Early the morning after Christmas, before the sun had begun to rise in the sky, Addy, America, and Maxon boarded the enormous, private royal airplane and departed Angeles on their way to London. All Addy wanted to do was stay on the third floor of the Palace, cozy in her pajamas, and read her new books, light her new candles, and drown in the sweets that had filled her stocking the day before. Especially after the hectic Palace Christmas ball, a day to decompress and enjoy her presents was exactly what she needed. Instead, she boarded an airplane with a grim-looking Maxon and a forcefully upbeat America. Addy was heading to the other side of the world away from her Christmas presents, her adorable younger siblings, and the Palace refrigerators full of leftovers from the ball. In fact, by the time they came back from London, the staff would have already taken down all the Christmas trees and stored the gorgeous twinkling lights away until next year.
Addy pouted in her seat at the front of the plane, buckling in and pulling out the briefing, prepared by Aunt Silvia, that she was supposed to completely memorize by the time they landed. She needed to be up-to-date on the current events in just about every country in the world, and if she mixed up the names of a foreign dignitary or royal it could shame Illéa for a generation. Addy's pout became a scowl.
"Cheer up, Bird." America tucked some of Addy's red hair behind her ear, then sat in the cushy cream-colored airplane seat next to her. "You love London."
Sure, Addy liked visiting all the shops and going to old Palaces by train, and she liked the different accents. But Andy, Aunt Waverly, Uncle Eoan, and Luke were all going to be way too busy to spend any free time with her this visit. That meant no trip to town for Addy, no train rides, no encounters with civilians from Yorkshire or Cornwall, and no after-dinner parlor games between the Illéan and English royals. She was basically only going to this event to be photographed and get bullied by the King of Swendway.
"You're not sitting by Dad?" Addy asked, dropping some of her sulkiness when America fastened her seatbelt.
America cast a pointed look at her husband and then said a little too loudly, "It's too early for his bad mood. None of us have had coffee."
"I'm grouchy too." Addy reminded her mom, not wanting to be misunderstood. She felt extremely cross and needed everyone to know it and possibly pity her.
America nodded, "You're a sleepy teenager and you want to go home. Your father is a grown man acting like we've all asked him to stand aside while we explode the planet earth. Those are two different moods."
"I can hear you, America." Maxon groused from his seat alone a couple of rows ahead of them.
"Good." America replied, relaxing next to Addy and opening the window shade to peer out onto the runway.
"Are you guys fighting?" Addy asked nervously. Her parents didn't fight often, but Addy didn't really want to be trapped on an airplane with them if this was going to be one of those times.
"Oh no, honey. You would know if we were fighting." America reassured her daughter in the least reassuring way imaginable.
"I can't stand the idea that we're about to be in the same room as Thorvald." Maxon announced as if it was news.
America met Addy's eyes and shook her head in an exasperated way that told Addy they'd already had this conversation a dozen times.
"If it all goes wrong, I can arrange for him to choke to death on a shrimp cocktail. It's fine, Maxon." America studied her perfectly-manicured nails disinterestedly. Now that she thought about it, Addy had no doubt that her mom had ladies in the kitchens of the English palace willing to poison anyone's meal at a moment's notice, but this was the first time her mother's power had ever made Addy worried. They really didn't need to be provoking Swendway to war at a time like this.
Maxon stood up from his chair and entered the row of seats ahead of America and Addy, resting a knee on the seat cushion to lean close to them, elbows coming to rest on the seat back. "What if he decides to use the weapon anyway? What if he'd rather we both die? We all die?"
"Then Jamesy will lead a coalition of surviving heirs to seek justice." America replied with unnerving calmness, considering she was describing an unimaginably grave new world.
Maxon shook his head, "Even if he did, it would be too late. Thorvald would be beyond justice, and I know too well that it would not be fair to punish his heir because her father was such a devil."
Addy's eyes flickered nervously between her parents as they dreamed up imaginary ends-of-the-world. She supposed her dad had a good point: children should never be held accountable for the sins of their fathers. She'd never even seen a picture of the princess of Swendway, but she pitied her distant cousin all the same. It was hard to imagine that Thorvald could possibly be a caring father, reading bedtime stories or teaching his daughter to swim. Addy was on the good side of the family tree, for sure.
"This is an entirely moot conversation, Maxon, because Thorvald isn't going to blow himself up."
"How do you know that, America? None of us really understand what he's after anymore. How can you possibly pretend to know what that man is thinking?"
America reached forward and gripped Maxon's hand so tightly that his fingers went a little white, "Because Thorvald isn't K, Maxon."
Addy blinked rapidly, glancing back and forth between her parents, alarmed at the intensity of their words but clueless as to what they meant.
America continued steadily, "K had nothing to live for and nothing to lose. Thorvald has a legacy and a kingdom to consider. He's after something, but it's not 'your life at any cost'. The most he ever wanted from you was your crown. He's a different man. He's not K."
Maxon's demeanor softened as he stared into his wife's eyes, realizing for the first time what all his agitation was actually about. "You're right, my love."
The lights in the cabin dimmed and a bell chimed through the speakers. "Now go sit down; we'll be taking off any minute." America ordered the King of Illéa around like he was her servant, and he obeyed.
"Mom?" Addy whispered as Maxon returned to his seat in the spacious, empty rows ahead of them and the airplane began to roll on the tarmac. "What was that about?
"Nothing, baby bird. Just some bad old memories."
After everything she'd learned over the last few years about her parents, Addy knew better than to pry. She now knew how much her mother had struggled and sometimes gone hungry growing up as a Five, and she knew her father's back had been covered in scars somehow. She knew her dad's Selection had been full of danger, and that Aunt Marlee and Uncle Carter had gotten hurt, and it all culminated in a massacre that had stolen her grandparents away. And that was before a madman had become obsessed with murdering America while she was pregnant with Addy. She was sure her parents had plenty of bad memories to contend with, things Addy didn't even know about yet, and asking them to get into the gory details would only hurt them.
