Sven managed to do what I couldn't, pushing his way through the crowd with grim determination, with me in tow. He did it so quickly that people around us didn't even realized the king they were protesting against was literally right next to them until he was out of their reach.

It was a dangerous move and I wondered how he'd been able to get past his own guards to do it. Igna would never have let him do it had Sven been within reach. The guards pushed into the crowd when we were near the edge and surrounded us, bringing us back past their line.

Igna showed up, his face tense. He really hadn't liked Sven's rush into the crowd. I could see his right eye twitching in response, but he didn't address it.

"We have to get you inside, to safety," he barked out, ordering the guards to push forward. "Having you out here will only rile the crowd up more."

"No," Sven returned firmly.

Igna's eyes shot back to his, the shock on his face clear.

"My king, it isn't safe for you to be here until the crowd calms."

Sven shook his head, resolute in his decision.

"I need to be here to calm the crowd," he countered. "I've been waiting inside long enough. Leaving them out here alone has only added fuel to the fire. Take Adara inside while I take care of this."

Igna continued to argue with Sven as the other guards now attempted to herd me into the palace. I refused to budge as well, shaking my head.

"If he's out here, I'm out here too," I said, shaking off their hands.

The guards looked at each other, and I could tell what they were thinking—that we were idiots that were going to get ourselves killed. And maybe they were right. I couldn't say this was the smartest thing I'd ever done, or the safest. But sometimes safety had to be secondary.

I could understand what Sven was saying. There were not enough guards to hold back this many people indefinitely. Especially not if they decided to change forms and fly at the palace, which none of them had yet. That told me that they still weren't fully in a destructive mindset quite yet. That could change at any moment.

If it did, if Sven had to evacuate the palace so early in his rule, that would be a difficult occurrence to come back from. Not only would he appear weak, it would leave a power vacuum that some enterprising soul could take advantage of, which would cause a whole new set of problems.

I could extrapolate all of that, and I knew he was right.

But when I watched Sven climb onto a decorative bench to get some height to address the crowd, it still sent a chill down my spine.

Yes, he was strong and imposing as he stood there, his back straight, his face composed, his feet braced shoulder width apart.

But he was still just a man.

One man.

Still mortal and vulnerable to attack.

I had the urge to tell him to go inside, to opt for safety, but I suppressed it. He wouldn't appreciate it. Just as I wouldn't have. And then it was too late to ferry him back inside.

Slowly, the crowd took note that the blond man directly in front of them was actually the king. The king they had come here to protest against. When I looked out at the surprised faces, I surmised they hadn't expected such a full-frontal response. I hadn't either. The knowledge of the king's presence rippled through the crowd, a hush falling over it as word traveled from person to person.

Sven surveyed the crowd—his subjects—waiting for the quiet to descend.

And I knew I wasn't the only one who would always remember the impressive figure he cut standing alone in front of the palace, facing the masses of people.

He looked fearless.

And sometimes appearance was everything.

"I understand your frustrations," he began when he judged it quiet enough, his voice carrying effortlessly. "They are mine as well, I assure you. I also appreciate your decision to come here to air your grievances."

He paused just long enough to give someone an opening they jumped right into.

"You don't care about us!" The voice was male, but tough to single out in so many people. Multiple voices lent their agreement to the sentiment however. It didn't really matter who said it. I was sure he spoke for many in the group with him.

"You are wrong," Sven responded, not sounding defensive or angry. Which was more than I could have said for myself in the same position. "The only reason I have ended up your king is because I care. Because I heard our collective voices—mine included—and was tired of feeling helpless. Because I could not hear of all the injustices occurring and do nothing." I looked out at the crowd, saw the angry, harsh faces turn conflicted. Not all of them. But many of them. "I want to hear everyone's voices. Everyone's grievances. It is why I stand before you now." That was a point difficult to argue against. He could have easily hidden inside or left, hoping that the crowd would disperse on its own. He could have even done what Emberich would have, using violence against his own subjects. The previous regime had not been one that would have tolerated any kind of political dissent, let alone one so public. Emberich wouldn't have even allowed the crowd to gather. "If any of you have anything you would like to draw to my attention, please, speak up."

He scanned the crowd expectantly, patiently.

Taking out my tablet, I walked over to his side, ready to take notes. Sven glanced down at me and saw the tablet in my hands. He smiled.

"I appreciate the optimism," he muttered under his breath as he turned his attention back to the crowd. I understood his trepidation. This could still go in either direction.

I could feel the people wavering. But I also knew they were longing to be given a voice. We'd all been suppressed for so long. Forced to take what was handed to us and not ask questions. Not hold anyone accountable. Would they take this opportunity? Or would they devolve into unproductive violence, frustrated and ready for any kind of action to help ease it?

Then the first voice spoke up.

"Why are some cities being rebuilt first?" a woman's voice called out, her tone accusatory.

But it was a question. Not an attack.

Sven zeroed in on her. She was closer to the front, easier to see.

"If cities are being rebuilt, it is not with aid from us. Not yet," Sven explained. "They are using their own resources. But we hope to start helping with rebuilding soon, now that the necessities are taken care of."

And then it was as if the floodgates had opened. Question after question poured out of the crowd, with Sven fielding them expertly. I took notes as he answered calmly, with empathy, his intelligence shining through clearly with each word.

I could feel the energy shift. Away from anger and resentment, where it had been flirting with violence. And to a tentative...hope.

"Why should we believe you?" an older man shouted out, his hair glinting silver in the sunlight. "I remember when Emberich was crowned. He spoke fine words too. And he didn't mean any of them."

Sven nodded as the crowd shifted uneasily.

"I understand your concern," he agreed, spreading out his arms. "I can't convince you of my sincerity with words alone. And I agree that talk can be cheap." He let his arms fall to his sides again, his face solemn. "I would request that you let my actions speak for themselves. What I've done so far and what I will do in the future. Those actions will be the evidence to test my words against. All I ask is that you allow me the opportunity to convince you."

The answer was candid and honest. Exactly what the crowd needed to hear in that moment. There were a few more comments and questions after that, but the group slowly started to disperse, the wind of rage taken out of its sails.

Sven had broken the snowballing momentum just in time.

I had to admire the non-violent path he'd chosen. He could have attempted to kill the protest through harsher means, though it would have undercut the reputation he was trying to forge. But he hadn't, choosing to put himself at risk, using words rather than weapons.

He didn't let up, step down, and leave when it was clear the protest was winding down. He waited until he'd heard everyone. And it took some time. But he never looked impatient or less than attentive with each person who raised his or her voice. He treated the last one with as much importance as he'd treated the first. Only once it was clear everybody who wanted to speak had spoken did Sven step down from the bench, nodding at Igna and the other guards.

"Thank you for your protection," he murmured.

They saluted him crisply. I could see the actual respect on their faces. Respect that was earned, not feigned.

As Sven turned away from them to me, I felt my own respect for the man—the king—rise.

Perhaps...

Perhaps this was someone I could follow with pride.