Royal Pain

by Pike, Leslie

“Yeah, good. Talk later.”

  When we disconnect I pause for a moment to absorb what just happened. Is Kwai seriously considering being more than a party boy? It gives me a good feeling to think it may be happening. And then I hear an odd sound coming from the direction of the palace.

  It’s just far enough away I can’t make it out. Is that screaming? No, it’s crying, wailing. It’s Mother!! I take off running. Oh God! The fastest way back is through the foliage.

  The stone path winds too much around gardens of flowering bushes, plants, and trees. The branches of the smaller trees scratch my arms, and at one point I trip over the edge of a tiled bench. A three minute journey seems like three hours. The animal like wailing gets louder as I approach. What’s that? The strobing lights of police cars line the road leading to the house. My heart’s pounding so hard I think it might explode.

  Then I see her. She’s clutching the arms of the Chief of Royal Security, but her body is slowly collapsing to the ground. He’s trying to keep her upright, but he’s losing the fight. Her body’s gone limp. The sound coming out of her and the anguished look on her face chills me.

  “What’s happening!?” I yell, running up to where she lies crumbled.

  I’ve never seen someone cry so uncontrollably, her face changed completely.

  “Tell me!” I yell, bending down to her side. I take her in my arms, trying to soothe the beast I can’t see.

  “Prince Zan,” the Chief’s voice is tight. “Your beloved brother, Prince Tarik, was killed in an explosion at the hospital today. There are many victims.”

  The world pauses.

  The words just said have no meaning.

  I can’t put them together to make sense. Or any of the words coming from the security, police, and house staff that surround the fountain in front. It’s odd how all the sound has quieted. I see my mother, mouth wide, face contorted. It looks like screaming, but sounds like a whisper. It’s just background noise in this moment. I feel as if I might die.

  Chapter 20

  Belinda

  I stretch my good morning to the day. The clock reads seven thirty. I bet the bride and groom have been up for a while now, excited to be getting within a day of their nuptials. My sister Judi, and Mom and Dad’s plane arrived yesterday, thank God. They took the reins from me, which was only a temporary job. The rehearsal dinner’s going to be really lovely tonight. It’s their party, and it’s going to be awesome. The wedding party and the two immediate families dining at Tavern on the Green. I’d expect nothing less from my mother and father. She’s a master at the job and he’s great at not questioning her expenses.

  Okay. Let’s see. Tonight the dinner, tomorrow the wedding, then one more day in between, and I’m off to Africa. It seems like much longer than it’s actually been since we were together. I rub the sleep from my eyes and curse myself for staying up so late organizing what I’m taking, while dreaming of my boyfriend. The apartment looks like a clothing store with stacks of t-shirts, pants, and sweaters.

  Where’s my phone? I turned it off after talking with Zan yesterday. He called early knowing I was going to be with the family. By two in the morning I knew no one would be trying to get ahold of me. I just wanted uninterrupted sleep. But now I need to be reconnected to the world.

  Where did I put it? When I throw back the covers the cell goes flying against the side table. Shit. It gets me upright and moving anyway. I reach for the phone and as soon as I power up I’m met with a wall of messages, pings, and news updates. But the headline on the BBC newsfeed grabs me first.

  MOZIA HEIR KILLED IN TERRORIST BOMBING.

  My hands shake. Tears fill my eyes as I read the story. Oh no! God no! His family! The queen! Zan! Oh God help them!

  The whole world seems to have turned upside down. I’m not sure what to do first. I can’t call him now. It’s the middle of the night there. Wait. Maybe he messaged me. I take a seat at the foot of the bed and scroll through the messages from Soraya and Graham. Move past my own family’s. Then I see it. Z. Three am.

  Will call you tomorrow when I can. I love you.

  That’s it. Shit. I’m dying. What can I do? Fucking nothing! I’m here and he’s there, a world away. I can’t even hold his hand or stand close by in case he needs my touch. Wait. I’m going to send an email and a text telling him if he wants I can try to change my reservations to tomorrow night after the wedding.