Addy heaved a heavy sigh and rested her head on her mom's shoulder as America peered out the window into the chilly darkness beyond, focus so far away on the horizon that she might well have been peering into the past. "Coffee soon, little love." America promised absentmindedly, borrowing Maxon's nickname for Addy and pressing a kiss to her forehead before returning her attention to the dark void out the window.
Addy yawned and settled in, happy to have something tangible, if small, to look forward to on such a long journey.
Addy made it half-way through her briefing book half-way through the flight, but just as they were approaching the eastern coast of Illéa, Addy's caffeine hit became a caffeine crash and she excused herself all the way to the back of the jumbo jet, where the private family bedroom awaited her.
The bed was plenty comfortable, and the room was as quiet as a bedroom on a loud airplane could be. It felt nice to stretch out and cover up with the cushy blankets and the soft pillows. Addy could remember napping back here with her younger siblings and cousins on dozens of trips as a child, usually with noise-cancelling headphones that looked enormous on their tiny heads, to help them block out the sounds of the engines and get some sleep.
Addy was thinking about asking a crew member to dig out a pair of those when the door to the bedroom slid open and America appeared. She closed the door behind her, slipped into bed with Addy, and rested her head on her daughter's shoulder. "It's work time back in Angeles, your father just got called into a meeting."
"Should I go too?"
"No, not unless they ask for you." America yawned, fiddling with the blankets until she, too, was covered up.
"I guess that means you don't have any work to do either?" Addy asked, amused at her mother's unexpected laziness. As a mother of five, a sister and aunt, and the Queen of Illéa, America didn't have many objectively lazy moments.
"Going to this coronation is my work for the next few days. Same as you."
"Yeah, well I want to quit and go to work at an ice cream parlor." Addy frowned, wishing she could just skip ahead in time until this whole ordeal was done.
"I bet you do." America giggled. "You'd look cute in one of those silly parlor hats."
"I know. It's my calling."
They fell into a languid, comfy silence as the plane whisked them off at a dozen miles per minute.
A few dozen miles later, America laced the fingers of her left hand with Addy's right and said, "Sweetheart, you should know that Prince Andrew has officially set up a meeting with the King of Swendway to discuss dismantling his weapons program."
"Andy did that?"
"Yeah. I know your Uncle Eoan wants to take charge of the negotiations while he's still King, try to leverage some of his wisdom and experience, but if any historic agreements are reached, he wants Andy's name to be at the top of them."
"…This is so weird, Mom." It was going to take a long time to get used to the idea that her childhood friend was grown up enough to have his name at the top of historic agreements preserved in history books.
"I know." America giggled, but it didn't have the usual tinkling sound of her laughter, and the smile quickly fell off of her face. "See Bird, if dismantling the Swendish weapons program is even up for debate, Thorvald will have a list of demands."
"That makes sense. It's what I would do."
"I know. But it's going to be really, really hard on your dad to watch Thorvald get lavished with rewards for behaving so terribly. We need to take extra good care of him this weekend, okay? If he asks for our help, we have to be there unyieldingly."
Addy frowned, lifting up their joined hands to stare at America's sparkling wedding ring, twisting their hands back and forth ever so slightly to make it catch the light over and over. Finally she said, "Thorvald will never be brought to justice for what he did to you, will he?"
"No. That was a decision your father made a long time ago, in the name of peace."
"And he's had his peace, hasn't he?"
"Yes, he has."
"Then it was a good sacrifice to make."
"I know your dad would agree."
"And I guess that transaction is done. Like swapping goods at the market or something. He can't go back on the deal he made."
"No, it's long since done." America conceded.
"So Thorvald's not getting lavished with rewards for what he did to you and dad… to me, before I was born. But he has a powerful negotiating chip, and we don't really know what he wants now that he can't have Illéa. This is like a totally different transaction, you know?"
America pulled their hands up to her lips and pressed a kiss to Addy's. "This is why we put you kids in charge so young. You're focused on the future, not the tragedies of the past. If you put someone too old in charge, all they do is try to turn back time and fix what they think went wrong."
"I don't want you to think that I don't care about the past, Mom." Addy shifted onto her side so she could look America in the eyes. "It makes me sick when I think too hard about what Thorvald did… especially knowing Astra was old enough to still be hurt by it, even today…"
"I know you care, Bird." America reassured her. "I just wanted to draw special attention to your dad… this is one of the hardest things we've ever asked him to do. A madman hired by Thorvald almost killed your father twice, but to this day when he thinks about those threats, all he thinks about is how frighteningly close he came to losing me, you, and all of your future brothers and sisters."
"That's how you knew what was really bothering him about meeting with Swendway earlier? That he was scared we'd be blown up like you guys almost were in the Great Room? When Xavier's father died protecting Dad?"
America let out a long, controlled breath while she measured her response, carefully testing the balance of it. "I feel like anytime your dad is scared, you don't have to scratch too deep beneath the surface to find the specter of K."
Addy bit at her lip, "What is that? You were talking about it with Dad earlier, too…"
"K?" America asked, studying her daughter's gray eyes.
"Yeah."
America closed her eyes softly, growing very still next to Addy. Then, after a few calming breaths, her mouth opened again and she said, "That's what the madman called himself. His real name was Jefferson Potter, and something horrible happened to his wife and children while your grandfather was still King. He dedicated himself to avenging their deaths by trying to eliminate the royal family. It almost worked so many times…" she trailed off with a heavy sigh.
A couple of months ago, America had told Addy about the nightmarish things that man had done; about the notes left on her bed, the maid he'd murdered in cold blood, how he'd tried to attack Maxon and America at America's childhood home and only failed because Addy's Uncle Kota discovered him and was killed instead. But in that entire, hours long conversation, America had never once spoken his name aloud. It made Addy realize that there were still some things her parents were hiding to protect her, however insignificant those details might be.
Addy shivered under the blankets, though she was just as warm as she had been before her mother had joined her. She was on her way to look into the eyes of the man who had bankrolled terrorists to try to steal her crown, but she wasn't scared. She was livid.
