BABY ROYAL

by Bella Grant

  Eli knew he should be talking to more sensible people now, but their comments and jeering provoked him, and he found it difficult to remain silent. “Am I missing something here?” Eli asked. He would have preferred to be in the comfort of his home, but he knew he had to report to the king by the morning. “What’s going on? I thought you loved the king.”

  “Love the king?” a robust man’s voice boomed, and the slow-turning night was pierced with the laughter of the other people gathered there. “What has the king done for us lately?”

  “What are you talking about? He has given you food, shelter, lowered the taxes, provided water, education for your children.”

  “And what about jobs?” someone who had just joined the growing throng asked. “I haven’t worked in months, and without money, we can’t get the food you talk about. We barely see the king. All we have is you.”

  “But you’re farmers. And he gives you supplies. What jobs are you talking about?”

  “How about health?” a woman with a child about two years old straddled on her hips asked. “I don’t have money to go to a doctor when my son gets sick. What about that?”

  “Fine. I’ll tell him that,” Eli hastily offered.

  “No!” the first man interjected as he tossed his can aside and stood. “How many times have we heard this talk? Every few months there is a great show of pity for the ‘poor villagers suffering outside the castle walls.’ He sends us some hay, lumber, and hosts a grand ball like we are supposed to be grateful. They think that’s enough! It’s not!” he spat, his jaw clenched.

  “Yeah!” the crowd echoed.

  “Mason Wyatt has given us more than our king!” he shouted.

  “Yes! He has,” members of the crowd echoed in support.

  Eli looked to Nathaniel for support, but he remained silent – a solid show of support for the villagers’ comments.

  The number of people had swelled since Eli had reached the square, and he looked around nervously at the angry mob. They seemed ready to drag him through the streets, and he felt overly self-conscious standing among them. He had to offer them something worthwhile or he would be ostracized both from the village and the castle.

  “Wait. Wait! Calm down,” Eli called to them, his voice shaking as much as his hands as he held them out. “What is this about Mason Wyatt?”

  “He gave me a month’s supply of baby products just last week,” a woman bellowed.

  “And I’m supposed to go to the city tomorrow to get my travel documents,” an elderly man called. “I’ve never gone anywhere, thanks to the king.”

  “Yeah,” another woman echoed. “Most of us have never set foot off this island. The king thinks we don’t want to travel as much as the royals do?”

  Eli was in awe. He quickly understood why the king and queen felt so much unrest. They were losing popularity, and quickly. Something had to be done, but there was nothing he could offer on their behalf. Mason Wyatt had stolen the show and was slowly winning their hearts. If the royal family lost their seat, what would happen to him? His head swelled as the blood roared in his ears, making them burn. Sweat beads popped up on his brow, and he used the back of his hand to wipe it away.

  “Come on,” Eli begged. “The Burgesses have been in power for over a century. You don’t know what this Mason Wyatt will do if he gains control.”

  “Well, it can’t be worse than what’s already happening,” a voice clamored through the din. And the heads of the members of the throng nodded in unison.

  “But there must be something they can do. You can’t just…just change your minds about who is king.” He was sweating profusely now, and his throat felt parched. He clasped his neck as the air forced its way from his lungs, and his head began to swim.

  “Oh yes we can. We are doing something,” the first man roared. “We want another leader.”

  “Don’t be an idiot!” Eli fired back. “Just…just wait, and let me go back and tell them what you want.”

  “I have an idea,” a shadow said from the back. The man wore a dark suit, and his face was hidden under a black felt hat. He was smoking a pipe, and he puffed the smoke into the air. Everyone turned to face him.

  “What?” Eli asked eagerly as he shifted his weight impatiently.

  “We will forget about Wyatt under one condition.” He grinned.

  “Speak for yourself,” the first man shouted.

  “Yeah!” the crowd echoed again.

  “Wait,” the bold stranger said calmly. “Hear me out.” He turned and waited until the crowd was silenced. “The king, the queen, and the prince hide behind their marble walls, barely driving by us in their expensive car, windows rolled up, showing they are better than us. And why? Because they are. We don’t have cars. We don’t even have a bus. We have to walk everywhere, or use carts. We don’t eat steak like they do. We get fish from the river, and whatever we plant, or from the livestock we raise. The king and queen will never understand us unless they get a taste of what it’s like to be one of us.” He stepped up to Eli, tapping his chest for emphasis.

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean one of you? They can’t be one of you. They are royalty,” Eli retaliated.

  “They are nothing without us,” the man continued adamantly. “If the king wants to keep his throne, we need a show of faith. A sacrifice, in other words.”

  Eli was dumbfounded. “A sacrifice?”

  “Yes, a sacrifice,” the man repeated.

  “Such as?”

  The heads of the crowd moved back and forth between Eli and the negotiator. The place was stilled, and everyone was as curious as Eli.

  “We will serve the king if he proves he doesn’t believe he is better than us… if Prince Jason agrees to marry a woman from town. That way we will be forever linked.” He had a wicked gleam in his eye, like he knew he was asking the impossible—like he was daring Eli to reject his offer and watch the kingdom fall into new rulership.

