Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

They did not come for him at once. One of his father’s security men had brought him upstairs without speaking more than necessary. A hotel physician had appeared and been dismissed after a single look at his hand and a closer look at his face. A bowl of ice wrapped in linen had been left on the table by the window. He had not touched it. The pain in his right hand had worsened. The skin over the first two joints was swollen and turning purple. One had split, perhaps against bone or a tooth. When he flexed his fingers, pain ran into his wrist.

His phone lit on the table. The first message was from Serana.

WTF?

The second was from Venessa Wang, Minister of Information and head of the PR department of the Supreme Presidential Office.

Mr. Collins, please remain in your room and do not speak with anyone until we have a clear response strategy.

He stared at the screen. He had rarely received a message from Venessa before. She was the woman who dictated VOP. That she was speaking to him directly meant his father had already put the machinery in motion. He wondered how many people had already seen the recording from the ballroom. He opened Tengri and found nothing yet, though it was only a matter of time before something appeared.

He refreshed several times anyway. Then a badly framed vertical clip appeared. It showed Julian turning, Angelique’s profile at the edge of the frame, and Louis stepping toward them. His shoulder blocked part of the view. Then came the punch, the gasp, men reaching for him, chairs shifting, and a white-gloved waiter stumbling out of frame. Whoever had filmed it had not bothered with context. The caption read:

Collins boy loses it at reception.

Louis set the phone face down and finally picked up the linen-wrapped ice. The cold made him suck in a breath. He held it against his hand anyway.

Another ten minutes passed. Perhaps fifteen. Louis loosened his tie. He washed and dried his hands without looking at himself in the mirror. He sat down, then got up again.

Finally, the knock came. He opened the door. One of his father’s security men stood in the corridor.

“Your parents would like to see you,” he said, “immediately.”

Louis nodded and reached for the linen-wrapped ice without thinking. Then he set it down and left the room. He did not want to arrive holding anything that made him look cared for. When he reached the elevator lobby, he saw that he was not the only one who had been summoned.

Angelique stood near the closed elevator doors, holding one wrist with the other hand. She glanced at him. “How bad is it?”

Louis looked down at his swollen hand. “Not broken.”

“I meant the situation.”

He looked at the closed elevator doors. “I don’t know.”

The elevator arrived. Angelique stepped in, and Louis followed. The security officer used his key card to select the floor, then stepped back as the doors closed.

Angelique watched the numbers rise without looking at him. “You could have handled it better.”

Louis exhaled. “I know. Why are you here?”

She glanced at him, then back at the panel. “I assume your father wants to speak to both of us.”

The doors opened before either of them could say more. Constantine’s staff and security had taken over the presidential suite level. One of the security officers led them to the main suite and opened the door at once.

No one was speaking when Louis and Angelique entered. Constantine stood near the far end of the long conference table by the windows, one hand resting on the back of a chair. Judith sat to his right in a low armchair, her gloves off and one ankle crossed over the other. Philip sat with his back to the windows. Maria sat near him with one hand resting flat on the arm of her chair. They all looked up.

Judith spoke first.

“Come in,” she said. Then, to Louis specifically: “And shut the door.”

He did. The latch clicked shut. Judith held out her hand.

“Let me see.”

Louis crossed the room and gave her his right hand. She turned it over gently and examined the swelling without comment.

“You poor, stupid boy,” she murmured, then pressed her thumb lightly against the swollen joint.

He winced.

She released his hand. “Sit down. Both of you.”

Louis sat in the chair beside hers. Angelique sat across from him, closer to her parents.

A bowl of ice and a folded linen cloth waited on the side table. Judith wrapped several pieces of ice in the cloth and placed the bundle in Louis’s palm. “Hold it there. Don’t press.”

He obeyed. Constantine waited until Judith had finished before speaking.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

His father nodded. “Louis, I will speak plainly since everyone here is family.” He gestured toward Philip and Maria. “The video is moving through local channels already,” he said. “Not viral yet. But quickly enough that by the time the wider outlets decide how to describe it, they will already have inherited someone else’s version.”

Louis looked up. “What version is that?”

Constantine smiled briefly. “The cheapest one. That my son, in a fit of possessive adolescence, struck a local host because he could not bear being outclassed in public.” The smile disappeared. “I have no intention of allowing New Orleans the pleasure of that simplification.”

Heat rose into Louis’s face. He kept his voice steady. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry is not what I need from you.” His father’s tone did not change. “We will talk about that later. But now I need you to listen very carefully to what we are about to do.”

Louis nodded.

Constantine straightened. “The only viable response is to establish at once that the incident did not arise from random jealousy or passing flirtation.” He turned toward Philip and Maria. “It arose from conduct that crossed a private boundary already long understood between our families.”

Angelique’s hand tightened around the arm of her chair. Louis understood what Constantine was implying. Before his father continued, he knew what was coming.

“There has for some time existed a private understanding between the Collins and Bourbon families regarding the future formal union of Louis and Angelique. It had not yet been intended for public announcement. Tonight has removed that luxury.”

