Twisted-Games

BRIDGET
AFTER MY NIGHT WITH RHYS, I KICKED MY PLAN INTO HIGH GEAR AND
prayed it worked. I didn’t feel too bad about pressuring Erhall, but it wasn’t
smart to alienate all of Parliament. I didn’t believe in ruling through fear.
That was how I found myself standing in front of three dozen journalists
on Sunday, three days after my rendezvous with Rhys. We were gathered on
the palace’s north lawn, and behind the press gaggle, spectators pressed
against metal barricades, eager for an in-person glimpse of a royal.
My friends had left that morning. I’d filled them in on my plans, but I’d
waited until they were on the plane back to the U.S. before holding the press
conference. I didn’t want them to have to deal with the craziness that was
about to ensue. They hadn’t been happy—they’d wanted to be here for moral
support, but this was something I had to do on my own.
“Good afternoon.” My voice echoed across the grounds, and the noise
quieted. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I realize it’s a Sunday,
and there are likely other places you’d rather be right now, like brunch or
your bed”—a small ripple of startled laughter. They weren’t used to members
of the royal family speaking so informally—“so I appreciate your attendance.
But before I take questions, I would like to say a few words about why I
brought you here.”
I looked around at the expectant faces staring back at me. Thump. Thump.
Thump. Despite my pounding heart, I was strangely calm. It was like I’d
expended so much energy worrying about it beforehand I had none left for
the moment itself.
Rhys was right. This was a huge risk, and Elin nearly had a coronary
when she found out about the last-minute press conference, but I was done