The streets of London had never looked like this before. The ride from the airport to the palace was a crawl, even in a motorcade with a police escort that did not have to worry about traffic lights, because the entire country was free from work and filling the streets with food carts, makeshift tables covered in collectable memorabilia for sale, bands playing music at every corner, and lots and lots of alcohol. When the people got a good look at the Illéan flags flying on the car hood and realized that King Maxon, Queen America, and Princess Addy were somewhere safely sealed up in bullet-proof darkness just a few feet away, most of them cheered excitedly. Some of them called out for their favorite royal. America was a clear winner, but Adrienne was close behind.
In another life, this was exactly the kind of revelry Addy would have loved to lose herself in. She could imagine herself bailing out of this car and joining in the celebration, disappearing into and becoming one with the exuberant crowd. So much of being a princess was about being separated, hierarchically elevated, from her fellow human beings. Sometimes it was nice to imagine what it would be like to belong, especially here where everyone was happy and singing and celebrating a new era for their country.
And what would King Andrew's era really bring? The signs people carried through the streets, the sentiment on national news broadcasts, the impromptu chants breaking out around the makeshift sidewalk pubs all hinted at the same idea: prosperity, modernity, and renewed prestige on the international stage. It was overly optimistic, of course, Addy knew Andrew's hands would be tied behind his back by parliament and his ability to bring about any sort of real change would be limited. But everything about these city streets had the air of New Year's Eve magic: anything and everything would feel possible come the stroke of midnight.
The palace in London was more hectic than Addy could ever remember seeing it in her life. The only thing she could even begin to compare it to was the annual international world leader summit, which Illéa took a turn hosting every five years. That was an important event, but even then most leaders didn't bring their spouses, children, and a trunk full of suits and gowns for a weekend full of festivities.
The excitement in the air was palpable as servants hurried along corridors and Kings and Queens of far away lands kept happening upon one another on their way to and from the gardens, the library, or lunch. The Schreaves hadn't even made it to their rooms yet when they nearly bumped right into Queen Daphne of France, and Addy'd had to wait politely for her parents to stop reminiscing about old times so that she could disappear into her bedroom and take a much-needed hot bath.
Addy's stomach was a swirl of confused butterflies as she settled into her room. Excited for the dancing, the unbelievable wine, the musical performances, and of course the food. Excited for Andrew to ascend his throne and become King. Nervous because she knew the newspapers and tabloids would all have to mention how she was next. Nervous because King Thorvald was in the building, and he'd tried to have her murdered before she was born, and if he was unhinged enough he might try again before the weekend was over. That was a different kind of nervous, though.
Addy was a little disappointed that she didn't have her run of the Palace as she usually did when she came to visit her godfather. She knew King Eoan, Queen Waverly, Andy, and Lucas wouldn't have time to give her a second thought during this visit, which she completely understood, but she still felt a little sorry for herself. On the other hand:
"Ciao, mia carina!" the door to Addy's bedroom burst open and Queen Nicoletta appeared in the doorway dressed to kill any poor, unsuspecting, handsome young butler who might accidentally catch sight of her.
"Auntie Nic!" Addy dropped the bag she'd been unpacking onto her bed and hurried over to hug her godmother.
"Let me look, let me see…" Nicoletta pulled away after squeezing Addy tightly and peered closely at Addy's face. Though Nicoletta always found ways to be part of Addy's life, sending her food on her first night of university or publicly defending her after the paparazzi scandal, Addy hadn't been in the same room as her godmother in several years. Nicoletta let out a sound of dismay as she realized that the fifteen-year-old from her memory was gone forever, now transformed into the eighteen-year-old that stood before her. "You are going to be prettier than me very soon."
Addy laughed at the familiar compliment, something Nicoletta had been promising for as long as Addy could remember, "Never! I refuse."
"It's no use." Nic let out a long, dramatic sigh and then pressed a kiss to Addy's hair. She turned on her spiky heels and leaned out the door, "Giancarlo?"
Addy waited, still grinning with delight, to see what would happen next. After a moment of Nicoletta tapping her toes impatiently, a gorgeous young Italian man who couldn't have been older than Prince Andrew appeared with a wrapped box in his arms. He bowed to his queen, bowed to Addy, then placed the package on the luggage rack at the foot of Addy's bed.
Addy watched for a moment as her godmother eyed her servant appreciatively on his way back out to the hallway.
"I think the word is… body man?" Nicoletta hazarded a guess. "He goes with me everywhere. Carries my bags. Helps me in and out of vehicles. Delicious arm candy."
Addy shook her head, trying not to blush at the idea of hiring a gorgeous guy just to carry heavy things around for her and look good with her in public. "If you were a man, that would be a scandal." Addy warned her godmother.
Nicoletta waved a hand at the thought, unbothered. "If I were a man, I could afford a scandal. Open the box."
Addy allowed herself to be ordered about by the Italian queen, unwrapping her present eagerly. Inside she fount a pair of gorgeous vintage boots made of supple, soft leather that practically sang under Addy's fingertips.
Addy rounded on Nicoletta, eyes wide.
"Not for this weekend, of course."
Addy wished she could figure out how to pair these boots with her ballgowns because she'd never take them off again. "Thank you, Auntie Nic."
"Happy Birthday, my little princess."
Just then, the door opened again. This time America walked through the door. "Oh, Nic." she pretended to be dismayed, thoroughly giving herself away with the enormous grin on her face, "You're not spoiling Addy already?"
"And? I had to beat every one of your sisters for the right to be Adrienne's godmother, not to mention your Marlee—" Nicoletta abruptly ended her meaningless rant to kiss America on both cheeks, then hug her tightly. "How is Maxon?"
America gave Nicoletta a pointed look that communicated everything she needed to know about Maxon's state of mind.
"We are all here to help." Nicoletta reminded America.
America nodded, "He knows. I just… I don't think he'll sleep until we're back on the plane home."
"Hmph."
Addy sat down at the vanity in her room as the two queens moved to sit on her bed. Addy listened as they talked about men and family, and May's new baby boy whose surprise appearance in the family Christmas photo had taken the entire world by storm just days before.
