The air-conditioned room chilled the perspiration on her skin. As she continued to scan the faces, she noted that stoicism had cracked. She’d grabbed their interest. That didn’t mean they’d stand with her, but in St. Christophe one only needed a thousand signatures to initiate a referendum on any law. “I stand before you as an educated, strong, industrious woman who is expected to marry a man so that I can produce an heir who will one day lead this nation. I think you can see how patently absurd it is, in the twenty-first century, to use my body as a vessel for the next male heir instead of using my mind and character to carry on the legacy of my father and grandfather and all the men who came before that carry my genetic code and who taught me how to be the kind of woman who can lead this country.”

She cut a look to her phone. Thirty-three hundred votes. “With a thousand signatures I can call a referendum to any law. I’ve gathered thirty-three hundred in half an hour. Therefore, I wish to call for an immediate parliamentary vote to change the royal charter to allow succession to flow through the female Villeneuve family bloodline, as well as male, so that neither I, nor my sister, nor any future generation, has to marry in order to retain the royal house and bloodline or award our husbands the leadership of our noble house and country.”

Empowered and energized, she decided to use her platform for one more topic. “And, while I have your attention, I ask that you please stand with me against the People’s Party’s repudiation of the royal house and its agenda to strip my family of its property, wiping out our nationhood and history, the very culture that makes us unique and powerful. I stand against this movement, not because I’m the hereditary princess, but because I love this country with all my heart. For our economic strength, our standard of living that soars above all others on this continent, for our schools and healthcare, and for our very identity, I urge you to reject it in favor of six hundred years of progressively better lives for our people.” She turned to her uncle. “Your honor, will you please bring this matter to a vote?”

Slowly, he got to his feet. He reached for her hand—a gesture that made her nearly weep with the respect implied, and said, “I will.”

And the room broke into thunderous applause.

Chapter Twenty-Two

As they tore across the meadow, Brodie’s dirt bike sailed off a lift and landed with a bone-jarring thud.

He couldn’t get Rosie’s last voice message out of his head. I hate this, Brodie. I hate it so much.

Approaching a pile of logs, he shifted into second gear, smashed the first trunk with his front wheel, double blipped his throttle, and sailed over it.