I gazed at the brown porridge in front of me. It looked too much—to my dismay—like beans, the kind one would see in the dirty plastic plates of those deathly looking African children on the facebook page of UNICEF.
The fact that it was presented with what could be the most elegant and expensive porcelain bowl most of you would never lay your eyes on did not stop the vomit that threatened to push its way out of my throat, if I didn't get away from the bowl immediately. Or rather, get the bowl away from me, because I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Eyeing the woman in front of me, I noted that her head had not gone up since she placed the bowl on the Soban. Her ashy hair was held so securely on top of her head into a tight bun. A plain silver-coloured headband guarded the bun like the wall of china. The height of the monstrosity was what caught my attention. Not everybody's hair was meant to be in a bun, especially when it was apparent that she had very long and thick hair. Despite that fact, she was elegant and graceful, but at the same time, contained, with an air of bashfulness, like every servant in the blue house was required to be.
"Where is everyone?" I asked with an edge in my voice. This didn't look right. I was supposed to be served by six maidries. That was how it had been for the past three days. That was the rule, and it was an abomination for any rule in the nation of Eirene to be broken.
"This is the fourth day rule for mourning, Your Majesty." The maidry replied, her head still bowed, reminding me as though I was meant to understand the words coming out of her mouth. I scoffed. The Fourth Day Rule For Mourning? As if my life couldn't get any more terrible. I couldn't stand to stare at the maidry or the bowl of irritation she placed in front of me. "Please take this away, and don't come back."
The maidry made a move to bring her head up, but thought better of it and put it back down. "I'm sorry your Majesty, but I can't do that. You haven't eaten in three days your Majesty and—"
I slapped the plate out of the table, "That's because you people have been bringing me this irritation." It rolled to the floor, not breaking, because it was carved sturdy by the most skillful potters on earth, with the most rare and most refined Eirene kaolinite, it was made to last centuries. It didn't break, but it turned over, splashing the porridge first at the edge of the Soban and then all over the maidry's silk boubou. A flame of satisfaction lit up inside of me. A flame of satisfaction that quickly transformed into remorse when I noticed that the maidry didn't even flinch.
"Get away from me." I yelled. I couldn't endure this anymore. I just couldn't. Everyone had their limits. That cliff edge where they lose it all and never recover from the catastrophic consequences of their actions. I had reached that limit. And if she didn't disappear from my sight, I was going to take the bowl and confirm how hard one would need to hit it before it broke, and I was going to satisfy my curiosity on the maidry's head.
She would only stand there and let me bludgeon her to death, because I was the queen of Eirene, and she was merely a servant. No one would come rushing in, despite the fact that I was sure they watched intently in one of the many surveillance rooms in the blue house. I was the queen, no one would take their eyes off me for a second, and they would not barge into my mourning room and rescue the maidry, because if the fourth day rule for mourning was really what I thought it was, then this maidry was the only one permitted to come into this room for the rest of the day, and the laws of Eirene were more important than the lives of its citizens.
She must have heard something in my voice, something I didn't hear myself, because she turned abruptly, her head still bowed, and exited the same way she came. I watched the door close with a heavy thud, my eyes following the brown stains the maidry allowed to trail after her, right from the wooden door, back to my Soban. I released the breath I didn't know I held, feeling the migraine I had been nursing for days triple with a vengeance.
I might have succeeded in making the maidry leave, else I would have murdered her with my bare hands, but I also chased away the only person who would have cleaned the mess in front of me. Which means I had to spend the rest of the day enduring the smell and the awful sight of brown porridge puddles on pure white tile. Suddenly, I reached over my Soban, grabbed the porcelain bowl and vomited into it.
If this was what it meant to be the queen of Eirene, I didn't want to be queen anymore.
