Royal Pain

by Pike, Leslie

  I don’t mind the newspapers or networks. I hate the paparazzi. Ghoulish men and women looking to profit from our grief. They’d love to get a photo of the queen crying. Better yet, one of us in a weak moment. Like Kwai. If he publicly got wasted or was in a situation that wasn’t respectful of the grieving process they’d be ecstatic. Those pictures would make money.

  My mother’s words are floating in my conscious and subconscious alike. There will be dreams tonight. One time, when I was a boy, my father told me I had the gift. I can’t get the memory out of my mind. When I asked him what the gift was, he said, ‘The ability to see in dreams what hasn’t yet happened’.

  At the time I was excited and a little scared. Until he told me he had the gift, and his father before him. He asked me not to tell my brothers, because they didn’t have it.

  It was the only secret we ever shared, and I kept it close. The thing was though, I never had that kind of dream, so I dismissed his prediction. And pretty soon I forgot about it at all. Until two nights ago when I dreamed of my father standing beside an empty throne and one next to it that was occupied by a woman. I could only see her bent elbow wearing long sleeves. I have no idea who she was. I knew the dream felt different, it was more like watching a movie. I wasn’t in the scene, I was the observer. That’s when my father’s words returned to me.

  What does it mean? He’d always be able to decipher the images he saw. Maybe it just takes practice, because I’m not sure this one is anything but literal. The throne is empty because no one in our family can take its place.

  I need to think. It’s the most important decision of our lives, as far as the future of Mozia goes. The only way forward may be through my mother. Why couldn’t she assume the throne? Obviously she’s considered the path, but for reasons known only to her she’s rejected the idea. I’m going to find out why.

  I hear the tires on the gravel, then the sound change as the car pulls onto the stone drive. She’s here!

  Putting my coffee down, I head for the door. When I swing it open she’s already out of the car, running to me.

  “Baby!” I say, scooping her up in my arms.

  “I missed you so much,” she says before the kiss.

  Her mouth tastes like honey. It’s forever sweet. I set her down so I can hold her tightly in my embrace.

  “I need you here,” I say, whispering in her ear.

  “I know you do. I’m here, baby. Let me love you.”

  All this time Driver has been doing a bang up job of looking the other way. He retrieved her suitcases and placed them inside the house.

  “Thank you, Jeffrey,” she says to the retreating figure.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

  I’m so used to controlling my emotions. As a member of the Royal Family it’s required. You can’t be like normal people who cry when they’re sad or yell when they’re pissed. There’s this expectation that you should be more in command of your feelings.

  We walk inside and when she looks at me with those big blue eyes, I see her deep compassion. All the guards I’ve protected my heart with vanish. I let go. I’m crying. There’s no holding it back now. The torrent of grief rains down. It doesn’t rattle her. Arms surround my neck, she pulls me close, until my head rests on her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” I choke out the words. “I’ll stop in a minute.”

  “Don’t apologize for your sadness. It’s the right response.”

  I hear the quiver in her voice. She’s crying too, and that lets me lower the remaining walls. My tears are real. They come from my soul, and are the result of such a deep heartbreak it’s indescribable. My brother is dead. The harsh words rise in me.

  “Tarik! He’s gone, Belinda! Oh God!” I cry to a god I’m doubting exists.

  She pulls me closer, kissing my cheek. “I know my love, it’s the most horrible thing that could have happened. I’m here with you. I’ll hold you and love you through the pain.”

  “Fucking God! What kind of fucking creator would do this to such a good man?”

  Instead of trying to prove the existence of God, she lets me rant. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t. My voice finds its strength again. The crying slowly abates until it settles to quiet.

  She holds my face in her hands. “It’s good to let yourself feel. You’ve been in control of your emotions long enough. You’re always holding back a little.”

  “That’s why I love being in New York so much. I can call out a guy who’s acting the fool and not worry about everyone knowing about it. I think I’d die without those random moments of privacy.”

  I take her hand and lead her toward the bedroom. She tosses her purse on the chair just inside the door.

  We undress quietly. She unbuttons my shirt and I unzip her dress. Shoes get kicked off, and her jewelry is put atop the table on her side of the bed. She notices the picture I framed of us on safari, and smiles at the memory. We look so happy in each other’s presence. And we are. Here in this bedroom, out in the brush, just talking or making love. Hell, we don’t have to do a damn thing to know that if we’re together, it’s a good day.

  Her bra drops just as I push down my boxer briefs. Now there’s no other thoughts in the way of what’s right before me. What I see here is enough. Her beautiful body can heal me. I know it. She gets into the bed and throws back the covers on my side.

  “Get your naked self in here,” she says.

  I lose my watch and crawl in after her. Ohhh. Skin on skin. The scent of perfume and the feel of breasts. Her pretty feet rub against mine, toes wiggling. Hold me tight. Never let me go, love. It’s everything. I get lost in her kiss and find my center. It’s Belinda.

