SOFIA
Their hoods offered little protection from the flashes of cameras lying in wait for them as they exited the building. The rapid-fire questions that launched, and the swarm of bodies pushing towards them, were overwhelming.
The protection officers made a human barricade around Sofia and Lady Arabella, their powerful arms forcefully blocking reporters as their group advanced to the waiting vehicles.
“Ms. Truit, is it true you wed the Crown Prince as a child?”
“What makes you qualified to be our princess?”
“Or is it princesses? You lot figure that out yet?”
“Only got an entire country wanting to know…”
“Lady Arabella, how does it feel to be demoted to Pudgerella’s lady-in-waiting by the Queen—”
The last barb made Sofia stop. She spotted the man in the bowl-hat, who had lobbed the blow, by the malice in his glower. Lady Arabella spoke urgently into Sofia’s ear. “Always choose your ground, not theirs.”
Mr. Bowl-Hat smirked, taunting them both, “Lady Arabella, any truth to the rumor that your own father is threatening to disown you because you’re damaged goods?”
Lady Arabella flinched but turned away, as she signaled Sofia to get into the car ahead of her.
“I believe his direct quote was, ‘No one will want her now.’ That’s gotta hurt.”
While Sofia was working to accept the many aspects of royal life that were chafing, backing down from her principles wasn’t a pill she could swallow. They could say what they wanted to about her, but she couldn’t stand them attacking a woman who had been nothing but gracious. Even amid her own pain. Sofia refused to live a life, even a royal one, running from bullies.
“Do you know what hurts, Mister—?”
“Grady. With the Tattling Tribune. I’m guessing what hurts is the royal grocery bill these days.”
Sofia held her ground and waited as a hush swept through the press. “A mother’s heart for her sick child. A father’s pain at not being able to ease his child’s suffering. That’s what hurts, Mr. Grady. Not any insults you might have for me. Or any disgraceful attempt you make to belittle Lady Arabella, who is the embodiment of her title.”
Sofia glanced at Lady Arabella, who, ever the politician, had her unreadable mask firmly in place. Allowing Sofia to play this out, even though she could almost hear the woman running through damage control scenarios in her head.
With a sigh heavenward, Sofia realized there was no way out now, but through. Lord, please protect Lady Arabella from crossfire, and give me the words they can hear, since I’m in it now.
“When I asked Lady Arabella to show me Ducklenburge, her first thought was for the patients here, who at young ages fight daily battles that most of us can only imagine. And for the incredible women and men who have dedicated their lives to finding cures for their patients, who fight beside them with courage and compassion. Her instinct was to show me the best of your nation first. Because theirs is a cause that is dear to Crown Prince Marcus’s heart and ours. Whatever you print, I hope that the purpose of this trip, honoring the heroism present at Princess Ava’s Angels, is not lost to vitriol. I hope that the Ducklenburge press is better than that. It was a pleasure to meet most of you.”
At that, a dry chuckle swept through some of the reporters crowded close to her.
“I look forward to getting to know you, and this great country of Ducklenburge, better in time. And, since I’m certain our paths will cross again,” Sofia pointed a look at Mr. Grady, which caused even the curmudgeon to chuckle at her audacity. “I’ll just say, until then.”
The press, who had been momentarily stunned by her impassioned speech or maybe by her stupidity, erupted with questions. Shoving microphones and cameras under her face, as her protection officers once again moved to push them back.
This time Sofia hastened into the back seat, with Lady Arabella. The rush of questions dampened when the car door shut.
“Well … that was illuminating.” Lady Arabella didn’t look ruffled in the slightest. She waited until the car started to move before she put her hood down. Not a hair was out of place. “Marcus said you were bold, but he didn’t mention foolish. Maybe he doesn’t know.”
Emotionally spent, Sofia didn’t respond. “Oh, now you’re silent?”
“Just say what you’re going to say… please.” Sofia didn’t particularly feel like being reprimanded by the personification of perfection next to her. Obviously, she hadn’t thought through the consequences of her actions. And she was sure Lady Arabella had a lengthy lecture, about every single one, in store.
But instead, the woman stayed quiet, lost to her own thoughts.
They were almost back to the palace when Lady Arabella spoke. “There is a saying, ‘In life, as in chess, forethought wins.’ Have you had the opportunity to play much chess, Sofia?”
Sofia shook her head, not missing the not-so-subtle metaphor.
“I wonder… Do you know what the primary role of a consort is, now? And don’t say heirs.”
Sofia thought back to Ava’s Angels, the children and their stellar care, the press, and the statement she knew she probably shouldn’t have made… she thought it had something to do with sphere of influence. But she was weary of making a fool of herself again, so she simply shook her head.
“The consort does not hold a formal position in our government. Their only role is to provide companionship, and moral and practical support to the Monarch.” Lady Arabella let that sink in before she continued.
“Marcus may seem like he has it all together, but his father did a lot of damage. The nature of his position has isolated him from birth. And it’s difficult for him to trust his instincts, which are good. Repurposing the Advent Ball was Marcus’s first political stand against his father. Crown Prince Thomas, like my father and many other of the older peerage, prefer to keep their traditions pure, and their pocketbooks closed. I encouraged and supported Marcus when he had the idea, and when he met paternal opposition. I made suggestions on who would be sympathetic, and together, we lobbied for support until we had a majority. The majority rightfully shamed the minority, and here we are. We played chess, not checkers.”
