ACT V: CURTAIN FALL
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: MAKE UP YOUR MIND
Staging a coup is difficult.
Or so Piper had been told—groundwork laid down by her father, pulled into his office, watching him from the other side of his looming desk, shoulders turned down, pen scratching. Piper, he had said, an irritable sigh following the name of his daughter—of a responsibility he hadn't been wholly prepared for, left with now that his wife had had the sense to get out before their world crashed around them—eyes the same shade of green meeting hers, there's something you should know.
Which is how it started, all those years ago—hushed voices between father and daughter in his office, underneath a large taxidermy head from a recent trip hunting. Piper wants this, yes, she very much does, wants to sate her bloodlust, find out what happened to her father, find out where it all went wrong—and these emotions aren't any less than her childhood hope of making Richard Williams—former Prime Minister, bringer of hope—proud in his princess.
Taking a pet name and making it a title can be seen as fairly heavy handed, but that is Piper—she's not entirely sure how to work in the background, how to be subtle and lithe in the way that Finn works best. Piper knows destruction, chaos, an absolute with no other options to choose from. So she appears, almost out of nowhere, with the words on her tongue that people want to hear—the promises that are so tempting, they've heard it all before but Piper's different; Piper's a breath of fresh air and she can make those words a reality, make it their world, make it history.
Staging a coup is difficult, yes—for the unworthy, the unplanned, for those purely seeking the glory in a world where the achievements are self-imposed lies to those whom don't know any better. It's difficult for those who aren't Piper Williams, whom haven't been bred in the same conditions where power is very much like a physical object—to be nurtured and cared for, to harness into a weapon. You've got to have guts to have glory, her father had told her in that office, pointing out necessary moves to be made in this wrought out game of chess—where every pawn is obliterated and left for death. It's bloody, of course it is, though the bloodshed is in a much tidier manner opposed to the war which will follow with Piper's demise.
Piper has planned her death, it's an avenue already perfected, and once she'd told Finn this—who's preparing for her ascent to Queen to occur any day now—he'd frowned, horrified, because for him, for her extension—for this new found unfamiliar feeling loitering around inside of her and destroying her whole—the reign has barely begun, it's days in a scheme of years and years, and the future is so far out of reach, he doesn't see the usefulness of dwelling on something so messy. She had to assure him that he finds his exit door the same time that she does, they'll travel into the next realm kicking together, ready to put themselves in the next position of power which waits for them—he'd relaxed, he'd lain back down in bed, hand seeking out hers, breath whooshing out of his body in relief.
Deaths are planned in the same manner that her new legislations are—the most recent one featuring front page on the newspaper Chase brings around in the morning, preparing himself a breakfast in a kitchen Finn had gotten himself out very quickly—but there's one that hangs in the balance, ready to go one of two ways, Piper undecided on whether or not she should allow time to take its course, allow Ayden to waste away in misery, or make an example out of him.
Chase is back, no longer snivelling and stupid, but prepared with answers Piper hasn't considered, ready to prove himself as useful once again. "Piper," he begins, stirring his cup of tea, watching her flip through the newspaper for anything of any true importance—there's one particular reporter who just won't give up, the nosy little bitch that he's proving to be, a dog with a bone, asking leading questions and making ludicrous suggestions, Piper worried that he may break his shoulder for all of the reaching he's doing—ruffling his brown curls now that he's decided to grow his hair out. "I have an idea—about Ayden."
He says his name like a curse, a rotten word that shouldn't be uttered—a taboo which will see him killing within seconds, and Piper is duly aware that Chase is like the reporter, too, he gets attached, to ideas, to things, to people—in a way which won't do him any good if he wishes to see the year finish. "Chase, everyone has ideas. What's to say yours are any good?" In recent weeks, Piper has found herself becoming more and more irritable—for each time that she will wave off Finn's excitement that it's soon that Piper will be named Queen, as the days continue to blend and there's no announcement made, it weakens her resolve. The stretch of time is lessening, the planning had been accurate, the timeline precise, and this waiting game is out of Piper's hands in a much more physical way than the possibility of rigging a vote for Prime Minister.
