Starbound: A Starstruck Novel (31 page)

“I can’t speak for Sean,” I replied, grasping at another one of my talking points, “but he has been aware of my relationship with Rigel since meeting me and did not attempt to block his appointment as Bodyguard.” Not formally, anyway.

“Will this rekindling of your relationship with Rigel Stuart prevent you taking Sean O’Gara as your Royal Consort, or him from accepting?” a different reporter, a woman, asked.

“I would prefer not to speculate about the future, especially as I have not yet been formally Acclaimed Sovereign.”
 

“But what about that kiss?” the interviewer from the People’s Network called out. “You two looked like a lot more than friends in that video.”

Palms sweating, I arranged my expression into the solemn, slightly apologetic one I’d practiced last night. “It’s true that we were both guilty of a momentary lapse in judgment during the stress of our very first space voyage. It
was
only momentary, however. After being informed last year of the reasons a personal relationship between us would be unwise, we have done our very best to set our early romantic attachment aside for the good of Nuath.”

That seemed to go over fairly well. I saw people in the crowd nodding to each other, as though in understanding. But then came the question I’d dreaded most.

“Exactly what happened behind that closed door, Princess? The people have a right to know.”

Personally, I thought that was crap. Princess, Sovereign, whatever, I was entitled to
some
privacy! But I couldn’t say that. Instead, I repeated the words I’d rehearsed earlier with Mr. O’Gara. “Rigel is not only my good friend, he is my trusted advisor. I needed to speak with him about matters I couldn’t discuss openly in front of my
Chomseireach
so that we would be better able to conduct ourselves as was fitting for both of our stations. I regret that I chose to do so in a way that was open to misinterpretation.”

Laughter and another storm of questions broke out, some of them downright rude. Among others, I heard, “How physical was your relationship?” “Did Stuart force you?” and “Are you still a virgin?”
 

To my relief, Gaynor spoke again before my reluctance to answer turned them actively hostile. “I apologize, Princess, for the personal and speculative nature of some of my colleagues’ questions, but accusations have been leveled at the media in the past for our failure to dig deeply enough. Given our experiences of the past fifteen years, we can no longer afford to take everything we are told at face value.”

“I understand. In fact, I think that’s admirable.” I projected all the warmth I could, given that my insides churned with ice. “I grew up in a society where the freedom—and persistence—of the press is both guaranteed and expected.”
 

Realizing that I was perilously close to crying or shouting, either of which would be distinctly un-Sovereign like, I abruptly launched into my prepared closing statement before they could ask any more questions.

“Again, thank you all for coming. I understand that my youth is a concern for many of you. I cannot, of course, pretend to be anything other than a sixteen-year-old who only learned of her heritage six months ago, nor will I pretend that coming to terms with my true identity has been easy. What I
can
assure you is that I have now accepted my heritage and have striven to the very best of my ability to prepare myself for the role I was born to assume. I fully intend to continue learning how to best benefit Nuath and its people, not only until I reach adulthood, but for the rest of my life.

“Despite my extremely full schedule, I very much look forward to more opportunities to speak with you, so that we can all get to know each other better.”

Another chorus of questions broke out, but I gave the tiny bow I’d been taught for leave-taking and stepped back, ending the press conference. Mr. O’Gara quickly flipped the window to privacy mode.
 

The second the sound outside was muted, I flopped limply into a chair and looked over at Mr. O and the others, who’d been standing just out of sight the whole time. “Well. That was pretty much a disaster.”
 

“Not a disaster,” Mr. O’Gara assured me, though I sensed his disquiet. “You did cut it a little short—certainly much shorter than they’d have liked—and didn’t get a chance to use any of your policy talking points, but overall I thought you handled yourself extremely well. That bit about freedom of the press was a particularly nice touch.”

Molly, Sean and Cormac also seemed to approve, but it was Rigel I was mainly concerned about and he didn’t seem as happy.
 

You didn’t like it?
You knew I had to say—

No, it’s fine. I know you did. I just don’t much like hearing it. You were great, really. It’s bound to help your poll numbers.

