discuss.
 
What you wear shouldn't over-shadow who you are or what you do."

I slumped back in my chair, amazed at what she was saying and surprised that I agreed with her.
 
I had kind of written Savannah off as the air-head of our little group.
 
Don't get me wrong, I liked her, a lot, but because of her preoccupation with hair, clothes, shoes and makeup, I had dismissed her.

I sighed, "You're right," I said, "And I owe you an apology.
 
I've never thought of it like that."

She sat up and blinked at me, "Really?
 
You're apologising to me?"

"Well, yeah," I said and shrugged, "I haven't been taking your advice seriously because I didn't think I needed to worry about what I wore.
 
I mean, they never wrote headlines about what my father or brother wore."

"It's a double standard, to be sure," she said, "But they are always going to comment on what you wear.
 
My job is to make it more of a byline than the headline."

"So how do we fix it?" I asked, having a rather surreal moment when I realised that what I wore was going to play a part in getting my country to accept me as their leader.

Savannah's eyes popped wide, "You're serious?
 
You want to fix this?"

I smiled, "Of course I do," I said, "Why does that surprise you?"

She shrugged and looked down at her lap, "Nobody's ever taken me seriously before."

I got up from my desk and walked over to sit with her on the sofa.
 
I took her hand in mine and waited until she looked up at me.

"Savannah, I chose you to be on my team because you are so much better at all this fashion stuff than I am.
 
You know I would rather get about in my old Levi's and a t-shirt.
 
But I can't do that and be taken seriously, so I need you.
 
I need you to guide me and bully me if you have to because you're right, my fashion sense shouldn't be the headline."

"So, you'll listen to me?" she asked hopefully.

I laughed, "I'll try," I said and then gave her a hug.

She hugged me back and then jumped to her feet and I could almost hear the cogs turning in her brain.
 
She paced my office, tapping a finger on her chin as she thought.
 
I stood up and went back to my desk, knowing that when she was ready, she would speak.

"I'm going to have to re-think your whole wardrobe," she said.