"No—I . . . I've been talking to Jesse, actually. About a more accurate punishment."
"Oh," her head tilts to the side, "life imprisonment isn't sufficient enough? Honey, it's not going to do anyone any good if you start getting greedy. I have done both you and Harriet priceless favours out of the goodness out of my heart, Chase. I can't have favourites."
"It is good," Chase assures her—though Piper doesn't need an affirmation, because Piper doesn't make stupid decisions, she's not dim—lifting out the teabag to deposit in the bin, Piper glad to discover he's not one of those people, whom leave it in whilst drinking or even worse; reuse them. "It's great."
"For someone who isn't Ayden," Piper supplies, knowing Chase well enough to fill in the blanks for when he's decided he's being gracious by omitting his words for her benefit.
"Exactly," he nods his head, eyes cast down, focusing on the sandwich he's decided to make, too. "He . . . he hurt my sister. He should be paid in kind."
"Too many hangings and the publics going to become restless," she reminds him, knowing that if it becomes ordinary, there's no fear in it. It may soon stop being a deterrent, Piper isn't stupid—but that's forty years down the line, not four weeks after Felix was the first.
"Nothing like that. Jesse and I, we were thinking . . . something like Mary."
Piper perks up at this, standing at attention, newspaper society pages forgotten, "Go on."
***
"I think it'd be wonderful, Janet—" Piper wakes up to Finn watching a gossip rag TV show, where five old hags spend two hours every morning discussing whatever has made the papers—case in point being Piper and the shouts for Queen. Finn is particularly engrossed in this topic of conversation, distractedly accepting her kiss as she wakes up, murmured words of affection that he's passively repeating. "—definitely offer Britain the security that it needs. Piper's a fantastic choice. She understands the wants and needs of the country. Yes, I agree wholeheartedly with the idea of Piper as Queen."
"Which ones yours?" Finn asks her, turning to face her now that the show has gone on a short break, highly aware of the fact that she's naked under the covers as she lifts one leg over the sheets.
"Guess," she teases, unsurprised he figured out she had ruined that circle with someone under her control. Isabella Corinth had been more amendable once Veronica had managed to pull her aside for a word—a strong reassurance that Piper isn't fourteen and stupid anymore, she understands the waters she's about to set sail in, knows what's being demanded of her, has already signed her life away on the dotted line. "Come now, Finn," she pouts, "play fairly."
He hums under his breath, moving back over to his side of the bed to pick up a glass of apple juice he's had on standby for her. Finn doesn't begin talking until Piper takes her first sip of the cold beverage, "It hardly matters now. The declarations been made."
"It has?" Piper blinks. "I slept through it?"
"Of course, the Queen gets to wake up whenever she wants."
Once she's drained the glass, and it's on the floor, Piper rises up on her knees, sheet forgotten, hands on Finn's shoulders, pushing him back down onto the bed. "What did they say?"
Straddling Finn, warm skin that belongs to her touching every available surface, he smiles up at her. "It's by the wishes of the many," he begins, reciting the declaration word for word, "that we hereby announce a public decree for Miss Piper Williams to be named Her Royal Highness, Queen Piper the First."
Piper grins at this, her first real smile in a six-month quest of obeying social rules and conventions, cupping Finn's face in her hands. This particular stage of the journey is complete, this is the easy part, where Piper has been able to avoid getting her hands dirty, the guts before the glory, before the real struggle—the preparation for a war Piper won't live to see. "We'll have to get married soon," she says, arm moving behind her to settle him at her entrance. "Make it official."
"You're my Queen—my world," Finn completes on a gasp as she moves and sinks down on him. "I told you I'd do anything for you. This is just the beginning," he promises, one hand on her hip, guiding Piper to hit right there, the other tangled up in her hair, tugging her head closer for a kiss. "Ruling is the next great adventure."
"You'll be my king," Piper lets him know, lips brushing, blinking up at the man who has gone to great lengths to keep harm at bay. Her very own warrior. "Of course," she sighs, voice catching on a keen, "your Queen will be the one to conquer."