I doubted that, but turned back to Mr. O. “How soon till we know if it did any good…or made things even worse?”

“Within the hour, I’d say.” He switched the window to a vidscreen, like he had last night. “If your numbers go up, we’ll try to use the bandwagon effect to your advantage to turn things around quickly. Meanwhile, let’s see what the networks are saying.”

“And get some breakfast into you,” Sean declared. Molly immediately jumped up and headed to the recombinator.

He’s right. Eat,
Rigel agreed when I started to protest.
Last thing you need is to get weak or cranky, right?

Once food was in front of me, I discovered I was hungry after all. I ate while we watched the initial reactions to my press conference.

“—well received,” a male reporter was saying. “But many are still concerned that this romantic attachment, confirmed by the Princess, will undermine her relationship with her future Consort, Sean O’Gara. Until we receive a statement from him, however, we have no way of knowing how valid those concerns might be.”

We all glanced at Sean, who looked startled.
 

“Now, with more from Tullymayne, we go to Gaynor, who is still interviewing those who were on the spot for the Princess’s first-ever press conference.”

The picture switched to Gaynor, this house in the background.
 

“Thank you, Peter. The mood here is slightly more upbeat after the Princess’s surprisingly competent performance. Some feel that for a girl of sixteen to display such maturity and poise bodes well for her future—and ours.”
 

Told you you did great,
Rigel thought to me with a smile.

“Others, of course, still have strong reservations.” Gaynor turned to a bystander, who parroted back some of the insinuating stuff I’d heard shouted just now.
 

Mr. O’Gara clicked around to some other feeds. The reports were generally more favorable than I’d expected, though there were notable exceptions. When Mr. O’s omni started buzzing, he glanced at it, then switched off the vidscreen.

“Interview request. You’ll be getting a lot of these today.” He wandered into the living room to deal with them while I finished my breakfast, Sean and Rigel both keeping me company with “snacks” that put my breakfast to shame.

Mr. O turned the vidscreen back on when the rest of us returned to the living room and the first story stopped me in my tracks.
 

“Did Bodyguard Take Advantage of Princess’s Innocence?” splashed across the top of the screen in bold letters, followed by what appeared to be a live interview with Rory Glenn.

“Innocence, gratitude, call it what you will,” he said angrily to the camera, “but I’ll never believe Rigel Stuart didn’t know what he was doing, playing on our Princess’s vulnerability at a time when her entire world view had been turned upside down. For all we know, he was acting on Faxon’s orders to undermine her chances of eventually supplanting that tyrant. How else do you explain two teenagers almost single-handedly fighting off two dozen trained soldiers?”

Before I could even wrap my head around such mind-boggling logic, they switched to someone else, a woman. “Of course Princess Emileia is grateful to Rigel. It’s why she’s not willing to publicly put the blame on him, where it belongs. I just think it’s a shame she met him before Sean, her real destiny. My heart just breaks to think what he must be going through.”

My stomach started to roil, making me wish I hadn’t eaten so much. Rigel was being made into a scapegoat after all!

“What I want to know,” a man was saying, “is whether that Stuart kid compromised our Princess. What if the whole succession has been polluted?”

I gasped. “Turn it off, please. I can’t stand to listen to any more of—”

“Wait! Look!” Sean exclaimed, pointing to the lower corner of the screen where an inset showed the latest poll results. My approval rating had climbed to 48%, fifteen points higher than it had been last night—though still a long way from the 80% I needed.
 

“I know you’re not happy with the direction the spin has taken.” Mr. O gave me a look I interpreted as
I told you so.
“But it’s clearly moving your numbers in the right direction, and quickly. Though your first instinct might be to defend Rigel—”
 

“You can’t,” Rigel finished for him in an emotionless voice that belied his anger and humiliation. “He’s right. If putting the blame on me will get you Acclaimed, we have to let them do it.”

I stared at him helplessly, frustration and panic making it hard to think. The very thing I’d feared if Mr. O suggested his plan to Rigel was happening anyway. I shouldn’t,
couldn’t
allow it, but if I insisted on telling the truth now, I’d never get Acclaimed and the Grentl would kill us all.
 

