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The police force clears a path through the crowd, allowing us to snake through the angry faces and make our way inside the palace gates. I spin around to watch the gates close, protesters rattling it from the outside.
The car intercom buzzes. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
I press a button on the center console. “Who were they?”
“Mostly workers from the oil refineries in the east. They lost their jobs when the refineries closed.”
Grimacing, I turn to look behind the car again. I knew things were getting bad in Nord, but I hadn’t realized just how much discontent was brewing. The push to open new industry makes sense. We closed six oil refineries for policy breaches. Thousands of people lost their jobs.
I, as their Queen, should have an answer. I should be able to provide work for the people who live in my country. I should be a head of state with a vision for the nation.
I thought I was doing something good by closing those refineries. The working conditions were atrocious, with small, dirty camps for the men and women who relocated to work there. Aquifers were polluted around every oil reserve. Closing them down had been a hard decision, but a good one.
Or so I thought.
Now, thousands of people stand at my gates, unemployed, demanding their dignity back.
Isn’t that my sole responsibility? To serve the people? To provide them with fruitful, stable lives?
The car stops in front of the entrance to my castle, and when a footman opens the door for me, I can still hear the shouts of the protesters in the distance. Gritting my teeth, I make my way inside and back to my office. I close the door, glancing at the stack of papers on my desk, then move to the window.
There are many hundreds of people out there. Truck drivers. Machinery operators. Scaffolders, carpenters, electricians.
They need work.
Sighing, I close my eyes. How could I possibly worry about Asher coming here without telling me when I should be caring about my own people? I’m not some jilted woman who needs to be coddled by a man. I’m a queen. I’m the Queen.
Doing what I do best, I shove my own feelings aside. Now is not the time to think about the way Asher’s stubble felt when he kissed my neck, or how good it felt to have him pressed up against me. I gave up companionship when Xavier died. Being with a man like Asher doesn’t change that. I don’t deserve a companion. I can’t have a companion. Even if I could be with Asher, I’d be denying him the opportunity to have children. My infertility would take that choice away from him, and what kind of woman does that make me? How could I ask a man—any man—to give that up for me?
I need to take those minutes in the break room in Westhill and shove them somewhere deep and cold and inaccessible.
Now is the time to act like the monarch I am—even if it means giving up the only man who’s made me feel alive. I know what I need to do.
An idea sparks. A plan.
My chair groans when I drop into it, reaching for the phone. I pick up the receiver and hear my secretary greet me on the other side of the line. “Get me Mick Burgundy.” The CEO of the Nord Resources Group has been under a lot of pressure lately, but I need to know exactly where he stands—and if he’d agree to this plan I’m concocting.
As soon as the line connects, I hear the older gentleman’s deep voice. “Your Majesty.”
“Thank you for taking my call,” I say, even though I know no one would refuse a call from me. “I want to know exactly where you stand with regard to taking on new projects, and if you’d be open to a joint venture.”
There’s a slight pause, then Mick clears his throat. “I’m listening.”
After a long conversation with NRG, where Mick tells me about their restructuring efforts, and just how much—or how little—work they’d be able to take on, I hang up the phone and take a deep breath. That was the easy part. I’m used to dealing with Mick—as the head of the national resources company in Nord, he’s an important government employee. He’s been a solid partner for many years, and I trust him. The other half of this plan, on the other hand…it’s not quite so easy. Or so clean.
With a trembling hand, I pick up the phone again and hear my private secretary’s greeting on the other side of the line. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Frederick, can you connect me with Asher Gerhard?” Even saying his name sends a thrill rushing down my spine.
“Right away, Your Majesty.” Frederick hangs up the phone and I do the same, folding my hands on the desk as my heart thumps. My mind spins circles around me as I sit there, staring at my desk.
Am I doing this because I’m thinking of the kingdom, or am I doing it because I want to talk to Asher again? Does it matter, if the outcome helps the people of Nord?
I jump when the phone rings.
“Well, well, well,” Asher’s deep, resonant voice says on the other end of the line. A thrill skips down my spine, diving somewhere in the pit of my stomach. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”
Ignoring the thumping of my heart, I grit my teeth and keep my voice as cold and emotionless as I can. “We may be able to make a deal after all, Mr. Gerhard.”
Asher lets out a soft groan.