***
Eric keeps up his side of promises—which translates to a more concise message of him pestering Piper until she learns to keep her word, too. He had said to her, many years ago when he first caught wind of this conspiracy theory Piper was cooking up, an idea that could change history, that the only reason he would ever consider coming back to England was if Piper achieved her goal, if she finally became Queen.
Piper watches him fold his clothes on the video-call, wanting to enjoy this moment. Which she could do, if it wasn't for her step-brother ensuring that Piper made good on her word, too. "It's only fair," Eric prods, packing his suitcases, preparing to fly over for Piper's coronation assembly. He still finds the time to nag at her and remind Piper of her 'moral duties'—ever the efficient big brother. "You promised Felix. He died for Troy—honour his memory, Piper."
He catches Piper's pause, her slip-up, her falter. "I know," he continues, soothingly, voice dropping to a low coo, "it's difficult. I'm . . . I'm not saying you have to forgive him for what he's done. Just respect that he was prepared to walk away from an entire life for Felix—for someone he loved. Don't cheapen it."
"I know, Eric," Piper barely refrains herself from snapping at him, a curl of a sneer on her face. "But why wasn't I enough?" She doesn't give him enough time to answer before she continues, venting to someone who's prepared to listen—an onslaught reminder that she's missed Eric, she's missed her support system. "I—It's just . . . I was prepared to walk away from him. Leave him rotting in that cell because I'm petty and spiteful. He's going to hate me, isn't he? For Felix, for Ayden—God, Eric, I'm going to lose him again."
***
The guard hands her a mobile phone and an engagement ring, he says—beneath his thick, messy, unmaintained, honestly, they're letting anyone in nowadays beard—it's the only things he had when they bought him in. He continues, the guard, making small-talk, of how it's so peculiar, because usually, he natters, guys like Troy—rich guys, more money than sense guys—carry a load of useless shit on their person at any given time. Piper's not surprised, it's Troy, he's no thrills unless necessary, and having the police pounding on the front door doesn't require the Rolex.
"Are these all of his things?" Piper asks again, looking down at what's in her hands. She wants to believe that there's more, that there's more to Troy's entire existence, that an engagement ring isn't where it ends, and that there might be something that Piper's given him—a sign that he hasn't forgotten the game master during his leave.
"Yes, ma'am." The guard nods, brutish features remaining flat. "He didn't come in with a lot," he repeats. "Are you ready to get him now?"
"Let's get it over with then."
The guard—his badge says Zadro—begins leading the way through the dimly-lit corridors, talking all the while, as though that will remove the slight pinch to Piper's face. "He's lucky he's got friends in high places, ma'am. He was looking at a good ten years here. No one's come to visit him. Would have got lonely. Through here, ma'am. He's just being processed. Have a good day ma'am." He bids her goodbye.
Piper nods her head, "You too."
Troy rolls back his shoulders as he steps through the doorframe, now a free man. His hair is limp, greasy and lifeless, a sombre shade of grey compared to the bright blonde. He's also growing out a beard, patchy with some sections lighter than others, He looks so much like a serial killer he's obviously not one. "Oh, look, honey," he calls, snarl on his face at the sight of Piper in her trench coat and nude heels. "The cavalry has arrived. Do I have you to thank for a dead fiancée and a doomed existence with you as Queen?"
She draws herself up, sniffing in disdain. "I made a promise, Troy. Felix knew what he was agreeing to."
"I doubt that," Troy scoffs, Felix never having been that bright to have known what he was agreeing to. "You know how bad Felix was at playing your games. You had an unfair advantage—all those new minions you've got now. Tell me, do I get to meet my replacement? He must be very obedient," he sneers.
"We'll discuss it once you're settled in. Appearances must be kept, honey—you know that."
***
Annie and Jesse are waiting at the old flat for the pair to make an arrival. Eric had thought it a good idea for Troy to firstly interact with people he knew, familiar faces, he'd said—conveniently forgetting that they are now dubbed as traitors and Troy would have learnt how to behave himself around strangers. Piper enters her old flat behind Troy, wanting to ensure he doesn't try and make a run for it at the last hurdle, closing the door behind her with a definitive bang to disrupt the silence.
