From me to all the queens out there. We are not ordinary people. All my love. - Chelsie Uche Louis

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I gazed at the brown porridge in front of me. It looked too much—to my dismay—like beans, the kind you 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 didn't stop the vomit that was threatening 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. It caught my attention because of the height of the monstrosity. Not everybody's hair was meant to be in a bun, especially when it was obvious that she had really 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 meant to be. 

"Where is everyone?" I asked, with an edge in my voice. This didn't look right. I was meant 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 supposed to know what that meant. I scoffed. The Fourth Day Rule For Mourning? As if my life couldn't get more worse. 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 in the world, 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 couldn't do it anymore. I just couldn't. Everyone had their limits. That cliff edge where they loose 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 you need to hit it before it broke, and I was going to satisfy my curiosity on the maidry's head. She would just stand there, and let me bludgeon her to death, because I was the Queen of Eirene, and she was just 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 in 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—my mourning room—for the rest of the day, and the laws of Eirene were more important than the lives of its citizens. "Get away."

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 let trail after her, right from the wooden door, back to my Soban. I released the breathe 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 killed her, 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. Somebody was calling my name. I shut the Compendium of Laws and Ordinances. A book I had been reading for 24 hours, though not sure what I was looking for. Then I took out the gum in my mouth, the same one I had been chewing for 24 hours, and tapered it under the desk, at the same time, dropping the compendium on the exact spot above it.

"I saw you." Somebody whispered behind me. I jumped, he laughed. I got up from my chair, turning to rip into the nuisance, even though I knew I was probably 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. Cole Deacon couldn't look any less obnoxious. His perfectly gelled dark blond 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. As if to say "Haven't you noticed? I'm wearing the most expensive dress shoes money can buy." I snorted, "You think you are funny, but you are the dryest 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 the girls that would have given 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 the hell out of me.

Annoyance. That was what I felt at that 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 with the real power. That my father was just a figurehead. A useless figure head—so the Wedgewood high schoolers would say. But rather than get offended at 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. I wanted to be Cole Deacon. So I walked in Cole Deacon's steps. Sat on Cole Deacon's legs. Helped Cole Deacon steal things he didn't need.  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 starts 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 anyway, because he's trying too hard.  I'm worried his state of mind has something to do with me, because I don't want to loose 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'd 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 badly 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? Suddenly he shakes his head, like he's just remembered something. 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 I didn't realize how wrong that 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 left for Oxford. My eyes opened to the ways of the world. I stopped being naive. 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 manipulated.

"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. Cole nodded, satisfied that he had my attention. Then he brought out a silver-coloured envelope from his 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?" He dangled the envelope in front of my face, the seal was unbroken. "Doesn't matter. All you need to know is it came for you."

"Of course it came for me." I shouted, defensive. "It's the royal seal." Suddenly a thought occurred to me. I scanned the hall. It was empty, save for an actual staff who was of no importance, "Where is everyone?" Frowning at Cole, I asked out loud. Something was off.

"Aretha, just take the letter." I scanned his face, trying to tell 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. Something wasn't right. A message for me—from the royal house—didn't just come, it came with six–strong entourage, consisting of royal guards and royal aides on different levels, dressed as school staffs. 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. Except 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 couldn't wait to go into a secluded area, as is the custom. But first I had to return the compen—Shit.

I was hurrying to return a compendium I had left lying on the table in the common hall. I swirled 180 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. I pushed it away, then let out a breath. "Damn you Cole." I spat, calculating the miles I had to walk back to the common hall to retrieve the compendium. That was if it hadn't been swiped already. The fact that the college was a school made up of mostly rich people 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 me. I noted the royal blue hand woven embroidery on the sides of the card. 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 there, because the eight words didn't quite register. Almost as if rather than see it, I was seeing through the card. My mind, creating an automatic wall to block out what I was reading. The words didn't register. And then, it did.

Your Highness,

The King and Queen are dead.

***

NEW CHAPTERS EVERY THURSDAY.

Next: Chapter Two - If Wishes Were Horses

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THANK YOU FOR READING 💕I would love to hear from you. Please tell me what you think by leaving a review or a comment.

• Follow me to not miss an update on new chapter uploads. — Chelsie Uche Louis 

Story by Chelsie Uche Louis

Written by Chelsie Uche Louis

© Mental Town, 2022