  Shit! That fucking wedding! Sorry brother, but you’d understand what I mean. Or maybe it would be better if I don’t go at all right now. Shit.

  I’m assigned the exclusive story on the coronation, but what happens now? The tragedy supersedes everything. The queen might consider me an intrusion. They all might think that. I fire off a message. At first I go on in a too lengthy read. He’s not going to want that. I delete it.

  I’m sure it’s chaos there and Zan and Kwai are needed to attend to matters of state and beyond that, matters of heart. The queen must be devastated. Her husband just died and now her beloved son.

  I keep typing and deleting. For a writer it’s a hard lesson. I don’t know what to say or how to say it. Words are inadequate. Fat tears are blurring my vision. Wiping them away, I rethink what I feel and express it simply.

  My heart is broken and saying how sorry I am inadequate. I love you, Zan. I’m storming heaven for your entire family’s comfort. If it’s better that I come another time, I completely understand. I won’t turn my cell off ever again.

  Send.

  Okay, that’s as good as I’ve got right now. I’m not going to reread it because it’s just going to sound cold or lacking the feeling I want him to know I’m experiencing. It doesn’t matter because he has much bigger things to concentrate on.

  Oh God. Who will be king? Kwai? I can’t see that happening under any circumstances. He’s not able to lead a country, in my opinion. And in everybody’s that knows anything about governance. But Zan, who is able, doesn’t qualify either. No royal blood. I suppose the queen could technically rule, but there hasn’t been a queen in power since King Manza’s grandmother in the early part of the twentieth century. And that was only for four years after the king died but before her son was old enough to reign.

  This could cause the people of Mozia to want change. There’s always been a faction who want a democratic system. This is how radical change happens in countries with monarchies. In the absence of a good choice of king, the people see their spot to make a move toward having more say in their government. Beyond the tragedy, this is going to become an even bigger story.

  The ping of the cell still clutched in my hand startles me. He’s responding.

  No! Don’t change plans. I need you here. Won’t be able to talk at length tonight. I’ll text when possible.

  Alright. It must be a soul crushing experience for each of them. Brother, wife, mother, and Tarik’s children. Oh. Those precious babies who adored him so. The teenager who tried to emulate him. And Princess Monifa! My tears start again.

  * * *

  I’m zero percent interested in smiling or toasting, or having lively conversation with anyone really. But I put on the right face and pretend to join in the night’s celebration. I’d regret it if I wasn’t present for my brother’s wedding rehearsal and nuptials.

  It is good to see my entire family gathered at a dinner table again. It’s been such a long time. My siblings and I were scattered to the wind after college. I never thought there would come a time when we didn’t spend every holiday and birthday together. Then life happened.

  Now it takes a miracle to sync our schedules. Tonight especially I can’t help but think I need to change things. Prioritize. You never know when it’s your last time to see someone. Our tight family has been held together by love and held apart by our chosen careers. A doctor, a resort manager, a fashion designer, a psychologist, and a journalist.

  And it’s not just our jobs that separates. It’s living in different states. Tony and Doug both ended up in Miami, Judi in Hawaii, and J
ames closer to me in Rhode Island. Thank God his fiancée was born in New York. Manhattan. Her family’s here, so the wedding was planned accordingly. Now at this table the two families intermingle on the happy occasion.

  Only my mother knows what I’m emotionally carrying tonight. I told her all about Zan and Africa. I’m sure she told my father. But as far as my brothers go I haven’t shared the depth of the relationship. Not that I need to, because the news will trickle down. Even if they know, I don’t think anyone else has listened to the news today. Rightfully so, they’ve had their minds on the wedding.

  “I’d like to propose a toast,” Doug says rising.

  The tapping of his knife on the fine crystal gets everyone’s attention.