Jesse stands up at the sight of Troy, moving forward to greet him in a way they'd perfected years ago, before he catches himself in the act and remembers all that's transpired. His mouth opens and closes, struggling to grasp onto the correct words to say in his surfer-dude-gnarly-man tone. "Troy," he sputters, "it's been a while, huh?"
Piper's cringe is strong, turning to the kitchen area, out of the firing line—her time in the ring completed. "Jesse," Troy sniffs, looking down his nose at the man taller than him, "good to see who wears the trousers in your relationship. Piper shuns me," he shrugs, "I expect Annie to follow close behind—but you as well?" Troy shakes his head.
"Troy . . ." Jesse gives up trying to find the words that can make it all better, a wince on his face, "you have to understand the situation."
"You can fuck right off if you think I have to understand anything!" Troy explodes, face pinched in the same way it'd been when he'd first chosen Felix over Piper—the morning after she returned to London. "I've known you going on ten years," he continues, pointing at Jesse, "and you're telling me that our friendship means nothing? You're just as much of a pussy as I thought you were. The whole lot of you are conniving bastards—I bet only Eric was interested in my wellbeing. So much for childhood friends, huh?"
"I could say the same about you," Annie interrupts, standing from her seat with a scowl on her face. When Annie gets angry, she gets vicious, she becomes an actual animal—and Troy in his prissy-boy entitlement has pissed her off. "Piper has been your rock and you chose Felix over her. Don't roll your fucking eyes at me, Troy. You're a spineless coward and you're so lucky that Piper values you in her life so much. She has missed you so much so don't even dare and try this back in her face."
Troy squares his shoulders during his fury, gnashing his teeth as he spits his rage. Piper watches his fists clench at Annie's words, the knuckles going white, veins pushing against the surface of his skin. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, ANNIE!" Incensed, he turns to face her head on, Jesse forgotten in this operative. "I'm so fucking done with you being Piper's fucking lap-dog. You don't get to stand there and place the blame on me, okay! You don't even know what happened so shut your fucking mouth. My best friend—my sister phones me up and tells me she's moving to Africa, she wants some time to think, she's bought the tickets, there's nothing I can do to change her mine. I say okay. I say I understand. Her Mum has just died. I get it. I think right, this is Piper, and if it gets attention then she's already done it. We barely speak—did she tell you that Annie? Did your master tell you that we spoke barely five times out of an entire year?
"I'm ecstatic when she gets back. I go and see her right away. I bring Felix because—you know, he's important to me now. Piper and I don't have those kind of secrets. I get here, she spends the whole night acting like I'm beneath her. She asks me to leave Felix—tells me that she's looking out for me. It clicks then, Annie, it fucking clicks. I'm replaceable, I'm not worth anything. As long as she's the biggest thing in my life it doesn't matter. So next time you want to jump on the bloody bandwagon, Annie, get your facts in order first." Sighing, he stomps his way to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
In the midst of his rage, his desire to prove Annie wrong, no one had noticed that the front door had been opened, and Chase and Harriet had arrived. They stand by the coat rack that got left behind—Piper unwilling to move it to her new place of accommodation—gaping at the sight that they're left with. Jesse has the humility to seem embarrassed, rubbing at the back of his neck as he sits himself back down, thoroughly humbled. Annie, however, is still scowling, not at anything specific, but more so over the words thrown full force in her direction. Piper merely smacks her lips together, stepping closer to the group of four.
Chase regains composure first, a finger pointing in the direction of the bedroom, mouth poised in an o. "Whoa," he trails off, blinking, "That's Troy, eh?"
***
Piper's old room now contains the bare minimum—the fancy headboard with her and Finn at Downing Street, along with the wardrobe, and vanity table. Bridget had had to do some last minute shopping with Harriet to get this place back in working order for someone to live in again after Piper had moved out, and they've done a good enough job—dark oak where there had been black and white—masculine features in a room Piper had previously dominated.
Troy sits on the bed, elbows on his knees, hunched over and scowling. Piper takes a slow step inside, alerting him to her presence before she begins talking. "Is the room okay" She asks.
