Chương 5

Louis woke later than he meant to, heavy from too little sleep and too much thought. He reached for his phone before he fully sat up. The screen lit in his hand. VOP alerts, Tengri feeds and messages filled the screen. At the top was a headline from last night: A Historic Evening for the Dominion's Diplomatic Future He opened it. The first image was the family photograph. He and Angelique stood side by side, their arms almost touching, their heads angled slightly toward each other.

Close enough for strangers to make something of it. He enlarged the image without thinking. They looked right together. The thought came quickly. He frowned at himself, then scrolled. There were more. The two families turning toward the camera. Angelique's face half turned toward him, the light catching her cheek. His own head was bent slightly in her direction. He had not realized he had been looking at her like that. Then the dance photographs began. One showed her correcting him, her hand on his shoulder.

Another caught the smile they shared. He kept scrolling anyway. By morning, the dance had stopped belonging to him and Angelique. VOP dressed it as glamour. European outlets placed it beside Navarre, Philip's appointment, and the Dominion's refusal to let old royal questions die. Louis hated watching strangers turn a few private minutes into state language. Yet he could not look away. Another alert appeared at the top of the screen.

A New England Globe broadcaster had gone live to discuss "the Bourbon appointment, Dominion ambiguity on Navarre, and the politics of last night's family imagery." He opened the live clip. The panel appeared in neat boxes: a former diplomat, a security analyst, and a host who looked straight into the camera. Behind her, the family photograph appeared again. The host began sharply.

"Before we talk about the glamour of last night's images, we should call them what they were: nepotism on display." Louis kept watching. The former diplomat took over.

"The Dominion has refused for years to give Brussels a clean answer on Navarre. Last night, it stopped pretending. Philip Bourbon's appointment was the final move. The photograph was the announcement. Sacramento put its First Family and the Bourbons in one staged frame, in front of every camera in the room. That is direct support for the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy in Navarre."

"Staged," Louis said under his breath before he realized he had spoken. The security analyst leaned forward slightly.

"This is how Sacramento works," he said.

"They call it stability, but it is court politics. Friends get the private calls. Families get the appointments. Loyalists get protected. Institutions come afterward, if they come at all. Last night was the system showing its face." Louis's thumb tightened against the edge of the phone. The host nodded once.

"And that takes us to Louis Collins." Louis's thumb stilled on the screen. She continued without changing tone.

"Yes," the host said.

"Because once you build a political order around one family ruling the state, you produce figures like the Supreme President's son. He has no job in government, but the state moves around him. He can walk into a room, choose a dance partner and suddenly everyone has to ask what it means. That is inherited power pretending to be charisma. That is what happens when a political system ceases to distinguish between the ruling family and the state. Louis Collins is the proof." The analyst nodded once.

"Make it look harmless."

"Make it look glamorous," the host said.

"That is the trick. You put a young man and a young woman under chandeliers, give the cameras a dance, and suddenly no one is supposed to ask why a foreign-policy move is being wrapped in flirtation. That is what Sacramento does well. It turns power into spectacle, then acts offended when anyone points out the power." Louis's face went hot. He shut the stream off. The room went quiet around him. He tossed the phone onto the bed and got up. He dressed quickly and went downstairs with his phone clenched in one hand.

Constantine sat at the head of the breakfast table in shirtsleeves, already reading from a folder. Judith sat to his left in a cream silk robe, cutting into an omelet. Serana, across from her, had berries on her plate and three separate articles open on her tablet. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Louis dropped into his chair hard. Judith looked up first.

"You look terrible," she said.

"I'm seriously impressed by your sense of the obvious," Louis replied. Judith stood, crossed to him, and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. She glanced at the server.

"Coffee for him." Then she returned to her seat. A server appeared at Louis's elbow almost immediately, setting down coffee and a plate he had not ordered. Louis barely looked at it.

"These damn New Englanders. They're doing what they always do," he said.

"Even worse today." Serana did not look up.

"You've probably had way too much of that stuff." Louis slid the phone across the table to his father.

"Read that." Constantine did not take it. He glanced at the screen. One of the foreign headlines was still open, the family photograph beneath it. He gave it less than two seconds.

"Mm," he said. Louis stared at him.

"That's it?" Constantine looked up from the folder. His expression had not changed.

"What did you expect?" he asked.

"Fairness? A work ethic? A sudden discovery of self-awareness?"

"They make it sound like one dance was a diplomatic incident."

"Everything is an incident to someone who needs one." Louis stared at him.

"They're also calling it staged." Constantine smiled briefly.

"Yes," he said.

"Foreign press gets suspicious whenever someone else's room is better lit." Louis sat forward.

