It’s the day before the big vote. I am slumped in an armchair in the gold drawing room with Grandmum, watching the news. Even though it’s just after lunch, I’m already exhausted from the past several weeks of campaigning. The Prime Minister is about to make a speech giving people the many reasons to oust us, and as soon as it’s over, I’ll put my cheesy politician face back on and resume my final twenty-four hours of butt-smooching.

“Have you called her yet?” Grandmum asks, obviously trying to sound casual.

“No. And I’m not going to. She’s made it very clear that she doesn’t want a life with me, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll salvage what’s left of my pride.”

“She’d change her mind if she knew you were the one to take care of that lawsuit for her.”

“No, she wouldn’t. And I’m not sure that I’d want her to, anyway.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because they made a faulty product then tried to blame someone else for the fact that it failed.”

Grandmum puts down her tea and gives me the one eyebrow. “Arthur…”

“What?” I turn back to the television where the Prime Meanister is on the steps of the parliament building in front of a podium.

He opens his mealy mouth and speaks. “Good morning. We, the people of Avonia, have reached the eve of a landmark event. For the first time in eight hundred years, we have the power to take back our country from the family who swooped in and stole it so long ago. We no longer have to be beholden to the Langdons, no longer have to pay them reverence with our hard-earned tax money. We can simply say ‘no’…”

“Arthur, you’re an idiot if you’re going to let your pride get in the way of a life with the woman you want.”

“I’m trying to listen to this.” I point to the television.

“Who cares what that wanker has to say? I’m talking about love.”

Sighing, I turn to her. “Listen, it wasn’t love. It was lust, at best. And even if it were love, and even if it turned out that she wasn’t just using me to get a job with…” I point to the television, “that wanker, I’d never want her to spend the rest of her days suffering in this family, with this” I wave my hand around in the air, “… so called life.”

“You know, I just realized, you’re either a chauvinist or a coward, but I can’t decide which.”

“What?” I scowl at her.

“You heard me. You either think you are entitled to make her decisions for her, which would make you a chauvinist, or you’re too scared to go to her and put your heart on the line, in which case, you are a coward. Very disappointing, either way.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I jump up off the chair and walk to the window. “She’s the coward. The first sign of trouble, she ran. She’s not strong enough to do this. It would break her, like it did my mother and Arabella. So it’s better that she’s already gone—”

And then the most remarkable thing happens. I hear a familiar voice coming from the telly. “Tessa Sharpe, concerned citizen. Prime Minister Janssen, currently our constitution requires the reigning monarch to call federal elections...”

I rush over to the television, and there she is, looking very nervous and absolutely lovely in a crisp, white dress shirt. She has no microphone, so she has to practically shout to be heard.

“…You’ve made no move to change the constitution, which means that if the people vote to abolish the monarchy, you could legally install yourself as an ipso facto dictator.”

Wince! “Not ispo facto, Tessa. De facto,” I say to the screen.

Titters are heard from around the crowd, and I watch as a young woman with blue and purple hair whispers in her ear. Tessa turns bright pink, then says, “De facto. I meant de facto ruler.”

The Slime Minister does a poor job of hiding his amusement. “I have no intention of installing myself as a dictator, ispo facto or otherwise. Next question.”

Tessa’s voice calls out again. This time her tone says, ‘don’t mess with me.’ “I’m not finished with my question, sir. Why haven’t you put forth a bill to have the proper changes to our election policy go into immediate effect should the monarchy be defeated?”

Jack rolls his eyes, but underneath the irritation, he’s afraid. I can smell it from here. “This is irrelevant and quite frankly, none of us have time for it. Why don’t you go back to reviewing fitness equipment, sweetheart?”

A low ‘ooooh’ murmurs through the crowd.

The camera zooms in on Tessa, who now has her game face on. Shoulders back, chin up, jaw set. Yes! “I’ve seen that look before. He’s in for it now,” I say.

Tessa continues. “Do you recall a conversation you had with me on March twentieth, in which you stated that ‘it’s not right that our rulers are chosen simply by falling out of the right vagina’?”

The camera shift to Jack’s face again. His eyes are dead cold. “Ridiculous. Next question, please.” He looks around and points. “Giles, you’re up. Let’s make it important, please. After all, we are on the eve of a momentous referendum.”

“I’d like you to answer her first question, sir. Why haven’t you put a bill forward that would provide the people with the assurance they need?”

The Prime Weenister scoffs and shakes his head. “This is insanity. Does anyone have something else for me?”

A female reporter speaks up. “I do. Did you really say that comment about choosing our rulers simply by falling out of the right vagina?”

“Of course not. I would never say something so crass and insulting.”

Tessa speaks up again. “But you did, sir. You said it to me at the christening of the ANS Viceroy You then went on to say that ‘if anyone is going to be a ruler until he dies, it should be someone the people elected in the first place.’ Are you intending to install yourself as a de facto ruler? It’s a yes or no question.”

That’s my girl!

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer. Unless anyone has anything else to ask, we’re done here.”

I turn to my grandmother. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go.”

Spinning on my heel, I rush over to her, kiss her on the forehead and hurry out of the room. As I’m on my way, I hear her say, “Finally! Go get her, Arthur!”

* * *

One of the greatest things about the city of Valcourt is our exceptional traffic flow. Somehow, the city engineers of our nation have found a way to minimize delays, allowing a steady, smooth stream along every motorway. Unless it happens to be opening day of the first ever Krispy Kreme in Avonia. Then, apparently, traffic slows to the pace of an ancient wheelchair-bound poodle.

I tap my fingers on the seat arm as we sit, waiting for people to get their donut fix. “Come on, come on,” I mutter.

Ollie, who is sitting next to me, says, “If I had a shot with the likes of her, I’d be making a run for it.”

I glare for a second, feeling an unexpected surge of Neanderthal anger, but it doesn’t faze Ollie, who says, “Relax. I’m just saying it’s about bloody time.”

I undo my seatbelt and open the door. “Agreed.”

With that, I zig and zag my way through the vehicles, make my way to the sidewalk and sprint up the road that leads to Parliament Hill, my tie flying over my shoulder, the hot wind in my hair, the nerves in my gut tying themselves in knots.

There’s absolutely no logic to what I’m doing, or to the fact that I feel that if I don’t get there before the press conference ends, it’ll somehow be too late. But I do. And I can’t let that happen because if it’s too late with her, I’ll never be happy again a day in my life.

My mind races as fast as my legs. What do I say when I see her? God, I didn’t think this through. You complete me? No. Overused. You’re tough enough to be my queen? Horrid. Shit. What the fuck do I say?

I turn and sprint up the long lawn that leads to the parliament buildings. The reporters are packing up, and I spot her in the parking lot, getting into the Citroën from the video. “Tessa!” I call, but she doesn’t hear me. She gets in, and before I can make it to her, she’s gone.