Addy could remember being a very little girl, sitting in her mom's room, listening to her talk to the adult women in her life, and feeling excited to overhear a part of their conversation that she could understand. Sitting there now, listening to the two women catch up, she felt small again.
"You know, I should be godmother to May's baby, too." Nicoletta mused.
"Will you ever have enough godchildren?" America giggled.
"I'm serious. Little May only realized the depth of her feelings for the handsome guard boy when she came at my invitation to spend the summer in Italy while they were dating. The rest was history after that!"
"If you want to claim credit for their successful marriage, it might help if you learned the handsome guard boy's name."
"Pshh."
There was a respectful knock at the door, and both queens looked to Addy, who remembered that this was technically her bedroom. "Come in." Addy called.
The door swung open and Miss Paige poked her head inside, "Hi Addy, I heard your mom was here—" she didn't get to finish her sentence. America screamed her name in an entirely un-royal manner and ran across the room, hugging her so tightly that Addy wondered if her former nanny could even breathe.
Addy was startled to find tears on her mother's cheeks when they pulled apart, and hurriedly pulled a facial tissue from the vanity she was sitting at to offer her mom.
America dabbed her cheeks with Addy's offering and said to Paige, "Do you know what we're doing here?"
Paige pressed her lips together, "Well, I know the King of Swendway is here."
America nodded seriously, "Yes. Whatever you're thinking is probably right."
Paige pulled America into another hug as she frowned, "He's not seeding rebellion in Illéa again, is he?"
"No, not this time." America breathed.
Addy blinked hard, something clicking into place in her mind with a sickening crunch. Miss Paige had been Addy's nanny, but Addy had always known that she'd been America's maid for a long time before Addy was born. Addy had never thought about it before, but that must have meant that she'd been America's maid when America had been pregnant with Addy. And that meant that Miss Paige had been one of America's closest confidants during all of the terrible things that the rebels had done to the Schreaves. It must have been a living nightmare trying to get through that time with her mom.
Paige rubbed America's back firmly, "Tell me what I can do to help."
There was a long pause and then America murmured, "Can you paint a little sun on my forearm? I need to remember what we lost when we go into negotiations tomorrow morning…"
It was Paige's turn to get choked up. "I'll do my best."
Addy looked over at her godmother, hoping she'd be as confused as Addy, but Nicoletta's lips were pursed together to bite back her own emotion. Once again, Addy was made keenly aware that there were parts of her parents' lives that she'd never fully know about.
Paige left and returned with some yellow dye and a thin, tapered makeup brush. Addy joined Nicoletta on the bed so that America could sit at the vanity and use the table to hold her arm steady while she worked.
To lighten the mood, Paige updated them on her new life in England. She and her wife, Andy and Luke's former nanny, Lady Piper had purchased a home a couple of hours outside of the city. They were near a train station so it was easy to come visit Queen Waverly, Lady Piper's best friend from childhood, and the Princes who were like nephews to them. They were thrilled that Eoan and Waverly were finally retiring because, and this was the real news, Piper was pregnant. The timeline had worked out absolutely perfectly; Waverly was going to have the time to help raise Piper's child, just like Piper had been there to help Waverly.
The women in the room were so loud and so joyful that Maxon came over, worried that their screams were cries for help. "What in the world— Paige! What a delight!"
America had jumped a little in her seat and messed up some of Paige's artwork, so while she quickly fixed the mess before the dye stained America's skin, she explained the whole story.
Piper was a little on the older side to be having a baby, and they hadn't been at all sure that she could conceive. Paige had been prepared to volunteer, even though lacking bodily autonomy was a big trigger for her. Addy did not ask questions, because America nodded solemnly, placing a hand over Paige's and squeezing. Addy decided it was really none of her business. What mattered was having access to more cute babies, so she listened quietly.
"It's incredible, really." Paige smiled. "All I had to do was go to our doctor, take a few shots, and come back a couple of weeks later. They were able to take my eggs and place them perfectly inside Pipes, safe and sound."
America nodded, "I researched that treatment when May was having trouble conceiving. I volunteered to be her surrogate if she needed me. In the end, she managed perfectly well on her own."
This got them off on a tangent about how May and baby Max were doing, and how Paige's baby was due in a couple of months and so they would have so many international playdates once the babies were old enough to travel. This bought Addy enough time for the blood to stop roaring through her ears. Her mother had volunteered to have Aunt May's baby? How had Addy missed that? It would have only been a couple of years ago, before Addy even left home for university. Where had she been that she hadn't once noticed her parents seriously discussing going through another pregnancy?
Maxon, leaning casually back against the door with his hands in his pockets, asked, "Forgive my curiosity, Paige, but how did you and Piper handle the business of finding a… well, a father?"
Paige giggled at his blush, "That's the best part. Piper's brother is our baby's father. When our little girl is born, she's going to look like me and like Piper, and she'll be related by blood to the both of us."
This set off another round of excitement, both for how cute a little Paige/Piper baby would look, and for the fact that Paige had just revealed to them that she would have a daughter sometime in February or March.
Queen Nicoletta, without moving a muscle from her relaxed position leaning against Addy's headboard, announced, "I think I should be the godmother."
America laughed so hard that her arm shook again and Paige had to stop painting for a moment.
Paige grinned too, "You're going to have to fight Waverly for that honor, I'm afraid, your Majesty."
"I can take her. I've beaten her out before." Nicoletta winked at Addy. "Tell your Miss Paige what a good godmother I am, bella."
Addy nodded emphatically, knowing the better she sold this, the better her next birthday present would be. "Auntie Nic is the best godmother in the whole world. She brings gifts every time I see her, and she surprises me with dinner delivery when I'm at school, and she chews out the entire paparazzi industry when they're mean to me."
"When they exploit your body for money?" Nicoletta corrected her, and Maxon squirmed uncomfortably.
Paige smiled her gratitude at Nicoletta for stepping up during that horrible incident, when Paige had been unable to do anything but rant about it in her kitchen at home. "I'll make your case to Piper."