Louis looked first at Philip, then at Maria. He could not bear to look at Angelique yet. Neither Bourbon parent looked startled. That frightened him more than anger would have. Philip kept his eyes on Constantine, his mouth set. Maria pressed her hand harder against the arm of her chair and avoided looking at Angelique. Louis thought they had already agreed, however much they disliked it.

Angelique spoke without raising her voice. “You discussed this without us.”

“Yes,” Constantine said.

Maria’s voice stayed even. “Because timing matters. The moment the first video appeared, we had to make a decision.”

Angelique looked at her mother. “And you agreed to this.”

“We agreed to salvage what could be salvaged.” Maria looked from her daughter to Louis, then back to Angelique. “The alternative was allowing this to become a public disaster between two states.”

Philip folded his hands on the table. “The timing is destructive. It is also unavoidable.” He looked at Louis. “Your choice has consequences. They now reach beyond yourself.”

Louis looked at Philip and understood that the arrangement had existed long before tonight. Their parents had discussed it and kept it from them until it became useful. He had not been meant to see it. He had only been meant to enter it.

Louis forced himself to speak. “I didn’t know this was the plan.”

Angelique finally looked at him.

“No,” she said. “Neither did I.”

Maria rose and stood behind her daughter’s chair. She rested one hand on the top rail. “If there had been time, we would have prepared both of you. But there isn’t. The alternative is worse.” Her voice did not soften. “Louis, your actions have made this a matter of state dignity. We must respond accordingly.”

The ice burned against Louis’s swollen hand. He looked at his father.

Constantine continued. “The city already has the first clip. By midnight they will have three competing narratives and none of them will improve with age. We either allow New Orleans to frame this as erratic male jealousy directed at one of its own, or we establish immediately that a long-standing private betrothal was forced prematurely into view by public overfamiliarity toward Miss Bourbon.”

Angelique asked, “And what exactly am I meant to say when they ask me about this supposed understanding?”

Constantine did not hesitate. “That the matter was private. That you would have preferred another moment. That the understanding itself is not new, only the public knowledge of it.”

“How convenient.”

“It is,” he said. “Convenience is one of the reasons states survive.”

Judith interrupted before Constantine could add anything else. “No one is pretending this is graceful,” she said. “Only necessary.”

Judith turned to Louis. Her voice softened.

“Darling, you have to understand, once the story is out, it will be owned by everyone who sees it. It will not belong to you anymore. You will no longer have the right to control how it is used.” She reached across and touched his arm. “Let us shape it before someone else does.”

He looked down at his hand. “What if I tell them it was my fault?”

“It was not your fault,” Judith said. “You were defending your fiancée from a man who overstepped. That is how we will present it. That is how you will remember it.”

Angelique raised one hand. “Except that I am not his fiancée.”

Maria turned to her daughter. “Not publicly, no. But if the world insists on giving us a public role, we must choose a public response.”

“It’s a lie.”

Maria tilted her head. “Is it? Or is it the public rendering of a truth that already exists?”

Louis looked down at his hand. “I made it worse.”

“You made it visible,” Judith said. “Those are not always the same thing.”

Philip said, “What matters now is that the line be consistent.”

Maria looked at Angelique. “You are both now required to hold the line. Together.”

Constantine inclined his head. “VOP will carry the first confirmation. After that, aligned channels. It must be old news before breakfast.”

Louis looked up. “You’re putting it out tonight.”

“Of course.”

He almost laughed again. He knew how quickly his father acted, but the speed still shocked him. “You already have the wording.”

“Almost.” His father gestured to Maria. “We will finalize the joint language in the next minutes. Then release it before local channels can refine the story they prefer.”

Angelique gripped the arms of her chair. “And what are we meant to do? Play the perfect children while you spin this?”

Maria shook her head. “You’re meant to stay together for the night. That is all.” She met her daughter’s gaze without looking away. “The optics matter, Angelique. You cannot vanish into your own room and let this look like a cooling-off.”

Philip added, “You will stay together. Do not speak to the press. And tomorrow, if necessary, you must appear in public as a unified front.”

Someone knocked briskly at the door. Judith rose and unlocked the door.

“Enter,” she called.

Venessa Wang entered with a tablet in one hand and a phone in the other. She looked around the room before addressing Constantine.

“Supreme President,” she said. “The first clip has moved out of local circulation. It’s beginning to move.”

Constantine held out his hand. She gave him the tablet.

“No national pickup yet,” she continued. “But two local influencers have already framed it as personal instability, and one New Orleans affiliate is preparing language around ‘aggressive conduct toward a local civic representative.’ We have perhaps twenty minutes before that phrasing starts hardening.”

“Then we won’t give it the chance,” Constantine said.

Venessa inclined her head. “The draft confirmation is ready. We can release through Voice of Pacific first and then push aligned language to the wider network within three minutes. We’ve prepared two versions. One restrained. One less so.”

Constantine glanced down at the screen. “Read me the stronger one.”

She did.

“Private Collins–Bourbon Betrothal Confirmed After New Orleans Altercation,” she said. She read the subheading in the same even voice. “Repeated overfamiliar conduct toward Miss Bourbon preceded the incident and forced a long-standing private family understanding into public view earlier than intended.”

