“Stay close, Your Majesty. Not everyone is happy about what’s happening,” Zafir insisted as he leaned down to help me out, slipping his arm protectively through mine.

I stood slowly. All around me everything went still. Silent.

Every person there was watching me. I could feel their eyes boring into me, through me.

And then I reached up and pulled back my hood.

The first gasp was nearby, followed immediately by another and another, and still another, until it was one unified sound.

I waited, lifting my chin and staring straight ahead, too afraid to focus on anyone or anything. Too afraid to breathe.

Only when the initial shock had worn off, when the people in attendance had grown accustomed to my appearance, and conversations had started—murmurs that rippled through the crowd—did I allow myself to look around. I nodded at one of the soldiers, a woman who stood beside us. Her uniform was similar to Brook’s, and she held a military rifle across her chest. There were other soldiers positioned at similar intervals lining the pathway ahead of us that led up to the steps of the Academy, and presumably surrounding the entire building. There was nothing discreet about their presence.

“Charlie!” A girl’s voice came from just ahead of us, and I caught a glimpse of a golden-blond girl with flushed cheeks waving frantically. “Over here!”

“Look, it’s Sydney!” I called over my shoulder to Brooklynn. “Sydney!” I shouted just as eagerly as she had, signaling for her to join us. Then I turned to the soldiers who were keeping the crowd at bay. “Let her through.”

Zafir scowled as he stepped closer to me, just as Sydney was squeezing through the onlookers. “You shouldn’t let people address you like that, it’s . . . it’s improper.”

“Oh!” Sydney exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of us. Her mouth opened in surprise. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I meant Your Majesty, of course.”

She looked like she was about to drop into some sort of ridiculous curtsy or bow, so I reached for her, wrapping my arms around her in a fierce hug, grateful to see at least one friendly face among the crowd. “Ignore him,” I said, grinning at her.

The last time I’d seen Sydney, she was with Brooklynn and the rest of Xander’s rebel troops, just after they’d seized the palace. From the pinched expression on Brook’s face, I didn’t get the impression she was as thrilled to see Sydney as I was.

I hugged her again. “He’s just nervous around crowds. You can call me whatever you want.” I wrinkled my nose. “Except ‘Your Majesty.’”

“Really?” Sydney questioned uncertainly. “I think he might be right about this.” She eyed Zafir nervously, chewing her pink lips as her eyes traveled the length of him, taking in his full height. “I think it is disrespectful if I call you Charlie.”

“So then call her Queen Charlaina or ‘my queen’ or something equally stuffy,” Brook offered irritably, adjusting her rifle and doing her best to look intimidating. And then she turned to me. “Really, Charlie, if you actually plan on doing this, we probably should get up there. You have a school to inaugurate.”

I let Brook lead me toward the steps, dragging me by the hand just like in the old days when we were simply vendors’ daughters attending School 33. It probably wasn’t protocol for a queen to be led by one of her soldiers—even if that soldier was a commander—but I didn’t care. She was holding my hand, and I needed that at the moment.

I reached for Sydney’s hand too, clutching it and hauling her along with us, not wanting to leave her behind. Whether Brook liked it or not, the three of us had just become a trio.

Standing at the top of the steps, the gravity of what I was about to do, of the changes I was asking of my people, stole my breath. I took a moment to absorb the meaning of the phrase “my people” as I looked down upon them, the faces of those who’d gathered to watch me, to support me. And those who didn’t.

There were dissenters among the crowd, that much I knew. I’d heard their calls of malcontent—boos and hisses and shouts of indignation—as I’d made my way past them. Yet they couldn’t deter me. I couldn’t help feeling good about what I was doing. I now ruled a country where such opposition was permitted. Openly and freely.

Unlike Sabara, I would never send someone to the gallows for harboring an opinion, much less for sharing it.

This was a new dawn in Ludania—a New Equality for all. It couldn’t be helped that not all agreed.

A podium awaited me, and I hesitated as I approached it. I was about to give my first public statement, short though it might be.

Sydney stepped to the side, and Zafir and Brook fell back.

I took my place as, below me, a military transport came to a stop on the street.

They were here.

“Good morning,” I declared, drawing all eyes to me as I began to speak. “Today, I stand before you, not as your queen or as a vendor’s daughter, but as a citizen of Ludania.”

I cleared my throat, determined not to sound timid or frightened, grateful no one knew how my palms perspired. “For some, times of change can be trying. But these times can also present great opportunity, a chance for us to show what we’re made of, to show our dignity and fortitude. A chance for us to grow.”

My gaze roamed over the expectant faces that stared back at me, and my confidence swelled. “This is one of those opportunities. This is our moment to show the world that we don’t have to be burdened by the limitations of a class system that no longer works. That we can work together as citizens of one country . . . as one people . . . with one language.” I gripped the sides of the wooden stand. “I’m not asking you to forsake your heritage, to turn your back on the traditions you’ve grown up with. What I’m asking is that we, as citizens of Ludania, learn to use language not as a divider, but rather to unite us. To make us whole.