Maxon took advantage of having so many world leaders sharing the same palace to get months worth of diplomatic work done in a day, and he deployed America to help him cover more ground. Addy offered to sit with the Princess of France or that serious, stone-faced, devastatingly handsome heir to the New Asian Empire, but it was decided that there wasn't much a group of heirs could hash out without advisers or reigning monarchs there to agree or disagree, so ultimately Addy was left to her own devices.
Without Andrew or Luke to keep her occupied, and with the Palace teeming with diplomats who made her feel extremely self-conscious, Addy took refuge outside near the stables, where she knew the dogs were kept. She laid out on a bed of hay and read a book and smooched puppies anytime she got nervous about the coronation, Swendway, her coronation, or what these important Kings and Queens thought of her now that she was a walking tabloid scandal.
Unfortunately, Addy had to vacate her little haven for a state dinner where there were far more photographs taken than bites of food eaten. Addy sprawled out on her parents' bed that night, exhausted, jet lagged, and still in her ballgown and tiara. Her mother was being helped out of her gown by Talia, and her father was changing into his pajamas in the bathroom, but they were both talking seriously about the work they'd done that day through the cracked-open door.
"Addy?" America paused, now free in her silky pale blue pajama pants and matching tank top. "Are you okay?"
Addy, lulled half-asleep by the soothing sound of her parents' voices and unwilling to do the hard work of changing into her own pajamas, even with the help of a maid, mumbled back, "Am I a real person?"
America giggled as Maxon appeared from the bathroom, uncertain whether he should be alarmed or not. "Uh-oh, Max. She's spent too many hours in the tiara today. It's taking over her brain."
"I hate it when that happens." Maxon chuckled.
America delicately removed the clips holding Addy's sparkling crown in place and then expertly removed the offending device, handing it off to Talia for storage. "There. Now do you feel like a person?"
"I'm not sure... do people have these?" Addy lifted her hand up and wiggled her fingers, beyond loopy and silly.
"Yes." America seized that hand and pressed a kiss to it.
"Oh, then yes." Addy determined. "I'm a person."
"Good." America began tugging on that hand. "Now leave."
"What?!" Addy's eyes flew open and she made a pouting face at her mom. "Don't kick me out."
"Your father and I are exhausted, and we have a long, long day tomorrow."
Before breakfast they were meeting with Thorvald to negotiate disarmament. Then Andrew was being coronated, and the coronation ball wouldn't conclude until after midnight.
"Don't you love me anymore?" Addy scowled at being banished from her comfy spot. "When I was a baby you let me sleep in your bed whenever I wanted."
"This is our fault for having too many children, Maxon." America said pseudo-sternly.
"I beg your pardon?" Maxon joined them, perching on the edge of the bed in his own pair of pajamas, matching his wife.
"She doesn't know how to occupy herself. She needs a sibling or a friend or she feels lonely."
"I do not!" Addy objected.
Maxon agreed with Addy, "She's only lacking proper motivation, my love." and then to demonstrate, he reached over and tugged America's shirt hem. When she was within an arm's length, he pulled her down onto his lap and started kissing her.
"Ew! Stop!" Addy hid her eyes, but she couldn't block out the sounds. "You're making extra smacks on purpose!" Addy scurried away as quickly as possible in her gown, "This is child abuse!"
Addy was glad her parents didn't hate each other, but did they have to have lip-smacking kisses right in front of their child? She was still trying to erase the nauseating sounds from her ears when she returned to her room to find Bridget lounging on the daybed, waiting to begin undressing her.
"Did you see Prince Lucas?" Bridget guessed at the reason for Addy's lateness.
"What? No!" Addy felt her face go a little pale. What had made Bridget think of Luke when Addy had been thinking of kissing? "W-why? What… what makes you think—"
"He stopped by to say hello. I think he wanted to wish you luck in your meeting tomorrow morning."
Addy gaped. The whole of England was one big circus right now, his home was a hotel for the most important people in the world, his brother was probably pacing a hole in the floor getting ready to be coronated tomorrow, but Luke had been worried about Addy? "When was he here? Is he still close?"
"I don't think so, it was just after dinner." Bridget said, her tone apologetic. "I could ask his butler if he's still awake for visitors—
"No, that's okay. It's late and tomorrow's a big day, we'll let him rest." But Addy vowed to find him and thank him properly before the weekend was over.
The next morning, Addy awoke before her alarm when the sky was still pitch black. Her body was convinced it was either 6 PM or 6 AM and either way, she should be awake. She'd thought long and hard when packing her bags for this trip about what outfit she should wear into their talks with King Thorvald. He was a traditional, conservative man who thought a foreigner was more fit to wear Illéa's crown than a native-born woman. It was tempting to try to show him how wrong he was: that Addy could be a great leader and a lovely woman all at the same time. But Addy knew that was a trap. She didn't want him to admit he was wrong or apologize for what he'd done to her family, she wanted him to get rid of his nuclear weapons and stop threatening to irreparably harm England. Knowing what game she was playing, Addy had decided she would wear a tailored pantsuit.
America wore slacks to work sometimes, if she was only meeting with advisers or other people who spent their days working in the Palace. If anyone was coming in from the outside world, or if photographers would be present, she wore dresses and skirts. It was the little gesture of compliance toward people's expectations of what a queen ought to be, and it allowed America far more latitude to challenge the rules that actually mattered.
But Addy didn't want to comply with Thorvald's expectations in any way. She even wore a vest and a well-tailored white button-up shirt, though she hadn't been able to figure out how to coordinate a tie so she left her top buttons open and kept on her mother's silver songbird necklace instead. She was trying to channel her inner Professor Dearwood, if such a creature existed, and so she chose her spikiest heels to serve as two little swords that she could theoretically use to defend herself if push came to shove.
As she tied her hair up in a sleek knot and concealed the dark circles under her eyes that came from having such an upside-down, abbreviated sleep cycle, Addy felt the overwhelming compulsion to wear a wristwatch. She tried bracelets but none of them worked, her gut was telling her over and over again that she needed a watch. Why? Princess Adrienne was physically incapable of being late on a weekend like this when she and her parents were being shepherded everywhere by a small army of assistants. Still, her left wrist felt light and the lack of a watch agitated her to distraction.