"They're talking about me like I'm some kind of—some kind of signal."

"Aren't you?" Serana asked. Louis turned to her. Serana took a sip from her glass.

"You're the Supreme President's son, silly." Her eyes flicked to Constantine.

"That usually means something." Louis turned back to Constantine.

"You don't care?" Constantine set the folder down at last and reached for his coffee.

"I care in proportion," he said.

"A useful skill. You should learn it." He took a sip.

"European outlets have been suspicious of Philip for years. Now they have a photograph and can pretend the story is new. That's all." Louis gave a short laugh.

"That's all."

"Yes." Constantine lowered the cup.

"You are taking this personally because you were there. They are taking it politically because that is what they are paid to do. Try not to confuse the two." Judith glanced at her daughter's tablet.

"The VOP coverage is lovely," she said.

"You and Angelique photograph very well." Louis gave his mother a look.

"That is not helping."

"It wasn't meant to help." Judith took a bite of her omelet.

"It was meant to be true." Cutlery tapped against porcelain. Louis stabbed at a sausage on his plate and took a bite before he asked.

"What's Philip doing today?"

"Working." Constantine buttered his toast. Louis gave him a flat look.

"I know he's working."

"Good." Constantine chewed.

"So we're on the same page." Serana's mouth twitched. Louis ignored her.

"I meant—what are the Bourbons doing today?"

"Why?" Louis reached for his coffee at last.

"No reason."

"Dangerous phrase," Constantine said. Judith set her cup down with a soft click.

"The Bourbons won't be in Sacramento much longer," she said.

"Philip is staying, naturally. The rest of them are due back in Portland later today."

"When?" His fork stopped over his plate. Judith lifted one shoulder.

"Sometime this afternoon, I think." Serana looked up from her screen.

"Are we still going back to Los Angeles after lunch?" Judith nodded.

"That was the plan." Louis kept his gaze on his coffee.

"Right." Across the table, Constantine watched him. Then he put the cup down and returned to his briefing papers.

"Try to eat something before you start rearranging the day in your head," he said. Louis looked up.

"I'm not rearranging anything."

"Nah, of course not," Constantine said, already flipping the page.

"You never do." Breakfast broke up a little after nine. Judith left first. Serana followed, still reading from her tablet as she returned to her room. Louis finished his coffee while Constantine continued to read. Neither of them spoke. Constantine turned another page. Finally Louis stood, pushed his chair in, and turned toward the administrative wing. At the end of the corridor, a pair of uniformed officers stood outside the protocol and guest logistics offices. They straightened the moment they saw him.

"Mr. Collins." Louis gave them the small nod that usually opened doors before he had to ask.

"I need to check something." One officer stepped aside and held the inner door. Inside, the domestic quiet ended. Phones rang and were answered in low voices. Screens showed icons moving over a city map and columns of departure times. A clerk looked up from a desk stacked with folders and rose so quickly she nearly knocked her chair back.

"Mr. Collins. Can I help you?"

"I'm trying to find out the departure schedule for the Bourbon family." She blinked at him, then recovered with a quick smile.

"Yes. Of course. One moment." She turned to her screen and began typing. Louis stood in front of her desk and waited. She glanced up once, caught his gaze, and looked back at the screen.

"Her Majesty has a university engagement this morning. University of Sacramento. Guest lecture and moderated discussion." Her eyes moved down a column.

"Motorcade leaves their hotel at nine-forty. Campus arrival scheduled for ten."

"And the children?"

"They're on the movement list with her." She glanced back at him.

"Foreign Minister Bourbon remains here, of course." He nodded once.

"Who's handling the university trip?"

"University security and our protocol liaison." She paused.

"Was there anything else?" Louis looked past her to the city map.

"No," he said.

"That's enough." He turned and left the office without waiting for an answer. He pulled out his phone and called one of the men on his own movement detail. The line clicked open almost immediately.

"Sir?"

"I need a car."

"For later?"

"For this morning." The man took half a second longer to answer.

"You're scheduled to depart for Los Angeles at one with the First Lady and Miss Collins."

"I'm aware." The man lowered his voice.

"Where do you need to go?"

"University of Sacramento." A pause.

"Sir," he said finally, "is the First Lady aware?"

"Not yet."

"That may become relevant." Louis almost smiled.

"I'm not asking for a convoy. I'm asking for a car."

"I'll need to notify—""Notify whoever you have to notify after you've found me one." The line remained quiet for a second.

"What's the purpose of the visit, sir?"

"Personal." The man sighed.

"Yes, sir. I'll arrange it." Louis ended the call and walked toward the east wing entrance. He stepped out into the garden air with his phone still in his hand. He waited near the steps until he heard tires on the drive.