"The room's fine," he snips, refusing to look at her but instead out of the window. He rolls his shoulders back again.
"That's . . ." she pauses, not realising it would be this difficult trying to talk to Troy again, after all of the despicable acts she's committed, after Piper embraced power, "good. We're—we're going to order some food. For dinner. Did you . . . want anything in particular?"
"Whatever is fine."
"Okay."
Retreating from the room, she pauses at the sound of her name, "Piper," turning to look at him from over her shoulder, she gets a long look at the back of his head before Troy begins talking again. "I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you."
Swallowing, Piper turns to face the front again, watching how her nails dig into the wood of the doorframe, struggling to keep her composure. "I don't think I can forgive you, either."
***
"Have you got your speech ready?" Eric asks, having just been granted access by security. Piper rolls her eyes at this, unsurprised at his lateness as he landed the night prior but spent the morning with Troy. Piper resumes securing the buckle on a pair of new heels she bought recently, leaving Eric to make himself at home within the daunting halls of Number 10 Downing Street.
"Annie and Bridget made sure I had that done immediately." Rolling her lips into her mouth, Piper decides to stay silent on her worries, hands held up for Eric's help to her stand. She's forgotten how short he is in person, brushing 5'6 in the right shoes.
"I think you'll be great at it," Eric assures her, squeezing Piper's wrist as she steps away from him to smooth down her dress. "At being Queen." The clarification wasn't necessary but it fills the silence effectively—until Finn can be heard shouting down the hall about a tie he can't find, where Piper has to put on the big guns and dig deep to yell that all of his ties look the bloody same, it won't make a difference and ensure it carries throughout the house.
Turning back to face Eric, Piper blinks, looking at him beneath her lashes. "You think so?" Tilting her head to the side, she smiles—knowing it pisses him off to boundless extremes when she plays up on being a little girl. Looking up again, neck straight, she stands with her shoulders back—the shift so minute it's unsettling to someone who hasn't been witness to it before. "I wouldn't be so sure," she whispers, "I'm a monster, haven't you heard?"
"You're my sister." Waving her worries away, he straightens his own tie. "And Troy's, too. Tough decisions have to be made. He'll understand soon enough."
Piper hums under her breath, looking in the mirror and catching Eric's eyes in the reflection. "If someone killed Finn . . . I don't think I could ever forgive them. No matter who it was."
"Yes, well," Eric shrugs behind her, lithe shoulders beneath his suit jacket, "there is a war ahead."
***
Cabinet members only call in emergencies—or so her father had let her know, when they finally moved onto professional relationships within the House of Commons. The first thing he'd told her, his Queen, was that fists aren't the only form of fighting that exists. It would be up to Piper to ensure she learnt how to sharpen her tongue, numb her conscious and let rip into a void that would be hers to understand. Words are the weapons, Richard Williams would say, voice gravelly and cracking before he'd cut himself off with a sip of scotch, body language is an armour.
Her cabinet members have been efficient, turning over plans much faster than what Piper had been able to imagine, and the news of Piper's upcoming ascent to Queen hasn't slowed them down, either. "Everything's ready, Piper."
"Everything?"
"Yes. It's all drawn up. Funding has been secured. As soon as you accept, we can begin immediately."
"That's good. Now," she pauses, fingertip on her mouth, "what about the coronation?"
***
Bridget stands at Piper's shoulder, the two of them looking out at the expanse of the city in her office. As customary, Piper remains silent, Bridget has recently taken to being the one to begin the talking. "Noah's made the appropriate arrests, Piper."
"Right," drawing in a breath, she turns her back on the window to face the new Prime Minister—in due time. "How are the two of you doing?"
"Well." Bridget supplies, pursing her lips in thought. "We're doing well. We're currently looking into renting a flat together. Noah is eager to leave his parent's house."
"I imagine he would be. The Madden's certainly live up to their namesake."
***
Standing on the raised platform, and blinking past the flashing of the cameras—the smile on Piper's face is much more woman than little girl, a fiendish parting of the lips she hasn't exercised in a very long time. "I, Piper Williams, formally accept my position as Sovereign and Queen of this country. I am honoured to become Queen and save the country."