Page 69 of Reign
Beatrice had no choice but to place her boot in his hands, letting him vault her into the saddle.
They set out down a rock-strewn trail: Anna and Beatrice together, with Connor riding ahead and one of the grooms following several horses’ length behind them.
The duchess launched into an explanation of the ranch’s history, pointing out landmarks as they passed. Beatrice nodded distractedly. She knew she should pay attention; the whole reason she’d come was to win Anna over. Yet she couldn’t stop sneaking discreet glances at Connor.
It wasn’t just his clothes that had changed. He looked older, somehow; and his face was tanned, even sunburned in places. He seemed completely at ease in the saddle, which surprised Beatrice; she didn’t remember him being able to ride.
She forced herself to look away before the duchess caught her staring.
“It’s been a long time since you visited Texas, hasn’t it?” Anna asked.
“Too long.” Sensing that the duchess would appreciate honesty, Beatrice added, “I’m sorry to have descended on you like this. I know a royal visit is always an imposition.”
“Not at all. I’m just sorry again for not greeting you in proper form,” the duchess replied. “My children think I spend too much time with the horses myself. They’re always reminding me that I have a whole staff to do these things for me, but there’s no substitute for putting in the time. The horses decide when you’ve earned their trust.”
“That’s why I’m here, in a sense,” Beatrice heard herself say. “Because senators are rather like horses. You have to engage with them yourself, earn the right to ask a favor of them.”
To Beatrice’s relief, the duchess burst into appreciative laughter. “Good, you’re direct. I like that,” she declared. “Your father was a great king, and it was an honor to know him, but he was always beating around the bush. Here in Texas we’d rather you be frank. We don’t have the patience for oblique messages and dropped hints.”
They turned onto a trail that led uphill, their horses scattering small stones behind them with each step. Cedar trees cast their faces in mottled shadow, the impossibly blue sky visible between their branches. Down below, Beatrice saw the sedate blue-green ribbon of the Guadalupe River.
There was something therapeutic about riding again. Her memory loss was of no consequence here; her body knew how to do this on an instinctive, cellular level.
“Then you may have already guessed, I came here to discuss the bill for my removal,” Beatrice said quietly.
She’d half expected Anna to accuse her of interfering in legislative affairs, or perhaps to feign ignorance, but the duchess nodded impassively. “Go on.”
“I’d like to persuade you to vote against it. I’m not mentally damaged.”
Anna’s hands looped through the knot in her reins, twisting it through her fingers and then letting it fall again. “I don’t see how anyone could beundamaged after the year you’ve had. You lost your father, you inherited the throne far too young, and then you were in a terrible car accident! Don’t you want a break? God knows I want one, all the time,” Anna added, with something like a sigh.
“With all due respect,” Beatrice countered, trying to smooth the impatience from her voice, “this isn’t about me. It’s about America.”
“Aren’t those one and the same thing?”
Beatrice answered the question with one of her own. “Do you think the country would be better off in my brother’s hands?”
“Who said it has to be your brother? I always hoped your uncle might step in. Or your mother.” The duchess leveled a stare at Beatrice. “You know she and I are old friends, though we haven’t kept up in recent years.”
Except that a Queen Mother could never ascend the throne. Adelaide hadn’t been born into the royal family; she had married into it. A crucial distinction.
“Your Majesty, you must know that the Washingtons have seemed erratic lately,” the duchess went on. “Trust me when I say that I understand how difficult it is, navigating family issues when the entire world is watching. Especially when your family dramas have national repercussions: on the economy, the jobs market, inflation. When things at the top are constantly changing, it means whiplash for those below.”
“Of course it’s been a bumpy year—we lost our king.”My father,Beatrice wanted to cry out. “And we hosted the League of Kings conference.”
“Andyou canceled a wedding,andyour sister got herself kicked out of the family,” the duchess pointed out. “The accident wasn’t your fault, of course, but it meant more upheaval.You should know that Texans’ faith in the monarchy is at an all-time low.”
No one could accuse Anna Ramirez of sugarcoating the truth.
“There’s no question that you should vote according to the needs of Texas,” Beatrice agreed. “Which is why I’m asking you to help strike down Madison’s bill.Moreupheaval is obviously not the answer.”
“The needs of Texas,” Anna repeated, an eyebrow raised. “How much do you really know about those, Your Majesty? Have you seen the price of gas lately? Do you know how little money I have to pay our public-school teachers? Are you aware that a terrible heat wave this summer strained our electric grid to the breaking point, and we need an overhaul of the entire system?”
“This is exactly the problem with politics. It’s too individualistic, too—narrow-minded!”
Beatrice hadn’t meant to snap. But for so long she had kept her emotions neatly bottled up, far below the surface, and now they were bubbling up out of her like molten lava. She had to say this before she lost her nerve.
“There is a reason our country banded together as one nation, under God, indivisible,” she went on. “We are better together than we are on our own.”