And back there, Sofia had played checkers. It’s what she’d always done. It’s how she’d endured in her career; she addressed what she could see in front of her and then she forged ahead. But deep within her soul, she felt the wisdom in Lady Arabella’s words. Understood that she needed to adopt a new playbook. “How bad will it be?”
Lady Arabella tilted her head. Sofia could almost see the mathematical equation the woman was working through. “Your statement won’t damage what Marcus built. But speaking off the cuff your first time addressing the nation ... Will give them cause to label you a loud, brash American. And they won’t be wrong. It was reactive and… foolish.”
“Please, Lady Arabella, don’t sugarcoat how you really feel.”
The woman allowed a half-smile, “Your message, while heartfelt, was ultimately meaningless. It had no impact, no call to action. Every time a royal speaks, their message is heard by the country, sometimes the world. But if you have nothing substantial to say, people stop listening. The purpose of this visit was to show that your position has both resources and responsibilities, beyond what you’ve ever experienced.”
A scripture came to her heart, and Sofia uttered it, “When someone has been given much, much will be required of them–”
“And when someone has been entrusted with much, ever more will be required.” Lady Arabella finished for her. “He needs a true consort, more than even he realizes. For moral and practical support. Not only companionship to ease his loneliness…”
Here, the lady faltered. After a moment collecting herself, she continued. All business again. “The key to being the consort he needs is to learn the players and live by the rules. If you love Marcus, you must always be aware of the chessboard.”
If she loved Marcus. But Sofia still wasn’t sure. How could she be? She’d only been aware of being married to the man for a little over a week. And she’d had even less time with him, in person, to answer that question. Despite her fresh desire to apply herself to princess prep, she was still uncertain about her marriage to the Crown Prince.
Her expression must’ve betrayed her thoughts, because Lady Arabella mused, “If you’re still deciding how you feel about the man… I can’t help you. But I can help you navigate the world that he comes with. Though, in the future, I would appreciate it if you strived to make my job easier, not harder.”
With nothing she could say to that, Sofia simply nodded. While she understood, she couldn’t find it in her to apologize for standing up to tormenters. Even if her newest understanding meant she’d have to change how she addressed them in the future.
Their car and follow vehicle arrived at the palace and parked at a secured entrance. One of the guards opened Sofia’s car door, but Lady Arabella didn’t move to exit. Prompting Sofia to ask, “So, what’s next?”
“I think that’s enough for today. I’ll have them deliver me home.” Lady Arabella paused, as if uncertain. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“You spoke up because of me. Because of what he was saying about me, didn’t you?”
Sofia shrugged. She should’ve felt silly, now, jumping to defend the other woman. A woman who was, apparently, a master chess player and outwardly impervious to what the press had been saying about her. She would’ve, if it weren’t for the fact that Lady Arabella was still a woman, who could be hurt by cruel words. And Sofia had caused her enough pain to last a lifetime. Something she couldn’t undo, but she also couldn’t stand by and let others twist the knife.
If even a hint of what they’d said about her father was accurate… “It’s not true, you know. You’re not damaged goods. You’re an unbreakable diamond. And for my part in all this, I really am sorry.”
“I know… You couldn’t have known what your childhood pledge meant.” Lady Arabella paused, and Sofia waited, recognizing a silent conversation with God when she saw one. “But Marcus did. And do you know why he chose to go through with it, even now?”
Sofia could admit she was immensely curious. Even though it was a bit unsettling to know that Marcus and Lady Arabella had not only spoken about her, but about his reasons for marrying her. Reasons Sofia didn’t even know.
“Marcus said that he’d never met someone so quick to defend a stranger, with no thought for themselves. He was captivated by your heart for others. That is your strength, and it’s not a bad thing, Sofia. Not if we harness it, properly.” Lady Arabella was a beautiful woman, but she was stunning when she bestowed a sincere smile on Sofia. “Which, heaven help me, we will.”
“Thank you, Lady Arabella… for everything.”
“I’ll see you in the morning. Have Zeke give you the binder on media training as homework.” Lady Arabella said as Sofia exited the car with a mock groan, closing the door behind her. Lady Arabella rolled the window down, and leaned out to call, “And Sofia?”
“I should warn you right now, I’m terrible at pop quizzes—”
“What an excellent idea.” The mischievous glint in Lady Arabella’s look made Sofia commit, then and there, to memorizing the entire manual. Even if she had to stay up all night to do it.
“Me and my big mouth.” Sofia grumbled and Lady Arabella laughed outright. “I was going to say… If we are to be friends, and I hope we will be, then you should call me Bella.”
Sofia couldn’t hold back her grin, “In private, I assume?”
“Where else?” Lady Arabella winked and raised her window. The car started toward the gate.
As Sofia watched Bella drive off, her heart swelled with gratitude. Thank you, Lord, for being the bridge that made us allies instead of enemies. Now, if we could talk about this absent husband, I supposedly have…
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