***
Aretha. I heard a voice call my name. I shut the Compendium of Laws and Ordinances, a book I had been reading for twenty-four hours, even though I was not sure what I was looking for. Then I took out the gum in my mouth, the same one I had been chewing for twenty-four hours, and tapered it under the desk, at the same time, dropping the compendium on the exact spot above it.
"I saw you." A voice whispered behind me. I jumped, he laughed. I stood up from my chair for the moment, and in a ready stance, turned to rip into the nuisance, despite being aware that I was going to pay for it one way or another. "My family literally bought every single piece of furniture in this room, so technically I can do whatever I want with it." This room, being the common hall of St. Anthony's College, in the University of Oxford.
"Literally, technically, sure those words are not too big for you, my dear?" Staring daggers at the nuisance in front of me, I turned one side of my lip up to a scornful frown. Cole Deacon could not look any less obnoxious. His perfectly gelled dark blond hair fell to the side on his face. Pure white dress shirt—definitely Ralph Lauren—complimented deep brown slacks that decorated his long legs enough. One leg crossed over the other, he sat in a pose, swinging the leg on top to a rhythm only he could hear. As if to say "Haven't you noticed? I'm wearing the most expensive dress shoes money can buy." I snorted, "You think you're funny, but you're the dryest person, most uninteresting person I have ever met." I picked up my purse from the table, "And I am not interested in whatever this is."
The self-satisfied pure white grin on Cole's face widened even more. In my mind, I did a head count of all the girls who would have ungrudgingly donated their kidney to have that grin directed at them, including some very famous ones, and also some of questionable age and origin, but for some reason, it had no effect on me, or so I loved to tell myself.
"Dryest? Now that's the kind of word perfectly fit for you, my dear." Cole retorted, his pretentious British accent irking me to no end.
Annoyance. That was what I felt at this moment, staring into Cole Deacon's amazingly handsome face. But there was a time that annoyance could have very easily been obsession.
I used to be obsessed with Cole Deacon. I was enamored with everything about him. His shoulder length hair. His eccentric but perfect younger sisters. His penchant for stealing things he didn't need. His larger than life father, who was the prime minister of Eirene. Even though my father was king, I did think there wasn't a man more suitable for that position than Xander Timothy Deacon.
He was large and imposing. While my father was, well, the opposite of large and imposing. His voice would reverberate through the walls of the royal house whenever he came to court. While sometimes, I barely heard my father speak even when in earshot. He had an air of authority that could make heads of state bend the knee. An air of authority that would make anyone bend the knee.
There was talk, that prime minister Xander Deacon was the one who actually made decisions in the nation. That he was the one who held the real power. That my father was only a figurehead. A useless figure head—so the Wedgewood high schoolers would say. But rather than become offended with my classmates for their insinuations—insinuations that if reported could be regarded as high treason—it made me adore Xander Timothy Deacon even more. If he could bend the will of a king, he was worthy of admiration. And that admiration bled onto his children. One child in particular. Cole Deacon. No middle name. Same age as me. Same privileges. But more respected by everyone and their mother.
I wanted Cole Deacon in the same manner in which the starving little girl in the poorest community in Eireen would want the latest Fiore doll on toy street. And when this was no longer enough, I wanted to be Cole Deacon. So I walked in Cole Deacon's steps. Was hung up on Cole Deacon's words. Helped Cole Deacon steal things he didn't need from my father's private chamber.
A bill spearheaded by Xander Deacon needs to be signed and approved by the King. The King is leaning towards the negative. Stubborn. Unmoving.
Xander Deacon summons his son into his sanctum. Cole Deacon summons me to his man cave. He begins with silence. I don't like silence. And this silence is heavy with anticipation, the wrong kind of anticipation. He is withdrawn. There are worry lines etched on his face, and he's trying really hard not to look at me. Trying really hard not to show me how discomfited he seems to be. But I notice still, because he's trying too hard. I'm worried his disgruntled state of mind has something to do with me, because I don't want to lose him.
