Page 27 of Learning to Rule

My breaths come quickly as I try to take in what I just read.

The King of Janastria, Frederick I, has been assassinated. His son, Prince Dalton of Janastria, is to be proclaimed king immediately.

“Elodie.” Jake is at my side, picking up my phone. Maria is there as well and assists me to sit down.

“What is it?” they both ask at the same time.

I point to my phone, words failing me as I try to process what I’ve just seen.

Dalton is king.

His father dead.

Murdered.

Oh my God, he’ll be suffering so badly, and I’m not there with him.

“Elodie.” I know Jake has seen the message when he hands me my phone. “What are you going to do?”

I’m still struggling to find words, but I know what I need to do.

I take my phone and slide through the numbers. I pause on Dalton’s but swipe past until I find Mr. Hinchbottom’s. I press call.

He answers after one ring.

“Miss Nash.” His voice sounds weak, broken. Even though the king was not a popular man, this must be really hard for him and the country.

“I…” I swallow deeply to compose myself. “How fast can you get me to him?”

Fourteen

Dalton

Janastrian tradition dictates that we bury our dead as soon as possible. Royal burials are state occasions, and therefore, funeral plans for members of the royal family are prepared well in advance of their demise. Roads all around the city are closed, and just like yesterday, they’re lined with people. This time, it’s not for a parade but to guide my father to his final resting place.

I stand in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. In front of me is my father’s coffin covered in his standard flag. The one that was flying above the palace yesterday morning. There’s a different one flying there now, mine. My flag as King of Janastria.

The thought twists my gut.

This time yesterday, I was wishing my father dead for ruining my life and chasing Elodie away. Now he is, and I’m terrified.

I don’t know how to be a king.

Not alone.

Not without Elodie.

“Your Majesty.” Hinchbootie appears at my side. “The dowager queen is here.”

I turn and look at him, trying to make sense of what he is saying. To me, the dowager queen was my grandmother before she died. The words don’t make any sense. They all jumble together as I try to figure out how I’m going to get through today alone.

“Your Majesty,” Hinchbootie repeats, and I finally snap out of my reflection.

“Yes?”

As if sensing I don’t want to hear the phrase, ‘dowager queen’ again, Hinchbootie uses a different turn of phrase. “Your mother is here.” He pauses again in his speech. “She’s drunk, sir.”

“She’s what?” I turn on Hinchbootie, all calm reflection leaving my body as anger takes over.

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