Angelique’s face did not change. Her fingers closed around the edge of her chair. As Venessa read, the announcement stopped sounding like a proposal to Louis. It was already becoming the official account.

Maria spoke first. “Overfamiliar conduct.”

Venessa turned toward her. “It establishes prior boundary crossing without requiring explicit accusation, Mrs. Bourbon.”

Philip reached for the tablet. “Let me see the wording.”

Venessa crossed to Philip. He read in silence. Maria leaned in after he had finished the first paragraph. She read over his shoulder and said nothing.

Venessa said, “If we want the local coverage displaced before it coheres, this goes out tonight. Before midnight. Ideally before the Free City press decides whether to make Mr. Vautrin the face of the story.”

Louis looked up. “And if they already have?”

Venessa glanced at him. “Then we make him a secondary figure in a larger narrative, Mr. Collins.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning no one will be interested in a local host with a split lip once the heir of the Dominion and the Bourbon princess are understood to have had a private future arrangement forced prematurely into public view.”

Angelique exhaled through her nose. “How efficient.”

Venessa looked directly at her. “Yes, Miss Bourbon. It is. And the longer we delay, the less efficient it will be.”

Judith rose. She came to Louis’s side and took the tablet from Philip. She read the first few lines, then handed it to Maria.

“It will do,” she said. She looked at Venessa. “Keep the language hard.”

Venessa nodded. “Understood.”

Constantine said, “Run it.”

Venessa did not move at once. “Final confirmation from both families?”

Philip looked toward Maria and waited. Maria looked down at the tablet, then back at him.

“Yes,” Philip said.

Maria said, “Release it.”

Venessa stepped back toward the door, already typing. “Voice of Pacific in seven minutes. Wider syndication in ten. We’ll prepare holding language for any press inquiries overnight and a morning line for both delegations.” She paused at the door. “I’ll be on the floor. Contact me at once if something changes.” Then she left.

Philip rose first.

“Angelique,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Angelique held his gaze, then stood without speaking. Maria joined them, and the three walked toward the door. Louis watched Angelique leave. She did not turn around.

When the door closed, Judith went to the bar and poured bourbon into a short glass. Constantine watched Louis in silence. When he spoke, his tone was conversational.

“Did you think you were the only Collins with a temper, Louis?”

Louis said nothing. His father crossed the room and sat in the chair beside him. For a moment, neither looked at the other. Then Constantine leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and looked out at the river.

“You threw a punch in a room where the cameras were already watching,” he said quietly. “You knew it was being recorded, but you let your body speak before your mind could stop it. That is not a failure of character. It is a failure of training.”

Louis swallowed. “I didn’t plan it.”

“Good. I would have been disappointed if you had. It was poorly executed, but the impulse was not wrong.”

Louis looked at him. “You wanted me to hit him?”

“I wanted you not to let him humiliate you.” His father struck the arm of his chair with one palm. “No one humiliates a Collins in public! Not in this world. Not on my watch.” He exhaled and lowered his voice. “If you had found a way to do it with more intelligence, I would have been proud of you. As it is, we are cleaning up your mess.”

He sat back and studied Louis with the calm attention Louis had always wanted and feared.

“You were in pain,” Constantine said. “That is not the same as being wrong.”

Louis looked down at his right hand. It throbbed under the ice. “What happens tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow you stay near Angelique. You do not explain. You do not apologize. You let the story we have built do its work.”

“She didn’t know about any of it.”

His father was silent for a moment. “She does now. And she will behave like the woman she has been raised to be.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then I will deal with that too.” His voice hardened. “But she will. As will you.”

Louis looked up. He wanted his father to comfort him. He hated himself for wanting it. Instead, he said, “What about Julian Vautrin?”

Constantine paused. “He will be remembered as a man who pushed too far, too fast, with the wrong woman. Which, politically, is exactly what he was.”

Judith spoke from the bar. “Don’t waste your guilt on him, Louis. He knew what he was doing.”

Louis looked at her. Her expression was calm. For a moment, he thought it was forgiveness.

He said, “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know.” She crossed the room and sat on the arm of his chair, resting one hand on his shoulder. “But you did not ask her what she wanted before you acted. And that is the part you will have to fix tomorrow.”

“How?”

“By being what she needs you to be.” She brushed his hair back. “You are not a child playing at power. You are Louis Collins. You are my son, and you will not be broken by one evening of temper.”

He stared down at the carpet. He wanted to tell her he was neither angry nor ashamed. He was exhausted and confused, hurt by seeing Angelique with someone else and certain he had made everything worse for both of them. He could not put any of it into words. So he sat there with his mother’s hand on his shoulder and said nothing.

Then Constantine stood.

“Come,” he said. “We need to move you to Angelique’s room before anyone thinks we are separating you. A united front is not a metaphor.” He called the security officer in from the hall and gave him the instructions. The officer listened without interrupting and nodded when Constantine finished. Constantine turned back to Louis. “Be kind to her. She did not ask for this either.”

Louis nodded and stood. His father placed a firm hand on his shoulder as they passed, then let him go.