So I probe him until he finally looks at me, "What can I do?" I ask. My voice, dripping with sincerity, because I would do anything to make him feel better. He starts with his goals and how they are not getting accomplished. He wants to be a pilot. He wants to go to pilot school. But his father won't let him. His father says no son of his would be a servant. "What can I do?" I ask again. He doesn't answer me, instead he starts talking about a book, a classic one he had seen in his father's archive, one he read and how it reminded him of me, because I love books. Then he looks at me. Devastating green eyes, seeing only me. Really seeing me. He tells me how strongly he wants me to be happy. I feel like the luckiest person in the world. This beautiful boy is sad, but all he cares about is my happiness.
What can I do for you? My mind keeps thinking this question over and over again. What can I do for you, Cole Deacon? Suddenly he shakes his head like he has just remembered something important. Then he tells me how his father ran into him while reading the book that reminded him of me. At the mention of prime minister Xander Timothy Deacon my heart beats even faster. "Did he talk about me?" I ask. Everybody wants Xander Deacon to call their name, even more than they do the king, and my silly mind could not realize how wrong this was.
"No he didn't." Cole mumbles, "He's anxious about his bill." Then he begins to talk about said bill. If it were a normal day, I would be bored to my ears. But because it's Xander Deacon, I'm paying rapt attention, I don't want to miss a single thing Cole says. "But it's not your concern." Cole would say at the end of his explanation. Then he would grin, that equally devastating grin, and kiss me on the cheek, "Your presence always brings me joy."
Two hours later, I'm sneaking into my father's study. His only daughter. His only child. His heir. His most prized possession on earth. The next day, the bill would be signed and approved. Cole Deacon would intercept me in the royal library and tackle me to a hug, all surprise and awe. And then it begins again. One year. Two years. Three years. The same tactic. The same maneuvers. Just like the devil. Until I turned eighteen and moved into Oxford. My eyes opened to the ways of the world. I dumped my naivety, and I saw Xander Deacon, Cole Deacon and the entire Deacon family for what they really were, serial manipulative bastards.
Four years later and Cole Deacon still annoyed the hell out of me.
I pushed my chair with my knee, letting it scrape on the floor and turned to leave the common hall.
"Hold on Aretha." Cole stood up.
"I'm not interested in whatever this is, Cole. I have an important meeting to get to. Country matters." Of course I was lying. Cole knew that too. We both knew that nobody involved me in country matters. Apparently, the only thing I was good for was being a puppet.
"Exactly Aretha. Nobody involves you in country matters." Cole said as if he had read my mind.
I turned, What is that supposed to mean? He didn't have to echo my uselessness.
"To all those who think the only thing I'm good at is being manipulated." I smirked at him. "I'll show you all I'm an artist too."
Cole scoffed, not the least bit affected by my retort. Then he nodded. Satisfied that he had my attention, he brought out a silver-colored envelope from his trouser pocket and gestured for me to take it.
I gawked at the envelope. I didn't need him to tell me what it was. Its dazzlingly luminous silver, with hand woven royal blue embroidery on the corners, and a royal blue wax seal in the form of a flying capital letter E was a dead giveaway. "Where did you get this?" I asked, my mouth agape.
He dangled the envelope in front of my face, the seal was unbroken. "Doesn't matter. All you need to know is that it came for you."
"Of course it came for me!" I yelled, defensive. "It's the royal seal." Suddenly a thought struck me. I scanned the hall. It was empty, save for an actual staff member who was of no importance, "Where is everyone?" Frowning at Cole, I asked out loud. Something wasn't right.
"Aretha, just take the letter." I scanned Cole's face, trying to discern what he knew. But he just clucked his tongue and chewed on his lower lip in that way he did whenever he was getting impatient. I was wasting his time.
Grabbing it grudgingly, "Thank you." I turned to leave, not caring to see if Cole followed. Indeed, something wasn't right. A message for me—from the royal house—didn't just come, it came with a six strong entourage, consisting of royal guards and royal aides on different levels, dressed as school staff. A very disguised company, but an entourage nonetheless, and was highly protected. Where was my entourage? And how did Cole Deacon get a hold of my letter?