So when she joined her parents for a light, early breakfast in their bedroom and received a surprised, approving compliment from her father on her suit, Addy begged him, "Dad, can I borrow a watch?"
Maxon sipped from his little glass of orange juice, "From me? Surely your mother—"
"No, I want a big one." Addy insisted.
Maxon turned to the chest of drawers he'd taken over for their visit and pulled open the top drawer. "I don't have much with me, Bird… let's see… Grandpa Shalom's watch is back home—"
"That's okay." Grandpa Shalom's watch wasn't the right color anyway.
"How about this one? Gavril gave this one to me as a birthday present just after Maisy was born. It was a joke because I was always running late to our meetings, with so many babies running around, but it's very nice—"
Addy liked the idea that some of Gavril's cheeky confidence might be stored in the leather band of that vintage men's watch.
"It's perfect."
For the entire walk to the secure briefing room where the meeting would take place, Maxon prepared America and Addy. They'd had plenty of meetings with advisers before leaving Illéa, so the gritty details of the negotiation were already well understood.
At one such meeting, Maxon's security advisers had announced that King Eoan's spies had discovered the beginnings of an organized rebellion in Swendway.
"Thorvald has rebels?" America had asked, eyebrows arching high on her forehead.
"Does he know?" Maxon had asked grimly.
One of Maxon's most prickly advisors, Mr. Boone, had answered, "They've been leaving manifestos all over major cities. Word must have gotten back to the king by now."
"Well, well, well." America had folded her arms, leaning back in her seat.
Mr. Boone had liked this reaction from his queen. It meant that she was enjoying this reversal of fortunes as much as he was. They shared a certain ruthlessness when it came to the King's enemies that the King himself did not always have.
Maxon's mouth had been a straight line as he'd stared at the mahogany table in front of them, rapping his knuckle lightly against the wood. "Keep me informed. If we can't reason with Thorvald, we could use this to apply some pressure… convince him to dismantle his weapons."
Addy had frowned, speaking up for the first time all meeting, "What do you mean, apply some pressure?"
America and Boone were sharing a look, and America's face was carefully neutral as she asked her husband, "Do you think we should fund them?"
"Mom!" Addy was outraged.
Maxon had pinched the bridge of his nose as he so often did to fight off a stress headache, "It's not something I relish the thought of doing, but it's not something we can entirely rule out either. We can't afford to rule anything out until that weapon is out of his hands."
"How can you say that?" Addy had demanded, her chest tight with anger. With disappointment. "How can you even talk about this?"
Adviser Boone thought he was being helpful when he supplied, "Princess, it is admirable that you have the soft heart of youth. The reality is, we don't know what King Thorvald is capable of, or what he's really after. We need to be willing to do whatever it takes to defend our monarchy, and to defend the country of England."
"Shut up Boone, I don't have the soft heart of youth." Addy had rolled her eyes so hard they'd hurt. "But we can beat Thorvald without having to become him. In fact, it's the only way to end this cycle. Otherwise, his heir will have just as much bad blood with me as I have with him."
Maxon agreed with Addy in the end. He often deferred to her if they disagreed about something that would affect her reign. Still, Addy got the distinct impression that, if push came to shove and there were no other options, her parents would write the check to fund the Swendish rebels. Addy made it her mission not to let it come to that. She didn't know if her dad had the stomach to stoop down to Thorvald's level, and she didn't want him to have to try.
So now, on their walk to the secure briefing room, all that was really left to them was to make sure they didn't fumble the diplomatic niceties. They would offer King Thorvald and Queen Ragna a little bow—
America scoffed as Maxon reviewed this with them.
Then they would offer bows to Eoan and Andrew, then take their seats immediately. The meeting was technically between the three kings and the present heirs (King Thorvald had left his heir back home, a fact which made Maxon extremely antsy). However, since America insisted on being present, all three queens were invited too. Waverly wouldn't be able to attend because it was the morning of the coronation, which was a shame because she was usually a very calming influence on the sometimes hotheaded Schreaves.
Addy fidgeted with the wristwatch she wore nervously as her father continued to prepare them with the agenda for the meeting (which did not include a recounting of Thorvald's crimes against Illéa) and what the best-case scenario would look like (international inspectors ensuring no further efforts were made to create catastrophic weapons in Swendway).
They paused in the hallway outside of the meeting room as a guard went in to announce them. America turned to Addy and straightened the lapel's of her daughter's suit. "Very nice choice, Bird."
"Thanks, Mom." Addy smiled. America had chosen a more traditional dress with a full skirt of heavy fabric. It featured two prominent seams bolting down the side of the skirt which America continued to trace her fingers over to expel some nervous energy. Though America dressed traditionally for her role as Queen, neither she nor Maxon had ever tried to dissuade Addy from wearing whatever she wanted in her role as Princess (with the possible exception of an Elephant halloween costume to a state dinner when Addy was five).
Maxon gestured for America to take her place at his side, and time seemed to stretch out painfully. Addy just wanted this to be over. She wanted to be in the future or in the past, anywhere but here and now. Yet even as the seconds crawled by, each tick of her wristwatch jolting her, somehow the world also became a blur and Addy found herself suddenly confronted with the man who'd hired a hitman to kill her before she'd been born.
King Thorvald was much older than he had been in the photos of him at her parents' wedding, and Addy felt stupid for being surprised by that. Both he and Queen Ragna had more white than blonde in their hair these days, and Thorvald's thick beard was just as unevenly mixed. The pale shades in their hair only served emphasize the dark shock of steely blue in their eyes as they stared, frozen faced, at the Schreaves.
Muscle memory controlled Addy's tight little bow toward the Swendish royals, but she seemed to return to her body when she saw Andrew standing to the left side of the room next to his dad. Addy smiled and hurried over to greet him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Big day?"
He let out a ragged laugh.
"You're ready." she reminded him.
"No one's ever truly ready." he challenged her.
"You are." she insisted. Realizing she was now behind her parents in their choreographed entrance, she released her friend and hurried to her chair, sliding in the moment her mom and dad gracefully landed on their seats. Addy was only a hiccough out of sync, and only for a moment.
