As my carriage bumps along the dirt road, I lie my head against the seat. Penny grumbles in the seat across from mine, something about the bumpy roads really doing a number on her handwriting. She's the real brains behind the operation. I'm just the face, the one she hands speeches to a week before I have to present them. She claims it's just because she needs time to figure out our ideals or whatever, but I know it's because I would be useless doing anything else. I'm passionate, sure, but that's where my strengths end. Emotions make me clumsy. I don't know why she even includes me in the meetings where we read the latest correspondence from the king and she decides how to respond.
The king. We're on our way to meet him now, and I'm more than a little nervous. We've been talking for a little over a year now, and it's been civil so far, but there are horror stories about him.
His mother, the queen, was legendary. They say she hung the moon.
Of course, we poorer folks were discriminated against then too. But a cult of personality formed around her, making her one of the most popular leaders we had ever had. When she died, everyone mourned. Everyone but my father. He saw it as an opportunity for a revolution.
He died eight years ago, a full ten years after the queen. Never accomplished anything, either. We only found his papers five years ago, and we're already meeting with the king. Penny took my father's ideas for the country and adapted them, making them less "enslave the nobility" and more based on "representation for the less fortunate." This is another area where my presence is crucial: I help bring in my nutjob dad's old followers, while still symbolizing a change from the old, failed rebellion.
Not only did my dad fail at leading a rebellion, but he also failed at being a father. He used to tell me that he was making the world right for me, but you don't have that kind of foresight when you're a kid. All you know is that you are the only kid in your class that has to go do the grocery shopping because your dad's holed up in his room writing again. I bet he has some warped sense of pride that I'm following in his footsteps. That thought always makes me want to shout at the sky. I'm not doing this for you! I'm doing it for our people! It's not like he could hear me anyway.
"Simon." I hear Penny's voice, and look over to her. She has her eyebrows raised above the rim of her glasses, and she's looking pointedly at the fists I didn't know I was making. I unclench them, leaving red marks in my palms from my nails.
If the people loved the queen, they don't know what to make of her son. He officially ascended the throne five years ago, but all most people have heard about him are rumors. People say he's heartless, bloodthirsty, a monster. I've never seen that come out in his letters, but Penny says he probably doesn't even write them. So I guess it's possible that he actually enjoys seeing people suffer, but I hope he doesn't. For mine and Penny's sake.
Penny nudges my knee and points out the window. I scoot over and press my nose against the glass, like a little kid. The capitol is in sight with its gleaming castle on the hilltop. The sun's only rising now, and it's reflecting of the windows of the castle, making it look like it's glowing.
That's where we're going.
To the castle.
And the king.