Fishing out my iphone from my purse, I crossed the university grounds, from the Hilda Bese building to the Japanese library. I needed to log in the compendium of laws and ordinances I had more or less snuck out of the library. With the exception of Cole Deacon, and of course, some select members of the school board, nobody in the university knew who I was, and I intentionally kept it that way. So I would keep my head down, doing my best not to draw attention. The last thing I needed was Eirene interfering with my well planned and quiet life, and if the library officials discovered the book missing and that I had taken it, there would be consequences. Consequences that would most likely shed light on my family name.
Socrates.
As at February 2021 the Socrates were the oldest, continuous and most powerful hereditary monarchy in the whole of Europe. General Estephan Socrates took the throne in 1926. Immediately after returning from an otherwise famed military retreat to Russia in 1925, according to the royal archives, Estephan Socrates began scheming to overthrow the four member court that ruled Eirene. With the support of high level co-conspirators—which was said to be a result of his trip to Russia—and two of the court members, he succeeded after eleven months. And with the help of his Russian high level conspirators, he established Eirene as the world's number one supplier of silver. Passed down from generations to generations, a Socrates was still ruling Eirene, and Eirene was still the world's number one producer and supplier of silver.
General Estephan had established the production and supply of silver to be solely controlled by the royal family and not the government, and it had been that way till date. For that reason, the name Socrates could incite positive responses, but also very dangerous responses that had deadly consequences to any member of the royal family. My father had let me come to Oxford all by myself, under the condition that I would live as everyone else, answering my mother's maiden name, Jacobs. No one would know who I was and all who already knew were sworn to secrecy.
I stopped in front of the Nissan Institute of Japanese Studies. The envelope Cole had given me weighed lightly in my right hand. My discernment radar had been going off in all directions since I left the common room. Something is wrong. I needed to open the envelope and I needed to open it that second. I needed to go into a secluded area as is the custom. But first I had to return the compen— I gazed down at my hands.
Shit! I scurried to return a compendium I had left lying on the table in the common hall. I swirled one hundred and eighty degrees, looking back the way I came. Tendrils of my wavy hair found its way to the front of my face as the wind picked up strength. I pushed it away—my hair that is—then let out a frustrated breath. "Damn you, Cole." I spat, calculating the miles I had to walk back to the common hall to retrieve the compendium, on the condition that it had not been swiped already. The fact that the college was a school made up of mostly rich students didn't stop people from swiping things that didn't belong to them.
There's the scholarship kids, and then the staff, and.. ughh, I thought painfully, my YSL boots hurting like a punishment from the gods. I couldn't risk running into Cole Deacon again, but I had to return the book to the Japanese library.
Taking note of the time on my iphone, 4:32 pm, I had just twenty-eight minutes left before the library closed at 5pm. I started walking back, but stopped after a few steps.
Turning the envelope in my hands, I tore it open. There was no point in waiting anymore. A lone silver card fell out onto the floor. I picked it up, dusted it, then held it out in front of my line of sight. I noted the royal blue hand woven embroidery on the sides of the card, the same one on the envelope. I also noted, and recognized, the hand-written signature at the bottom of the card: Prime Minister Xander Timothy Deacon. And then I noted the eight words written on it, with the same sluggish cursive penmanship as the signature. For thirty seconds I stood on the grounds of St. Anthony's College, because the eight words did not quite register. Almost as if rather than seeing it, I was seeing through the card. My mind, creating an automatic wall to block out the translation of what I was reading. The words didn't register, and then they did.
Your Highness,
The King and Queen are dead.
***
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NEXT: Chapter Two - If Wishes Were Horses
Story by Chelsie Uche Louis
Written by Chelsie Uche Louis
© Mental Town, 2022