"Your Majesty," King Eoan began, acknowledging Thorvald, "Your Majesty," he nodded to Maxon, "Thank you both for meeting with us today. This is an important step toward repairing and resetting relationships between our countries. We have much to gain from each other, and my hope is that we can come to an arrangement that is mutually beneficial for all."
King Thorvald merely smiled, eyes lazily cutting a path from Maxon to America to Addy, before returning to Eoan. Maxon and Eoan glanced at each other nervously, not certain what to make of his silence.
Addy knew what to make of it though. She knew that his refusal to speak was a power play, a chess move. If Maxon or Eoan had imagined that Thorvald would be so thrilled to have a seat at this table that he would immediately start bragging about his new, metropolis-destroying toys, they were mistaken. He was going to force them to accuse him.
Not happy to let him set the tone so early, Addy recognized with a jolt what the wristwatch she was wearing was for. She made a big show of lifting it up and checking it, as if he was boring her but she had all day to wait him out. Thorvald looked her up and down rapidly, trying to size her up on the spot.
Eoan continued with a nervous clearing of his throat, "Ordinarily, of course, our advisers would meet for weeks ahead of this summit and sort out the finer details, but this is a special opportunity, and I believe it calls for a special approach."
Thorvald blinked placidly and finally spoke, his low voice lilted with a heavy Swendish accent, "You are retired, your Majesty. What good would it do me to come to an understanding with you?"
"This will be my final diplomatic act of service, it's true—"
"Allow me the honor of relieving you from your service a few hours early. I will deal with your son."
Andrew did not blink as he replied steadily, "That's quite alright, Father. I can take it from here."
Thorvald rounded on Maxon, "And you. It does me no good to reach terms with you, only to have to renegotiate with— your heir." The pause was almost imperceptible, the sneer on his face almost invisible beneath that beard.
Almost.
Maxon opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with venom on his tongue, but Addy intervened. Thorvald wanted the other two kings on their heels. Why give him the satisfaction of seeing her father react to his trap? "I will co-sign any agreement arranged today." Addy said breezily, as if it should have been obvious. As if King Thorvald was stupid for not having just assumed it.
Thorvald's ice-grey eyes flickered to hers and he nodded once, out-maneuvered this round, though the game had only just begun.
Andrew capably took over the meeting, "England and Illéa have much to offer Swendway: future invitations to global summits, ambassadors or envoys stationed in our capital cities, even trade agreements could be negotiated."
Addy watched Thorvald pick up a fountain pen from the table where note pads bearing the crest of England were laid for all participants. He twirled the pen between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before replying, unyieldingly, "Your Highness is generous. But what is it that you would be seeking in return?"
So that was his move? He wasn't even going to acknowledge the weapons he'd created?
Maxon folded his hands in front of him and answered, "Nothing substandard for these types of multilateral agreements. Reciprocal treatment, of course."
"Of course." Thorvald's lips twitched upward.
"A peace treaty outlining our renewed status as allies," Maxon continued, then paused for a moment and tilted his neck to the side to stretch it, "With explicit consequences enumerated for any party caught breaking the treaty."
No more hiring assassins to try to kill their family. Thorvald's eyebrow twitched. It was the closest Maxon had ever come to openly discussing what Thorvald had done those years ago, or even formally accusing him in front of another allied nation. Before this, all Maxon had ever done was quietly seize the bank account Thorvald had been using to funnel money to the rebellion and hand that fortune over to America to fund her projects as she saw fit, and then just as quietly institute economic sanctions on the Swendish crown alongside his closest international allies.
"That should not be a problem. We have been allies for centuries." Thorvald replied easily. Addy hated how easy this was for him, when it was torturing her father.
Maxon lowered his chin in a nod and then said, "And, of course, we would like for you to allow a neutral party of inspectors within your borders to conduct an investigation into the recent seismic activity you've had in your southern region."
Thorvald leant back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the arm rests, "Inspectors?" There was a long, dramatic pause. "Sure, why not?"
The rest of the room froze, his response looping in their minds on repeat. He was going to allow inspectors? He hadn't bargained for anything in return, what was he thinking?
Addy narrowed her eyes at him with a little frown. If he didn't care that they were going to send inspectors, then he wasn't concerned about what the inspectors would find. Addy looked to Andrew, then to her parents, but none of them seemed to be thinking through this interaction the way that she was.
Addy took a guess, "When is the announcement coming?"
For once, Thorvald expressed a genuine emotion, and not a theatrical performance of one. Surprised, he nodded, "Tomorrow morning."
"Didn't want to share the headlines?" Addy crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in her tall, leather chair to mirror his posture. "Honestly, I thought you'd do it sooner. Was something wrong with the test?"
Maxon's eyes flew to Addy, widening with urgency. He'd been practicing this exchange in his mind since they'd left Illéa, and he'd been practicing this confrontation in his mind for nearly 20 years. They were supposed to get a confession, not levy an accusation. There was a plan. Addy knew that she was going to owe him a big apology later, but they'd been getting nowhere before. She may have derailed Maxon's plan, but she'd also derailed Thorvald's.
"No, the test was fine." Thorvald recovered with a chuckle, "But timing the announcement of a once-in-a-generation initiative is pivotal. Your parents know something about that."
Beside Addy, America's fingers whitened as her grip tightened on the arm of her chair.
Andrew kept his tone diplomatic, even as his words were sharp, "Certainly you must understand that we cannot allow you to possess such a dangerous weapon. What on earth do you mean to do with it?"
"Why, protect Swendway's interests, naturally. What does anyone do with military science?"
King Eoan spoke plainly, "But of course you must understand, the mere existence of such a weapon increases the odds that it will one day be used. One cannot deploy a weapon that doubles as an existential threat to humanity if one does not possess such a weapon in the first place."
Thorvald blinked as though Kine Eoan had just announced that the grass was green, "Of course, your Majesty. We would not have wasted our time developing such a weapon if we did not intend to use it."
