our last conversation before he had left for school. If my love for Hamlet was like a violet, then my father was likely to yank off its petals when we got home. I had broken from my scripted existence. It was one thing to do what Hamlet and I wanted within castle walls, but another thing entirely to mess with orchestrated events. I rubbed my forehead and wished I were somewhere else. Or someone else.
The car ride was nothing if not uncomfortable. Once my father assessed the situation, he decided to stay silent and deal with me later. Just before we left, Gertrude’s driver knocked on our window, wanting to be sure Hamlet was, indeed, in our car. She didn’t try to get him to come out. The damage was done.
Anyone who wanted it had fodder for speculation in opinion columns, tabloids, and talk shows, but it would take a few days before they used it. Once the appropriate amount of grief had been displayed and seemingly enough restraint had been exercised, reporters would have photographic evidence of Hamlet choosing not to be with his mother. “What could it all mean?” they would ask.
When we arrived at the castle, my father made sure Hamlet exited first and was at his mother’s side before he would even consider letting me out.
“It wasn’t my idea,” I offered.
“Do not come to the reception,” he instructed, jabbing his finger at me before he hopped out of the car and raced inside.
Barnardo: This picture shows you looking at your mother’s grave.
Ophelia: Yeah. Very perceptive, Detective.
Barnardo: Don’t use that tone with me, little girl.
Francisco: Did you blame the king for your mother’s death?
Ophelia: I didn’t blame—The assassin was trying to kill him, not my mother.
Barnardo: And that’s why you wanted the king dead.
Ophelia: I didn’t want him dead!
Barnardo: Payback. We get it. Get revenge on the king while at the same time you make Hamlet feel what you felt.
Ophelia: My mother’s death has nothing to do with this.
Francisco: But something does. What is it? It’s late. We all want to be done with this. Just tell us why you wanted to hurt the royal family.
Ophelia: So I could end up in here with the two of you. Oh good, my evil plan worked.
Francisco: We’re getting nowhere with her.
7
“So Hamlet rode back from the funeral with you rather than his mother. How did the queen feel about that?” asks Zara.
“Gertrude was fine with it. She always had Hamlet’s best interests at heart. I mean, she basically lived to make him happy.”
“He disappeared during the reception. Any idea where he went?”
“Nope.”
Zara squints at her and sniffs. “All right, then how did Prince Hamlet feel about being king?”
“He knew it would be a challenge, but it was a job he was born to do,” Ophelia tells the audience.
Later that night, Horatio and I snuck up to the rooftop garden with a bottle of wine and waited for Hamlet. We walked to the edge of the roof and looked down at the crowd below. Average citizens were still dropping off flowers and lighting candles. Official cars were still coming and going with dignitaries paying their respects. Horatio had had less than a minute to speak with Hamlet, but it was enough to tell him where to find us. The night was crisp, since the temperature had dropped significantly. I had brought a sweater, but I should have put on something warmer. I crossed my arms and tucked my hands in my armpits. Horatio offered his jacket, but I refused.
“Wonder what it would be like to just live a regular life like all of those people?” I pondered, watching the cars and pedestrians pass by.
“Our life’s pretty regular,” he mused. I gaped at him, so he added, “Okay, mine more than yours, maybe.”
“Mine should be normal. I mean, I just live here. I’m not one of them.”
“You had to fall for Hamlet. Your downfall, you might say.”
“Thanks,” I said. “How are your classes so far?”
“So far so good. You?”
“Fine. Whatever.” I sighed.
“You think your dad’s gonna let you go to Wittenberg?”
“No.”
Horatio put an arm around my shoulder. “Woulda been fun to hang out.”
I wanted to scream, but I just stood there, enduring having my life decided for me. “Yeah. Woulda been.”
As we stood in silence, I recalled how our trio had changed from three friends to a couple with a sidekick. It was the winter of my sophomore year, and our families had gone to the French Alps for a long