“I’ll
only
go along with this if I can reveal the truth—the
whole
truth—the moment I’m Installed as Sovereign.” I pinned first Rigel, then Mr. O with the most determined glare I could muster. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sean make a gesture of protest, but he didn’t say anything.

Good by me,
Rigel thought, but Mr. O’Gara was frowning.

“Let’s just focus on getting you Acclaimed before we worry about what will follow, shall we?”

I kept my glare in place. “I
won’t
let anything happen to Rigel because of this. Not even if it means—” I broke off, but Mr. O grudgingly nodded.

“Very well. We’ll do whatever is necessary to keep that from happening. But for the moment it’s clearly to our advantage to let the misconception stand. With luck, it won’t be for long.”

The next two hours proved Mr. O’Gara’s assessment true, much as I hated to admit it. My approval numbers continued to rise as public sentiment turned increasingly against Rigel. Almost as disturbing as the calls for Rigel’s arrest or punishment were those demanding proof of my “purity.”
 

“What is this, the middle ages?” I huffed after the third mention of that. “There’s nothing in Nuathan law about virginity tests for Sovereigns. I mean, I could pass but…ew. Where are they getting this?”

Mr. O shrugged. “No, it’s not law, but one reason heirs to the throne have always been encouraged to become acquainted with their intended Consorts at an early age was to prevent any other attachments from forming. I suspect your opponents are behind this new idea, in hopes it will convince the traditionalists to withhold their support.”
 

We kept the news on while Mr. O’Gara sorted through more interview requests on his omni. “You’ll need to grant some of these but we’ll be selective, start with the interviewers most likely to show you in a positive light.” He kept reading, occasionally typing a response—declining the ones I shouldn’t accept, I assumed.
 

 
After lunch, we caught the end of an interview with Gordon Nolan that confirmed Mr. O’s theory on where the “purity” nonsense had come from.
 

“—also noticed how evasive she was,” he was saying to the interviewer. “All Nuathans should be greatly concerned to know whether the Princess has been compromised, physically or emotionally. Our people, and especially our Sovereigns, have always tended to faithful monogamy and it has been repeatedly demonstrated that a strong bond between Sovereign and Consort creates a more effective leader. There is also the succession to consider. I, for one, would very much like to know
exactly
what happened behind that closed door we all saw in the video.”

“Nothing happened!” I shouted at the screen, making everyone jump. “Sorry. But I’m not sure I can take much more of this.”

Hey, try to focus on how your numbers are improving instead of all this talk show crap, okay?
Rigel thought to me comfortingly.

How come this horrible stuff isn’t bothering you as much as it is me?
I sent back.
Especially since they’re insulting you way more than me?

That’s why. Trust me, if it was you they were attacking, I’d be even more upset than you are. Try to chill a little, okay?

Mr. O turned off the vidscreen. “I know it’s upsetting, M, but we do need to stay abreast of what’s being said so you can more effectively counter it. But perhaps a break is in order. In a few minutes I expect—” He broke off as the door chime sounded.
 

“More reporters? Already?” I just might throw something at them, the way I was feeling.

“Er, I don’t think so. Just a moment.”
 

Mr. O went to the door himself and we could hear him speaking quietly to someone outside. A minute later he returned, accompanied by an imposingly handsome woman who somehow struck me as vaguely familiar, even though I was sure I’d never seen her before. Maybe it was her expression, which reminded me disconcertingly of Aunt Theresa’s, whenever she disapproved of something I’d said or done. The woman’s auburn hair was threaded with gray, which probably meant she was on the elderly side for a Martian.

“Excellency, everyone,” Mr. O said formally, “this is Morag Teague.”

The woman bowed to me, fist over heart. “I am most honored, Excellency.” She didn’t sound honored, though, she sounded pissed.
 

But that barely registered because at mention of her name Rigel stiffened visibly and I was hit by a blast of shock from him—shock tinged with both eager excitement and fear. Even as I tried to decipher what that could mean, the woman turned her head to look squarely at Rigel.