  “Here’s to James, who is about the greatest big brother a man could hope for.” The table full of enthusiastic champagne drinkers offer whistles and applause. “And to his lovely Susan.”

  “Well said!” Susan’s inebriated father calls, wiping a tear from his face. “Welcome to the family, James!”

  As Doug takes his seat, and the conversations resume, my brother Tony leans in to my side. “I heard about your boyfriend’s brother. I’m sorry,” he says in soft tones. “Christ, Belinda. Be careful. If a member of their family can be targeted, so can you.”

  I nod my head in acknowledgment. “It’s awful. I just found out about it this morning. Don’t worry. I’ll watch my back.”

  “Are you actually getting serious with this guy? Mom said you two are pretty tight already.”

  His eyes narrow and his brows come together in mock concern. But I know him like I know myself. He’s one hundred percent concerned. Tom’s blue eyes always have given him away. Whenever he gets serious they change from sea to storm.

  “I’d say she’s right. It’s real, Tony.”

  I forgot for a moment what a straight line it is from my mother to my brothers and sister. It’s the Banks superhighway of family news. Nothing stays hidden for long. We’re up in each other’s business. It’s a given. Only my father is disinterested in our gossip about each other. Every family needs one person who doesn’t pry. For us it’s Dad.

  “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were in love with the guy,” he says, looking as if he hopes he’s wrong.

  I shoot him the side eye. “Yeah. That’s exactly what’s happened. His name is Zan. Prince Zan.”

  He locks eyes with me and processes my words and expression.

  “I’ve never known any man who made you have that look on your face.”

  “What look?”

  “Determination.” We chuckle at his accuracy for reading my face.

  “I’m going back to Africa in a couple of days. I promise you I won’t put myself in harm’s way.”

  “Uh huh. I know your idea of harm’s way and the rest of ours are two different things.”

  “I’m a journalist, Tony. But this time I have Zan looking out for me. Don’t underestimate his desire to keep me safe.”

  “Okay. Just make sure to send me his number so I have a way to get ahold of you should your cell lose battery or you don’t answer my calls.”

  He’s so transparent in his love and brotherly concern. He knows even the Royals aren’t necessarily safe from those who seek to do them harm. So, he’s thinking what chance I have if someone targets me.

  “I see your concerns. Let’s not think of them tonight or tomorrow. Okay? Let’s try to be here for James and Susan.”

  His hand reaches for mine and squeezes his answer.

  * * *

  Our table of ten worked out well. My parents, Aunt Dora, my siblings, and their dates make nine. I’m number ten, with no plus one. I can see Soraya and Graham three tables back. Their tablemates look like fun people. They’re laughing and talking animatedly.

  This whole day I’ve tried to put on a happy face. Behind the mask, it’s a different story. The real one. I can’t stop thinking about what’s happening in Mozia. I’ve hidden in the hotel bathroom a few times, checking for news updates. Each time I leave the table, Soraya follows and joins me in the next stall. We’ve talked ourselves blue going over the details of the attack. Not much is known yet, but bits of information drip out like water from a spout.

  Otherwise, out with the guests, I’m subject to being asked to dance. I tried to say I was sitting it out. I even tried saying my knee was hurting. Apparently no one was buying any of it. Relatives feel bad I’m without a dance partner, so they’ve taken turns asking me to dance. Whenever there’s a break between Uncle Delbert and cousin Kurt, I’m approached by the bride’s side of the family. Obviously distracted sad face draws men like flies.

  I keep checking my cell for text messages, keeping it hidden under the edge of the tablecloth. It’s not an exaggeration to say I’ve looked at least fifty times throughout the day. Scrolling through as if I’ve somehow missed one he sent. Nothing. Then I feel a tap on my back.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  Chapter 21

  Zan

  “I need to address the nation,” my mother says.

  Her face has changed over the last few days. I saw a ghost of this look after my father died. But now grief is etched in her skin. Sunken cheeks and eyes that look far away.

