“Your Majesty,” Lady Livingstone interrupted the never-ending budget facts being spewed by Sir Edmonds.

“Highness,” I said, as Sir Edmonds launched into another set of statistics on why the government couldn’t possibly cover the healthcare of the children of our country, let alone all of her citizens.

“I’m sorry?” Lady Livingstone asked.

“I’m not Majesty until I’m coronated,” I corrected her.

“Well, that’s just a matter of days, isn’t it?”

“Less than a week,” I answered.

“What a glorious day that will be,” Sir Edmond said, finally saying something that didn’t end with a dollar sign.

“It will. Now, since we have very few minutes left together, I’m hoping you’ll do me the honor of listening for a moment?”

They both nodded.

Silence. Blessed silence. I’d had less noise when surrounded by toddlers in the pediatrics wing of the new hospital last week.

“Okay. Our concern here is for health care. We need to take care of our citizens, and that includes providing care. No one should go broke fighting to live.”

“And that’s a noble aspiration, Your Highness—”

I put up my hand, silencing Sir Edmonds. “I’m not asking you to tell me why it can’t be done, Edmonds. I’m asking you to find out how it can be.”

His mouth snapped shut.

“We have ten thousand excuses why not to do the right thing. What we need is only one way to get it right. If that means we start the programs small and grow them, then so be it. I have no intention of leaving my throne for the next handful of decades.”

Then I looked to Lady Livingstone.

“What you want is perfection, and that can’t be manufactured overnight. You’re going to have to work on a plan, a slow implementation that builds.”

She started to speak, and again, I raised my hand.

“We don’t have the facilities or the doctors to provide free health care right now. We just don’t. The standard of care would drop, wait times would leave people dying, and there’s no process in place.”

Edmonds smirked at Livingstone, and I wanted to bash their heads together.

“You two need to work together. Lady Livingstone, we’ll need to implement some programs to incentivize new doctors. We’re going to need them. Edmonds, we’re going to need to look at the budget not just for the cost of the health care, but also in new facilities that can manage the influx of new patients.”

They both looked disgruntled, and I smiled.

“This will happen, but not in the next five minutes. We have far too many uninsured people in our country. People that have a humane right to care. Start with everyone under the age of eighteen. Run those numbers. I expect proposals back from both of you in two weeks. Livingstone, you have to be patient. A system that can’t support her people is just as bad as one that doesn’t. We have to build this carefully, so it lasts. Edmonds, find a way to do it, or I’ll find someone who can.”

Pleasantries exchanged, and they left.

I sat alone for a precious minute, sagging against the chair. Dad made this look so easy. He was able to bend people to his will while they thought it was their idea in the first place.

This was not easy. This was herding cats.

A knock sounded at the door before Oliver pushed it open.

“Your Highness, Prime Minister McAllister is here to see you.”

I sat up straight. “Did we have an appointment?”

“Are you saying you’re so busy that you can’t see the head of your own government?” Damian asked, skirting around Oliver. He was dressed immaculately as always, but there was a weary aura around him.

“I always have time for you,” I said honestly, rising to shake his hand.

“I figured you would want to see this.” He dropped a file on the table, unbuttoned his suit coat and sat at my left.

“And this would be?” I asked, opening the file to see statistics on...candidates?

“You asked for basic stats on who was running in the upcoming mid-term elections.”

“Right. I know I can’t vote as a member of the royal family, but I need to familiarize myself with upcoming politics.”

“You do,” he agreed, a firm set to his mouth as he divided the papers into three piles.

“What’s got your panties in a wad, Damian?”

“The election is in seven months, but the deadline for candidate registration was this week. We have...a trend.”

“Explain.”

“We have four hundred and fifty seats in Parliament.”

“Yes, I took civics, but thank you for the math lesson. There are seventy-five seats in the House of Lords for the aristocracy and three hundred and seventy-five seats in the House of Commons. Currently, one hundred and seventy-four seats are held by the conservative party, and one hundred and sixty-eight seats are held by the progressives, leaving thirty-three seats held by independents. Am I about right?”

“Exactly right,” he said with a half smile. “In this election, there are roughly ninety-seven seats up for election, fifty-one of which are conservative, and the other forty-six are progressive. There are no independent seats on the ballot.”

“And that’s odd because…” After the slew of independents elected in the election two years ago, it didn’t surprise me that those seats weren’t up yet.

“Because these are the applications for candidates. All two hundred and ninety-one of them.”

“Huh. So we have an equal number of progressives, conservatives, and independents running this time. That’s a new trend.”

He shook his head. “This stack,” he dropped one on the table. “Are your conservatives.”

“This stack,” he dropped another, “are your progressives.”

“And this stack,” he dropped one straight in front of me. “Is full of ninety-seven candidates that each wrote in the name of their party.”

Apprehension slid up my spine, cold and chilling.

“Which would be?”

“Anti-Monarchist.”

Holy. Shit.

“They’re coming for me, and they’re not even hiding,” I said, scanning the names. Was our death-threat maker in this stack?

“There’s more.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate for there not to be an abundance of bad news.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Oliver speak into his headset, then glance up at me. He swiftly left the room, while Ian slid in, taking his place.

“We received notification that at least twelve of the independents in the House of Commons are changing their party affiliation to Anti-Monarchist.”

Well wasn’t this day just getting better and better.

“I’m going to need a list of those names. Immediately.”

“Jameson, there’s a rumor that the rest of the independents are turning as well, but we can’t know for sure until it happens.”

“Thirty-Three of them.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.” I ran my fingers through my hair and did the math. “If the Anti-monarchists all win the seats, and the independents change over, they’ll have a hundred and thirty-three seats.”

“A possible majority.”

I sucked in my breath. I wasn’t even on the fucking throne yet, and it was possible that I could lose it. My father’s legacy. My family’s dynasty.

There was zero chance in hell I was going to let that happen.

“We need to get every independent in here and figure out what the fuck is going on. Do it in the next two days, Damian. Before the coronation.”

Oliver walked back in. He was pale. Oliver never paled.

“What is it?”

He glanced at Damian.

“As long as you’re not carrying naked pictures of my sister, he can see.”

Oliver opened another envelope.

“These arrived about ten minutes ago.”

“Just after you did,” I said to Damian.

“It’s not a coincidence. Someone wants you to see them, Mr. Prime Minister.”

“Then let’s see them,” Damian answered.

Oliver dropped six pictures and stepped back, swallowing.

Sophie at the Children’s hospital.

Brie at lunch with her friends.

Willa at a signing, Xander by her side.

My mother at a Veteran’s ceremony.

“Damn it.”

Charlotte walking down the beach at her parent’s house. God, by marrying her, I’d put a target on her back. What the hell had I done?

“What the fuck is this?” Damian shouted. The picture he held was of Delaney on the playground at what I guessed was her school.

Every single picture was taken close up, within feet of the girls we loved.

“There was this, as well,” Oliver said, dropping a final card onto the pile and opening it. On one side was the royal appearance schedule that was kept secret. On the other, a message.

“Double the security on the women. Lock them inside the fucking palace walls if you have to. Cancel every royal appearance until the coronation, and send someone to get Damian’s daughter immediately.” I barked orders.

Damian was already on the phone, barking some of his own.

“And Oliver?”

“Sir?”

“Not a word to the women. Not until we nail these bastards to the fucking wall.”

“Yes, Sir.”