The original framers of the Constitution ratified an official amendment allowing for a stateside royal family. To avoid a civil war in the nascent nation, the founding fathers decided to shred the amendment lest those hungry for colonial independence discover its existence. But the document was never destroyed, instead kept under lock and key ever since 1787. Relegated to obscurity and nearly lost to history, one royal bloodline has secretly existed since the very origin of the United States. The Cambridge family has remained in the shadows, waiting for their chance to take the throne. They are...American Royalty.
Ellie needed to see John.
She hadn’t heard a word from him for long weeks. The revolution was still in full swing. Still acting as a spy, Ellie had been continuing to funnel information through her servants to the colonist sympathizers around Boston. She hadn’t left the grand castle since John had visited her for the last time and almost gotten caught.
Mary was her closest British confidante. She acted in the capacity of Ellie’s royal personal attendant, but she was more of a friend than an employee. Ellie had made other friends in the colonies, but they would all be considered enemies of the crown ever since the revolution had gotten underway.
“I need to see him, Mary,” Ellie said. “I have to see if he’s okay.”
“I can still hear the fighting out there,” Mary said. “The armies are vying for advantage in the city.”
Autumn had come and winter was closer now than summer. She thought about her first meeting with John and how he’d swam away, a stranger at the time. He wasn’t a stranger anymore. During their brief meetings, she’d come to love him. She just had to know if he was still alive.
“I’m going,” Ellie decided.
“I figured you weren’t going to be talked out of it,” Mary said.
Mary went to the chest placed at the foot of Ellie’s bed. It had contained blankets that Ellie had had to pull out more and more frequently as the nights grew colder. The last few days had been a brief respite from the bitter fall, but surely she’d have to tap into her supply of expensive fur quilts again. Soon, but not tonight. Yet Mary flipped open the lid to reveal the contents. Inside contained something other than blankets.
A red coat lay atop the rest of the uniform. The outfit of a British soldier.
“Wherever did you get this?” Ellie checked the room. “Is there a naked soldier behind the draperies?”
Mary giggled. “Never mind where it came from or how it got here. Just put it on and get gone. Before I change my mind and toss the coat right out the window.”
The uniform consisted of pants, a shirt, coat, accessories. No undergarments. Ellie couldn’t wear a shift with pants. So, she stripped down and pulled on the men’s attire. It felt strange to have her breasts so free under the material of the shirt—thankfully the thick red coat would cover the swell of her bosom and the effect of the chill from the autumn air.
Dressed as a soldier, Ellie walked right out of the castle. Soldiers regularly came and went reporting the progress or setbacks of the military, so one redcoat exiting the walls wasn’t uncommon. No one kept track of the comings and goings of British personnel. The guards at the gate only gave her a cursory salute as she passed by.
How ever Mary had secured the uniform, it had come with a horse. She unhitched the steed with military markings from the post outside the castle gates and mounted herself into the saddle. Ellie had learned to ride when she was just a young girl and was an accomplished equestrian. She had to jockey like a man instead of sidesaddle like a lady. It felt strange to have the powerful animal between her legs—the thundering hooves and movement of muscle against her thighs made her flush with even more excitement.
The battle over control of Boston had grown intense. Casualties mounted on both sides. As she neared the frontlines, she passed the wounded being tended on both sides of the road. If the British soldiers had taken on such numerous injuries, what did the colonists suffer on the other side? What shape would she find John in?
She wound through town to the flanks of the fighting and left her horse behind, completing the last half mile on foot. Ellie hoped to sneak behind enemy lines, trade her redcoat for a colonial dress, and then search out John among the revolutionists. Her plan fizzled in all of five minutes.
“Halt! Stop, or we’ll shoot!”
Ellie paused. She put her hands up and slowly turned. There were two colonists with rifles trained on her. They didn’t look the sort to tell her twice. She wasn’t going to run for it. She wanted them to help her find John.
“I’m not a British soldier,” she called out.
“You dress pretty ridiculously for a British nanny,” the shorter of the two colonists cried out. The taller one laughed.
“I’m looking for John,” she shouted. The two rifles never wavered from keeping her dead in their sights.
“John who?” the taller asked. “We’ve got a lot of Johns here.”
Ellie realized she didn’t even know John’s last name. How foolish to think there’d be only one John, or that anyone on a random street would know him even if she did know his whole name. She opened her mouth to answer or guess, then closed it.
“He doesn’t even know a John,” the shorter exclaimed. “Or the Brit’s not bright enough to make up the last name right quick. Surely, we have a John Smith. Or a John Adams.”
“Two of each, likely,” the shorter agreed.
“Let’s shoot the redcoat and go have a laugh with John Allen.”
“He’s got shit for a sense of humor. Let’s have a pint with John Livingston.”
Ellie was about to get killed. Instead of waiting for a bullet, she unbuttoned her redcoat and opened it up, revealing her naked torso. She shucked the coat and then flipped her belt loose with one flick of a buckle. Her pants joined the redcoat on the ground. Ellie stood naked in front of the two colonists.
They moved their eyes along her and she let them look. A leering gaze was better than bullets peppering her flesh. She could handle their hungry stares. These were soldiers fighting for their very future—let them enjoy a little visual reward for their efforts.
“I’m not a British soldier,” she repeated.
“N-N-No, you’re not,” the tall revolutionist stammered.
“Are y-y-you a nanny?” the shorter asked.
After another split-second of mutual gawking, the two scrambled around and produced a blanket from their store of supplies. Ellie wrapped it over her head and shoulders like a shawl. Still entirely naked underneath, she nevertheless would no longer be mistaken for a British soldier. The tall one gathered the redcoat uniform while Ellie repeated her request to the shorter gent. “John?”
“Let’s see if we can find him, ma’am.”
They led her behind enemy lines. There were no fewer casualties on this side of the battle. She passed every injured rebel or cooling corpse with dread, worried each would be her John. At each encampment, they took a tally of the Johns and checked on the infirmed. One battalion after another, no John. Not her John.
She hadn’t seen him in weeks. She started to worry he was long dead. Perhaps he’d been killed the last time he’d left her company. Maybe even now he was cold and alone in an unmarked grave. Would Ellie ever learn his fate? Or would she grow old never knowing what happened to her long-lost lover?
Then after hours of excruciating searching and endless dire circumstances, she came upon a weary group of soldiers marching back from the front lines. The horrors written upon their faces suggested even the survivors would carry much death with them forevermore. Ellie peered into one haunted gaze after another. No, no, no, no, n—
“John?” she asked, locking her eyes on the hollow expression of a man haggard and covered in dirt. His features were familiar but fallen, as if the features of the man she loved had melted down his face. Covered with muck and the measure of the human capacity for violence, the man before her registered recognition in his gaze, then surprise, then disbelief.
“Ellie?” he mumbled, unsure.
“John,” she cried.
Then she took him in her arms and he crumbled in her embrace, weeping, broken, but alive.
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