  “Yes. They’re going to be wondering and we both know what about.”

  My mother has started this new habit of pacing. Whenever she’s deep in thought or weighing the merits of something, she practically wears a path in the carpets.

  “Where is he?”

  “I spoke to him this morning and he said he’d be here around noon.”

  Her eyes dart to the ornate clock on the mantle. It reads one twenty. Fucking Kwai. The whole becoming a man concept didn’t take. He returned to the house immediately after hearing the news, but I smelled alcohol and weed on his breath. I think his intentions were there, but Tarik’s death and the aftermath kicked him back to his default setting. There was a moment there when I thought his eyes were asking for forgiveness.

  He’s suffering like the rest of us, and for that I have empathy. He’s not as equipped as I am. That’s the hard truth. My suffering has made me strong. Maybe I’m just pissed and it makes for harsh thoughts.

  “Belinda comes today?” my mother asks out of the blue.

  The thought of that first look improves my mood instantly. “Yes, the driver is picking her up at four.”

  “I want to talk to you about her.”

  That one surprises me. “Let’s talk.”

  She comes and sits in the club chair.

  “What happens going forward with you and Kwai will determine our country’s future. All life decisions must be made with that in mind.”

  “What exactly are you saying?”

  She locks eyes with me. “I’m saying you must consider more than your heart. Just make sure you choose your mate wisely. It wouldn’t do to have someone who can’t devote themselves to Mozia.”

  I take in the information she offers, but it really doesn’t alter how I think of Belinda. I’ll keep that to myself for a while. Why is she even bringing it up? I can be with a commoner. I am a commoner.

  “Everything we do now takes on a weighted meaning. Your time as prince is about to be redefined. Have you heard the grumblings?”

  The queen always has had her ear to the ground. My father used to say she knows things before they happen. So what’s this?

  “From whom?”

  “Our people. They want to know who’s going to be king. And what’s our answer? I want to know too.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Only that Kwai seems to be our only choice. And that’s a bad way to choose to be governed. The people know his ways.”

  “Maybe he can rise to the occasion and opportunity. He’s not a bad person.”

  She stands and resumes pacing. “You don’t have to tell me that. I gave birth to the boy. I love him as much as you or Tarik. But I’m not about to fool myself into thinking he could lead us. It would end badl
y for the people, for the country, and even for us.”

  “What do you propose to do? I can’t ascend the throne.”

  “I just want you to know I’m weighing the idea of…”

  She pauses just long enough for me to know I’m about to hear some radical idea.

  “I’m contemplating having a general election. If the people can choose their leader, they’ll choose you. That’s what’s best for Mozia.”

  “But it will end the monarchy. And I’m not certain I’d even be good at the job.”

  I actually am. I might be great at it. But I’m not about to go there now. Not until I take this all in.

  The tears streaming down her face tell me how even the thought of that is ripping her heart out. I’m shocked too.

  I go to her and wrap her in my arms.

  “You don’t have to decide on this now. We’re too close to the tragedy to think clearly,” I say.

  “I’m thinking clearly.”

  “Wait. Let’s brainstorm what our options are and consider what’s best. Our country and its citizens have just taken two big hits. They’re feeling upside down, just as we are. Everyone needs to quiet for a while. Mother, I beg you not to make any rash decisions. Please.”

  “Alright. I guess it’s best to take all the time we have.”

  “I am right. We haven’t looked at all the pieces of the puzzle yet. There’s an answer short of ending the monarchy. I’m sure of it.”

  “Just answer me this, son. Do you think you could lead this nation? Because I do. So did your father.”

  Her words settle in my mind. But it’s my heart that feels the impact. What would that mean for the love I’ve just found?

  * * *

  This is fucking torture. Waiting for Belinda at my house was the only way it was going to work, but it sucks. The entire family is being watched closely now, so going to the airport was out of the question. It’s bad enough that at least thirty camera crews are outside the gates.