It was a naked threat of unspeakable violence, uninhibited by common humanity, and it was also patently absurd. Addy scowled, annoyed that he expected them to buy such outright nonsense, "Yes, you would have."
This time, Thorvald's eyes flashed with irritation rather than amusement, "You have the nerve—"
Addy had plenty of nerve, "In what twisted universe are Swendway's interests protected by you deploying a weapon that it is an international crime to possess? Even detonated in self-defense, the punishment as outlined in the international treatise is clear; your kingdom would lose their king. Then where would they be?"
There was a dangerous pause before Thorvald replied, "You are not the judge of what is best for Swendway."
"And you are not the judge of what's best for Illéa, are you?" she glared at him, pulse pounding. It was Addy's first miscalculation in this entire chess match of a negotiation. After everything she'd said and done to persuade her parents to set the past aside until Swendway was disarmed, she'd been the first one allude to Thorvald's history with the Schreaves. Her cheeks flushed pink, knowing immediately that she'd made a mistake, but she did not lower her gaze.
"That's enough, Adrienne." Maxon said firmly, and Addy knew he meant that she needed to let him handle things from here. "Thorvald, put your cards on the table, we don't have all day. What do you want in exchange for dismantling that weapons program?"
"Well, that all depends." Thorvald said, emboldened by Addy's little outburst. "What price are you willing to pay for peace, King Maxon?"
It was a mean question, a vicious question, a snarling, menacing, gut-wrenching question. What was Maxon, whose legacy as king was entirely underpinned by the peace he'd ushered in for his people, willing to pay to avoid war? And beyond his own legacy and how history would remember him when he was gone, what was Maxon willing to pay to stop Adrienne's reign from being torn asunder by nuclear devastation?
Maxon would pay anything. Maxon would pay everything, and Thorvald knew it. The King of Illéa was cornered with no way out. Thorvald's smile, the joy he took in Maxon's despair, was pure masochism. He said, "Obviously, we want all economic sanctions removed."
Andrew picked up a pen and wrote "sanctions relief" in his perfect, Prince-of-England handwriting, the blueprint that Luke's handwriting always tried and failed to match up to. "That will be an enormous undertaking. It's yours if you cease all illegal weapons development immediately."
Addy liked the way he'd phrased that. "Illegal weapons" covered a lot of possible surprises.
Thorvald nodded, "No further development."
Of course, he didn't need further development. Addy was certain this meant his test had been successful. Andrew made a note and confirmed, "Of course, we'll need to verify your compliance with inspectors."
"Are you accusing me of being a liar, your Highness?"
"In his defense, you did just illegally develop and test nuclear arms, in contravention of several international bans, and basically two minutes ago you threatened my dad with war." Addy grumbled, doodling swirls on her fancy notepad with her pen.
"Adrienne, you have helped enough." Maxon reminded her firmly.
"I suppose that I could be persuaded to allow an independent audit, but such monitoring would need to continue over an extended period of time to be effective, wouldn't you say?"
"Certainly." Andrew agreed easily, almost happily.
Maxon was the one who caught the trick this time, "Are you suggesting we normalize our diplomatic relations?"
"Wouldn't it be much easier to house those auditors in an embassy?" Thorvald smiled in a way that seemed to promise that he was laying a trap.
America met Maxon's eyes, then said, "An embassy, yes. But an embassy implies an ambassador, and you'll forgive us if we're not eager to have your people inside our palace walls. We remember what happened the last time you sent an employee to deal with us."
King Thorvald was amused by her choice of words, but he continued innocently, "We cannot be expected to play host to foreign diplomats without being permitted to send our own abroad."
Addy thought this was a ridiculous position to hold. He'd broken lots of international laws in his reign and probably planned to break lots more. Of course they needed to monitor his compliance. It's not like the neutral scientists they'd be sending as inspectors would be conducting elite diplomatic negotiations; they didn't need an embassy, just housing a few months out of the year.
Maxon said, "You may reopen your embassy in Angeles, but I will not keep office space for your ambassador or their deputies in Illéa Palace. They will need a meeting on the books before they will be allowed on Palace property, and they will be escorted away when they are done."
Thorvald didn't answer for a long moment. "That is disrespectful even for you, Maxon. No. My ambassador will enjoy the same privileges and respect that you show the rest of the world."
Maxon looked to Addy, not wanting to issue an open invitation to what would essentially be a hostile Swendish spy to come into their home for the rest of his reign and all of hers without her approval first. Addy obviously liked her father's solution better, but what choice did they have if they wanted peace?
She nodded.
"Fine." Maxon agreed, and next to Addy, America toyed with the seam of her dress in a way that somehow managed to be menacing.
Andrew made a note on his list, Inspectors for diplomatic normalization. "Then there's the matter of the bomb itself."
"We will be keeping it."
"Your Majesty, you must understand that we cannot allow that." Andrew implored.
"And you must understand that if I surrender it, you could tear our agreement apart in a heartbeat and I would be worse off than ever before. It stays where I have it."
Addy knew they were stuck. With that bomb so close to so many allies, Thorvald could call a meeting every year with a Christmas list of demands and force concessions from them for the rest of time. This was only the beginning. And once he had spies on the inside of Illéa Palace, he would always know exactly what to ask for to cause maximal pain for Maxon, and eventually Addy.
There was a knock at the door and Queen Waverly walked in, "I apologize you Majesties, your Highness, but we've got to move on or the coronation will be delayed."
Andrew looked down at his sad little two-item list of compromises and nodded, "I'll hand this off to the advisers so that they can formalize the language, and we'll speak again at the ball tonight. There must be some other way we can reassure you of your place in the world."
Thorvald raised his eyebrows as if inviting him to try his best, and everyone in the room stood.
Thorvald and Ragna left from one set of doors, Eoan, Waverly, Andrew, Maxon, America, and Addy left from the other. Once they were in the hall with two sets of closed doors separating them from their enemies, America seethed, "Let me do it, Maxon. There's not a court in the world that would convict me."
"Not now, my Love." Maxon pressed a kiss to America's forehead and reminded her, "It would be too much blood so close to Andy's big moment."