  “What?” Eli cried. “You know royalty can only marry royal blood.”

  “And royalty will only remain royal if we allow it,” he challenged. “So, the way I see it, either they show us their loyalty, or we take ours.”

  The majority of the people nodded in agreement, and Eli searched their faces for even one logical soul. There was none. They agreed. He had only one thing left to do. “All right, all right,” he said. He looked worriedly at the mob and sucked in a lungful of air. “I will return with your request.”

  The king and queen would never agree to a thing like that. But what else could he have done? They didn’t want money, or jobs, or food. They wanted equality—a hard price to pay for loyalty. If he’d thought his legs were heavy on the way to town, they were even more so on the way back to the castle.

  He wasn’t even half way when he heard music and laughter. The villagers had already moved on. Meanwhile, he was stuck with the message that could mean his undoing. He was anxious about what the king and queen would say and whether he would be forced to go back to the people with better news.

  The guards let him pass, and the large doors, like before, opened as he got to them. The king and queen hadn’t rested since he had left, and Queen Clarise ran to Eli, eager to hear what he had to say.

  “Well?” She clasped his hand and looked into his eyes with hopeful ones.

  He couldn’t remember if he had ever been so close to the queen, close enough to notice her green eyes, her smooth skin, and feel the softness of her touch.

  “Did they ask for anything? What did you tell them? Did you tell them we want to know how to make this work? For God’s sake, Eli, say something,” King Jaimie commanded when the pressure building overwhelmed him.

  “I did tell them you wanted to make things right. I told them they could get food, more water, less taxes, better transportation. I knew you would give them anything. I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. Mason Wyatt has been giving them what they lack, and they are threatening to boycott the royal family.”

 
Eli was rambling, but he felt insecure—both in the knowledge that his status might be denigrated and at telling the king and queen of their final request. He skirted the issue, prolonging the inevitable in the hopes that he would find the nerve.

  “Oh my.” Queen Clarise covered her mouth. Her eyes widened in horror, and she turned quickly, the train on her dress swirling on the floor as she did.

  “Okay,” King Jaimie said hurriedly. “We’ll do more to make them feel our presence and that we care. Maybe we offer more luxuries…” His voice waned as he started naming what he thought made sense to regain their trust and loyalty.

  “That’s not what they want,” Eli interrupted, and his shoulders sagged as he prepared to deliver the bad news—the offer that would never be accepted.

  King Jaimie and Queen Clarise faced him. “What do you mean? What do they want?” she asked and knitted her brows in worry.

  Eli sighed. “They say you treat them as inferior, that you act like you are better. They say if you want to retain their loyalty, you will have to make a sacrifice.”

  “What kind of a sacrifice?” Queen Clarise asked again. King Jaimie seemed too astounded for words, as if he was waiting for the axe to fall.

  “They want to feel like they are connected to you somehow. If Prince Jason married one of the girls from town, they would feel as if you are really invested in them, and that you aren’t…condescending, for want of a better word. That way, the two worlds will always be joined.” Eli closed his eyes as he waited for the negative response, and maybe an unexpected beheading.

  “Done!” King Jaimie yelled.

  “What?” Eli asked, shocked they so readily agreed.

  The king and the queen exchanged glances, and the king said, “If that’s what it will take. Send word that Jason will be in the village by next week. He will stay there until he finds a suitable bride among the villagers.”

  Eli could not believe what he had heard, but he nodded and left. The last thing he heard was a sigh of relief from Queen Clarise and a whisper of thanks from King Jamie that they had a chance of remaining in their positions.

  Jason

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jason hurled when his parents gave him the order.

  “Jason, watch your attitude!” King Jaimie snapped.

  “But why do I have to go to that filthy place? I’ve never seen a pretty girl there, not in all the times I’ve gone through there.” He rushed to his mother and clung to her hand. “Mom, please, give them some money or something. They wouldn’t refuse that.”

  “They didn’t want money. Do you really think we offered you?” Queen Clarise asked him and took his face in her hands. “They asked for this, and if we want to keep them our loyal subjects…well, this is what we must do.”

  “Think of it as a small price to pay for living here and for the power and privileges you have,” King Jaimie added. “The faster you find a bride, the sooner you will return to the comfort of the castle.”

  Jason had just returned from Paris after a week-long visit to see some friends of his. What would they think if they saw him parading with those people? The thought alone repulsed him, and he shivered and stepped away from his mother.

  He raked his hand through his brown hair and backed away. “I can’t believe this.” He walked to the window overlooking the river. From there, he could see a section of the village, white and brown specks that made up roofs and walls. “How long do I have to be there?”

  “If you like, we can choose a girl for you,” his mother suggested.

  “Oh, God, no!” he replied quickly. “I’ll do it myself.”

  In reality, he had no intention of actually choosing any of them. If he had to be in the village, he would make a meal out of it. He was sure there would be plenty of women throwing themselves at him. All he had to do was pick one—maybe a different one every night—and have his way with them. That would teach them to make ridiculous demands of him.

  A sly grin crossed his face, which didn’t escape his mother’s eyes. “Jason, I know that look.” When he didn’t answer, she chased him down and grabbed his arm. “Do not do anything stupid!” she warned. “We have to play this right.”