  Something intangible passes between us. Saying it’s a feeling is an understatement. She makes me think of the future. Knowing her even makes sense of the past. And there’s a feeling of belonging I’ve never felt before. In every way I’m hers, she’s mine. And that sort of love creates a third being. Us. It’s clear I’ve never understood the real meaning of the word. Who knew it was a spiritual concept? She’s the light that shows me the way home.

  It’s not of this world.

  And suddenly the truth surfaces. Love is the strongest argument that God is real.

  Chapter 22

  Belinda

  The bouquets of flowers are at least ten deep, and they surround the entry to the palace grounds. Reminds me of when Princess Diana died. I was a child, but I still remember the striking images. And now here, I’m feeling the same sense of respect for the passing of someone beloved.

  When we drove through the streets this morning, we saw people had hung the colorful flag of the country. The red, black, and yellow striped background with the emblem of Mozia is outside most homes. Black ribbons are tied on each pole to honor the passing of the heir apparent.

  I’m taking notes for the assignment and also for the bigger piece I’ll be writing. The queen has been very forthcoming about how the passing of the torch was to be from King Manza to Tarik. That’s as far as we’ve got up till now, and the backstory is fascinating. To hear about the advantages and disadvantages of being born Royal is eye-opening. She’s candid while being respectful of her duties.

  No wonder the people love her.

  This is the first meeting with her that Zan isn’t present for. He told me that’s how she wanted the interviews to be conducted. But now that she’s comfortable with me, I’ve been allowed to have private meetings. Zan was as pleased as I was when she released him from having to be here today. He respects my professionalism and doesn’t like the watchdog job.

  So, today it’s simply the queen and I sitting in the garden, having coffees.

  “Your Majesty, going forward, how do you see this next chapter? Is Kwai to be king?”

  She looks up from her cup and sets it down on the iron table. “Please turn off your recorder.”

  I immediately do as asked. “I
t’s off.”

  “What I’m about to say is off the record, Belinda. I trust you will follow my wishes.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I value your honesty and know the privilege I’m afforded by having access to you.”

  “Then let me tell you something that may surprise you. It may actually change your life. At the very least it will frighten you.”

  I’m a bit stunned by her words. What’s she going to say that could change my life? Or frighten me.

  “You’re the first person I’m voicing this to. But I need to see and hear your reaction.”

  “You’ve got my undivided attention,” I say. Truer words were never spoken.

  “I understand you have lived in a democracy your entire life. And I’d guess you wouldn’t want to change that for anything.”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s how the people of Mozia think about the Monarchy. It’s what is familiar. It’s worked beautifully for our country over the last few centuries. There were pockets of trouble, as there is with all forms of governance. But by in large we’ve thrived under the rule of a king.”

  “Yes. I’d agree.”

  “Here’s the dilemma I’m in now. The king has died. His heir has died. The next person to inherit the throne is not right for the job.”

  Oh shit! I didn’t see that coming. She’s telling me about Kwai.

  “I see the look on your face. Are you surprised I’m telling you that?”

  “A little. But I thank you for being candid.”

  “Let me say this, I love my boy Kwai. On one level he’s my favorite child. I think we mothers always love the weakest child a little more because they need us so desperately.” I stay quiet, hoping she keeps talking. “I’m telling you this, off record, because I have to tell you a greater truth.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve looked at this from every angle. I gave great thought to claiming the throne for myself. I could do that, and rule till Tarik’s son comes of age. But I know in my heart it’s not the right choice. We’re at a crucial time in our history. A crossroad. It’s going to take a younger mind and someone who has a depth of understanding about the world stage. So there’s really only one choice for king, in my opinion.”

  I’m still confused. “Who, Your Majesty?”

  “Zan.”

  One word.

  She’s right, it stuns me.

  “Zan as king? Can that even happen? I thought the line of succession was clear.”

  “It’s not. It’s been tradition that the eldest son inherits the throne, but there’s no law stating that it must be that way.”

  I have a million questions, but just one comes to mind. “Does he know you’re thinking of this?”

  “No. I haven’t told him yet. I want him to come to the idea himself. And I wanted to talk with you first.”

  My mind is swimming. “Why me?”

  She reaches for my hand. “Because he’s in love with you.”

  I didn’t have any idea she knew.

  “Yes. We’re in love, Your Majesty.”

  “I have to consider that when I make a final decision, because you could become queen. I know the job. You have to be all in. It takes that kind of dedication.”

  What the hell? I’m flabbergasted, to use my grandmother’s word.

  “It’s very important that you consider your future. Maybe this kind of life wouldn’t suit you. It would be normal if that were the case. But I’m hoping you just start thinking about what’s possible. The possibilities for a life of meaning are great when you’re on the world’s stage.”

  “I’m just stunned. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Especially to Zan. I want to present it at the right time. I’ve got to take the temperature of the citizens, but I already know he’d be well received. I’m going to take the next few weeks to solidify my plans.”

  A weak nod of my head is all I can give.

  * * *

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Zan says. Tarik’s burial plot is on the grounds, but a bit too far to walk, so we drive.

