“Well, it’s true,” I said. “And there’s nothing in the Bill of Rights as Amelie has laid them out to preclude any member of the royal family from running for prime minister if he or she wants to. So I think you should go for it. I know it’s not exactly the same thing, but I have some experience with elections thanks to the student council race last year. So if you need any help, I’ll be glad to do whatever I can.”
“What is this?” Grandmère sputtered. “Has everyone gone completely mad? Prime minister? No son of mine is going to be a prime minister! He’s a prince, need I remind you, Amelia!”
“Grandmère.” I know it’s really hard sometimes for old people to adjust to new things—like the Internet—but I knew Grandmère would catch on eventually. She’s a real pro with a mouse now. “I know Dad’s a prince. And he’ll always stay one. Just like you’ll always be dowager princess, and I’ll always be a princess. It’s just that, according to Amelie’s declaration, Genovia’s no longer ruled by a prince or princess. It’s led by an elected parliament, and headed by an elected prime minister—”
“That is ridiculous!” Grandmère cried. “I did not spend all this time teaching you how to be a princess only to have it turn out you’re NOT one after all!”
“Grandmère.” Seriously. You’d think she’d never taken a Government class before. “I’m still a princess. Just a ceremonial one. Like Princess Aiko of Japan…or Princess Beatrice in England. Both England and Japan are constitutional monarchies…like Monaco.”
“Monaco!” Grandmère looked horrified. “Good God in heaven, Phillipe! We can’t be like Monaco. What is she saying?”
“Nothing, Mother,” Dad said. I hadn’t noticed before, but his jaw was squared. That is always a sign—like Mom’s mouth getting small—that things are not about to go my way. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Well, yes,” I said. “It is. I mean, a little. It’s going to be a pretty big change. But only in a good way, I think. Our membership in the European Union was on pretty shaky ground before because of the whole absolute monarchy thing, right? I mean, remember the snails? But now, as a democracy—”
“Democracy, again!” Grandmère cried. “Phillipe! What does all this mean? What is she TALKING about? Are you, or are you not, the prince of Genovia?”
“Of course I am, Mother,” Dad said in a soothing voice. “Don’t get excited. Nothing’s going to change. Let me ring for a Sidecar for you….”
I totally understood Dad trying to calm Grandmère down and all. But outright lying to her seemed a little cold.
“Well,” I said. “Actually, a lot is going to change—”
“No,” Dad interrupted briskly. “No, Mia, actually, it’s not. I appreciate your bringing this document to my attention, but it doesn’t mean what you seem to think it means. It doesn’t have any validity.”
That’s when my jaw dropped. “WHAT? Of course it does! Amelie completely followed all the rules laid out in the Genovian royal charter—used the seal and got the signature of two unrelated witnesses and everything! If I’ve learned anything since my princess lessons started, I’ve learned that. It’s valid.”
“But she didn’t have parliamentary approval,” Dad began.
“BECAUSE EVERYONE IN PARLIAMENT WAS DEAD!” I couldn’t believe this. “Or at home, nursing their dying relatives. And, Dad, you know as well as I do that in a national crisis—like, for instance, a PLAGUE, a ruler’s impending death, and her knowledge that her throne is going to a known despot—a crowned Genovian prince or princess can sign into law anything he or she wants to, by order of divine right.”
Seriously. Does he really think I’ve learned NOTHING but how to use a fish fork in three years of princess lessons?
“Right,” Dad said. “But this particular national crisis was four hundred years ago, Mia.”
“That doesn’t make this bill any less valid,” I insisted.
“No,” Dad admitted. “But it does mean there’s no reason we have to share it with parliament at this time. Or any time, really.”
“WHAT?”
I felt like Princess Leia Organa when she finally revealed the hidden location of the rebel base (even though she was lying) to Grand Moff Tarkin in Star Wars: A New Hope, and he went ahead and ordered the destruction of her home planet of Alderaan anyway.
“Of course we have to share it,” I yelled. “Dad, Genovia has been living a lie for almost four hundred years!”
“This conversation is over,” Dad said, taking Amelie’s Bill of Rights and getting ready to slide it into his briefcase. “I appreciate the attempt, Mia—it was very clever of you to figure this all out. But this is hardly a legitimate legal document that we need to bring to the attention of the Genovian people—or parliament. It’s merely an attempt by a scared teenage girl to protect the interests of a people who are long since dead, and nothing we need to worry about—”
“That’s just it,” I said. I hurried over and took the parchment before he could seal it away forever in the darkness of his Gucci bag. I was starting to cry. I couldn’t help it. It was all just so unfair. “Isn’t it? That it’s written by a girl. Worse, that it’s written by a TEENAGE girl. So therefore, it has no legitimacy, and can just be ignored—”
Dad gave me a sour loo
k. “Mia, you know that’s not what I mean.”
“Yes, it is! If this had been written by one of our MALE ancestors—Prince Francesco himself—you’d totally have presented it to parliament when they meet in session next month. TOTALLY. But because it was written by a teenage girl, who was only princess for twelve days before she died horribly and all alone, you plan on completely disregarding it. Does the freedom of your own people really mean so little to you?”
“Mia,” Dad said, sounding weary. “Genovia is consistently rated among the best places to live on the planet, and the Genovian population the most content. The median temperature is seventy-two degrees, it’s sunny almost three hundred days out of the year, and no one there pays any taxes, remember? Genovians have certainly never expressed the slightest reservations about their freedom, or lack of it, since I’ve been on the throne.”
“How can they miss what they’ve never had, Dad?” I asked him. “And that’s not even the point. The point is that one of your ancestors left behind a legacy—something she intended to be used to protect the people she cared about. Her uncle threw it away, the same way he tried to throw her away. If we don’t honor her last request, we’re every bit as bad as he was.”