  “Mom, I get it,” he said and tried to pry his arm out of her claws. “One bride coming up,” he growled as he walked away.

  The huge oak doors creaked shut behind Jason. He was fuming, and his fists balled against his designer jeans. He got to his room and swung the door shut. It didn’t make the projected slam, so he spun, ready to tackle the reason for it, when he saw Ellie, his maid, standing in the opening.

  “What?” he snapped, immediately regretting his tone. She had been there with and for him ever since he was eight. He relied on her for everything, and it stung him when he saw the disappointed look on her face. She sighed deeply and clasped her calloused hands before her.

  He wiped his hand down his face and turned about in torment. “I’m sorry, Ellie,” he apologized, like he was in pain. He wasn’t accustomed to it, and she was one of the few—if not the only person—he ever apologized to.

  “You know, Master Burgess, if I could help it, you wouldn’t be going to the village. I think that’s a bad idea, but…what can I do? Your mother asked me to pack some of your things, so here I am.”

  He walked over to the California king-sized canopied bed. It was way too big for just him, and he parted the chiffon curtain draped down the front end of the bed from the posts and sank into the soft mattress that molded into his shape. The bed was a custom-built piece, of course, and he spent each night in blissful sleep. He ran his right hand over the one-thousand-count cotton sheet that would soon be replaced by God knew what.

  “Go ahead. You know we cannot disappoint the king or queen,” he said sarcastically.

  “Master Burgess, I’m sure if they had a choice they wouldn’t be doing this either.”

  Ellie moved closer to him, like she had a secret to tell. He could smell the faint scent of flowers on her, which meant she had been tending to the garden before. Her features were hard, and she seemed older than her thirty-eight years. He hardly ever saw her hair, since it was always covered by a head wrap that matched the pale-yellow uniform all the house staff wore. Her eyes, though, were warm, and they always pulled him in, making him want to confide in her, as he often did.

  “I’m not ready to get married,” he replied, and flung the curtain back as he stood and walked around the room. “I just returned from Paris. Paris!” he repeated for emphasis, and spun on his heels to face her and gesticulated wildly. “The city full of lights and fun, dancing and drinking, girls and parties—oh, I wish I didn’t have to come back yet.” His eyes saddened and his face drooped. “Now I’m to be shipped off to the village.” He said the word ‘village’ like it was poison in his mouth. His face contorted as even the word repulsed him.

  “Because it’s a village doesn’t mean you won’t find a good wife,” Ellie said softly, obviously taking his disdain personally. After all, she used to live in the village before she became a maid in the castle.

  “Oh, don’t be a fool, Ellie!” Jason replied, without realizing her meaning. “What kind of wife can I find in a place like that?”

  “They aren’t all bad,” she repeated, hoping he would catch her meaning. “I mean, there’s the Millers—they have a beautiful daughter, Emma. She would be a good choice. Or Stefanie, over at the Brahams. She wants to be a doctor, I think.”

  Jason was quiet as she recited a list. He sighed deeply and interrupted. “Ellie, I don’t mean you. I know you come from the village, but you are different.” He returned to the window and looked across the green landscape at the brown and white dots that would soon be his temporary home. “I feel like I am being set up, you know. Like this is a game I can’t win.”

  Ellie clearly didn’t know what to say. She knew, as well as anyone else, that none of those women would be good enough for Jason. He was used to the finer things in life, and none of the girls would really sati
sfy him. To take him from the comfort of his home and thrust him into a life of little would not end well. Sure, he would still have his money, but he would have to socialize with people who were beneath him, and that alone would only add to his arrogance.

  She sighed and went about packing the things she thought he would need—bed linen, comfort jeans, white tees, socks, other personal items, loafers, sandals. While she was packing, she wondered where he would put all the things she knew he would want.

  “Hey, I am coming back, you know,” he said from behind her, and she jumped when he startled her.

  She pressed her left palm against her chest as it heaved. “I know,” she said breathily, “but I want to make sure you are comfortable.”

  Jason smirked. “Don’t waste your time.”

  He had no intention of staying in the village. Maybe he would hang around for a week or two before running off. Or he would pick the first woman who wasn’t a total slob. Either way, he would get out of living in that dump. On the up side, though, it would be great to live amidst his loyal subjects. There was nothing wrong with a little adoration. And it was his to command as long as he was there. That ought to do some good.

  He was in much higher spirits the following morning when he was packed and ready to go. The car was to take him to the village, where he would remain until he had chosen one of the village women to be his wife. Jason peered through the midnight black tint at the small, awkward houses that lined the streets. They weren’t handsome with their cobblestone or dirt walkways, battered awnings that fluttered in the slight wind that was blowing, the rooftops covered with debris and stones that served to keep the shingles in place, or black plastic coverings for the ones that leaked. He raised his eyebrows as the car cruised along, going slower than he was used to because children flooded the streets, playing catch and making shrill noises as they chased each other up and down the blocks. The driver had to stop a few times, and some of them, perhaps seeing a stretch limo for the first time, ran up to the window, cupped their dirty hands against the glass, and peered inside.