  “Sorry. I was just lost in my thoughts,” I say, touching his shoulder.

  “You have been all week. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I’m thinking about the fact I have to go back to New York in a few weeks.”

  He takes my hand. “Well, don’t waste it dwelling on the bad news.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Maybe I’ll tie you up and never let you leave the bedroom. That would work.”

  We drive another mile or so, and come to an entrance of a walled-off garden. A beautiful tiled sign reads Where the Angels Rest.

  “Here we are,” Zan says, pulling up to the structure. “Let’s go visit Tarik and my father.”

  He comes around to my side of the car and opens the door. Every damn thing he does is right. Kingly. That’s what I’ve been doing this entire week. Thinking of him as king.

  Our steps sound on the gravel path that starts at the entry and winds through the rolling field of grass. It’s so beautiful here. Peaceful. There’s nothing funereal about the site. Flowers of various types dot the rises.

  “It’s really beautiful here,” I say.

  “I think so too. I know the souls have gone on, but it’s us who need some sort of touchstones. It’s supposed to be restful to those still living. Some place for us to pray, or just think about the people who are laid to rest here. The ones we never knew, and the ones we’ve loved.”

  “I like that there’s no stone monuments. It’s so much more natural.”

  “That was my great grandmother’s doing. She had this built when her husband died. His plot is on the top of that far hill under the blossoming tree.”

  We walk the path, and here and there he shows me the names that sound so familiar to me. I wrote about these people. Now I’m standing at their graves in an intimate moment. I feel privileged.

  “Here’s where my grandparents are,” he says, pointing to the plaques that read King Tonlo and Queen Bethsheba.

  “Oh! My God. He was one of the greatest soldiers. I know his story.” My comment makes Zan happy. He likes that I’m knowledgeable and interested.

  “Yes! It’s cool you know our history. And as you know, Bethsheba is my father’s mother.”

  “She was the monarch who secretly ruled after his death, right?”

  “Yes. The people weren’t ready for female rule. It was another time, but I think there’s still some holdover in that way of thinking. But she had courage and she was smart. Mozia grew exponentially under her guidance.”

  “Of course, her eighteen-year-old son got the credit.”

  “That’s right, but only till he actually assumed the throne. Forever after he touted her rule and let the people know it was her who shaped the country.”

  “Fascinating.”

  We continue walking, down the path, around a corner and through a canopy of trees. There up ahead stands a male figure, sitting on the grass in front of two bouquets of lilies. His arms wrapped around his knees.

  “Is that Nubia?” Zan says.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  When he spots us approaching, he stands.

  “Hi.” His greeting one quiet word.

  Zan gives him a hug. “Just having a visit?”

  “Yes. I come here most days. For a little while.” He looks at me. “It’s a good resting place, right?”

  “I think it’s about perfect.”

  He nods and gestures to the plaque. King Tarik 1983-2020 Beloved Husband, Father, Son

  “My mother didn’t want any mention of his martyrdom. This is a place for good memories.”

  This boy is sensitive and kind. I see it in him. We stand together and something beautiful occurs. Instead of prayers sent silently from thought to heaven, the boy starts to sing. I’ve heard this before. It’s a song of Africa. Of the beauty of the land and its people.

  Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t want them to see my crying. I bo
w my head and brush the tears away. Zan joins in and the two voices lift together, like an offering to Tarik. Christ. This is killing me. It’s filled with emotion and real love. Their loss is great, and each understands the others’ pain.

  When the last chorus is done, the voices quiet to a whisper.

  “That was beautiful, Nubia. The king is smiling,” Zan says. “Let’s visit your grandfather.”

  The boy just nods.

  We walk to the neighboring rise, where a blossoming tree stands. The plaque rests under the branches shading the spot.

  King Mansa 1955-2020 Beneath this stone lies the body of a Mozian warrior.

  The simplicity of the spot is breathtaking. Multiple groups of bouquets rest around his grave. It’s obvious the queen has chosen well. Both her husband and son honored with fresh flowers daily.

  “Oh, Papa,” Zan says softly.

  There’s no song this time, but both men stand respectfully offering their silent thoughts. The more I look, the more I see what a king is made of. It scares me, because not only am I learning there’s more to the job than imagined, but I see how Zan would do it so well.

  But what about being queen?

  Every time I roll the idea around in my mind, I want to laugh. What a ridiculous idea. I’m an American! I’m a journalist. There’s absolutely no way it would ever lead to that.

  First of all, the queen assumes our relationship might lead to marriage. That alone is a stunning thought coming from my boyfriend’s mother before it comes from him. Secondly, would Zan even be interested in becoming king? He’s been working for his people, his country, under the assumption he has no claim to the throne. And he’s liked it that way.

  But I can’t ignore the obvious. He’s one hundred percent capable. I just have to push down the little seed of a thought that’s trying to grow, that it’s his destiny.

  Chapter 23

  Zan

  Walking down the hallway, toward the conference room, Belinda pauses. She’s searching through her bag for the favorite pen. It always goes missing. I always find it. I open the outside pocket.