Red Circus

by Michelle Al Bitar

  She turned around, all of a sudden, and grinned. That time, it wasn’t Riley Red, the one fighting for her country. It was the Undead Red, the seductress who was going to dominate his body. The blueprint she had memorized said that there were no cameras in the king’s bedroom. His privacy was sacred, especially when he wanted to invite different maidens and women inside.

  Turning her to face him, he took her in and allowed his eyes to roam every inch of her bare skin. Desire swirled in the thick air they were breathing. By the next breath she took, the king’s long fingers supported the back of Riley’s neck as he forced her towards him. She shut her eyes immediately and disgust filled her. She wanted to back away, break the mirror, take the shattered pieces, and blind him with them. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his own neck and deepened the kiss. The king was groaning against her, his right hand taking a full grip of her breast.

  He’s going to do more if you don’t act now.

  Riley pushed her body against him harder until he lied flat on his back. She knew she was going to dominate, to control, to put the king under her mercy when all the tricky particles of her brain gathered and threw their influence on Christopher’s weakened mind.

  She was straddling him the same way she straddled her last customer before coming to the kingdom. The king of the East was not able to control himself, fixated and conquered by a mere circus performer. Riley let her body do the beginning of the job as she moved her hips against him. Once she felt him relax, her trickster alter ego roared as it wrapped the king in a world of illusion.

  She slowly stepped back and pulled the dress up her knees until it covered her entirely.

  “Red… fuck!” he groaned loudly. The guards ought to have heard him. That was evidence enough that she had not pulled any trick as far as they knew.

  “You got what you wanted, my king.” She faked a breathless groan. “You got Cirque Et Feu to come and perform, and you got me performing on you.”

  She stifled a seductive laugh.

  “I don’t regret it one bit.” The king closed his eyes and moved along her double. Her fake double body was giving him everything he wanted, everything he almost forced her to do.

  Riley Red stood against his dresser and sighed, watching him commit his sins alone. She tilted her head observing the scene intently and thought damn, my butt looks nice from this angle.

  “I figured the kingdom would get a better reputed circus,” she suggested.

  When he frowned and was about to stop, she quickened her pace and let her fake hands roam all over his responsive body. The king moaned loudly.

  “You do live up to your reputation, Red.” He let out a breath. “When I heard you were good, I didn’t know you—”

  She let her double slap him as her thumb shut his mouth. When he closed his eyes again and licked her thumb. She was about to gag and retrieved it.

  “Do tell me, my king. Why did you ask for us personally?” she finally inquired and impatiently waited for his answers. When he was getting too involved in her consuming body, she suddenly lowered her pace and started torturing him.

  “Why—”

  “Answer me… my king.”

  The king bit his lip and flipped her body underneath him. That was a change of events. Riley tried to control her double under Christopher, without letting her seem fake at some point.

  “I…”—He pushed further and stronger—“want… to make a TV show out of it.” He let out a ragged breath. “The people should stay busy with entertainment instead of sending millions of complaints to the kingdom every day and be too cowardly to sign their names.”

  A TV show? It is not just a mere performance. They want to make a TV show out of it. Son of—

  “Are there any westerners in the show?” she dared to ask.

  The king was about to stop when she flipped him underneath her again.

  “Riley—” He started but she did not stop. She wanted his confession one way or another. “Yes! Of course, there are!”

  He heaved a sigh and collapsed breathless on his stuffed pillowcase.

  A TV show…

  Western tricksters are going to run the show…

  Riley took a deep breath and glared at the king in resentment.

  I am not done with you.

  A silver link attached her brain to the king’s as she transmitted more designed thoughts into his mind. All the while, her double was yet again performing its acts of vengeance, temptation, and charm.

  Chapter 14

  The sound of a ringing triangle slowly knitted with the soft sways of the violin swam around the house in soothing waves.

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  Riley hopped on the bare cold ground of her half-destructed house. The east side of the modest home was merely holding up as its skeleton threatened to collapse at any tick of the rusty clock. The west side of the house, where Riley was standing, was polished with nice beige and peaceful colours. They complemented the slickly falling rosy curtains, shading the light from the little dreamy girl. She wanted to spin and perfect her ballerina swirl as the little girl on the music box whirled round and round.

  With each turn, Riley tripped over her own feet. Then she adjusted herself evermore and repeated the movement. It was as if the music was taking her in, swallowing her into a world of imagination and wonder where no reality could shatter her soul.

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  “Riley, be careful not to get closer to the vases.” Her mother stood at the living room’s threshold. “If you break them, your father is damned.”

  “I won’t, mother.” Riley, keeping her eyes closed, twirled once more before stopping and taking a deep breath. She had been moving for long and wanted to regenerate her energy.

  Mrs. Red turned the television on with the old broken remote, after fixing the green batteries inside again. A pale low-quality picture appeared as a projection on the wall.

  “Jesus Christ! The war will never end.” She placed her hand on her cheek. She was watching with awe the pain of the people on the screen.

  Riley suddenly stood straight and started contemplating the returning soldiers silently. The military from several parts of the East were returning from battles with the Serpents. More than half of them were dead, decapitated, tortured, slaughtered… And the other half returned with scars that would ruin their psyche for eternity and thrust them to the edge every time they would reminisce how they had witnessed their friends being murdered one by one right next to them. Mothers were wailing the deaths of their sons and daughters and raising their voices to the king to compensate for their loss, but they were all washed away by fake soothing words and empty promises.

  “What will happen to the dead?” young Riley inquired, oblivious of the catastrophes the war could implant.

  “Most probably, the royal guards will send their teams to clean up the corpses after the Serpents attack other areas,” Mrs. Red speculated.

  “That is quite nice.” She smiled.

  “They should not have been dead in the first place. The West creates the Serpents then pretends to send their soldiers to help the East? The k—” Mrs. Red stopped. She could not continue. They were watched every second, especially because she worked for the royals.

  “Do not fret, mother. The king is protecting us.” Riley smiled again and muted the telly before turning on the melodies of the music box and twirling to the sound of innocence.

  With every weep of a mother, Riley span a full circle. With every soldier coming back, she jumped higher and higher.

  Her mother leaned against the doorframe and took a deep breath as she watched illusion wrap its arms around Riley and waltz with her in light undetected steps.

  “I expect you to bewilder a charming man who could grant you the life your father and I could not. Charm him, Riles. Your spirit is as fiery as your hair. Use it.”

  Slow, classic violin music started swimming through the ruined halls again.

  Riley slowly opened her eyes as reality hauled her
out of her small piece of imagination interspersed with a fading memory. The dark colours of the king’s room started to look familiar, and the events of the previous night did not leave her mind completely. She shifted to the left and tried to feel the king’s pillow, but it was empty. Instead, next to her, a tray full of the most delicious breakfast she had ever seen was waiting to be eaten.

  Extended a long glossy black table in the middle of the large decked hall, the Symposium was one of the largest chambers in the castle, where leaders from around the world, the Assembly, and other consultants gathered to discuss eastern and western matters. The conducted meeting in this chamber held more secrets than the entire kingdom could fathom. Mysterious deaths haunted some previous members of the Assembly as they secretly conspired against previous kings. During the Age of Queen Caroline Freedian, daughter of King Ezra Freedian, the main consultant was attacked during his trip to the South in his submarine. Many of his men drowned along with him due to mechanical errors in the vehicle. For that reason, the walls of the Symposium were soundproof and protected the darkest decisions of the Assembly. Frescoes covered the dark blue walls, telling the all-so-heroic tales of the history of the East. The floor covered secret passages with silk Opesan rugs broidered with golden threads. The stomping of the king’s feet on those rugs did not mark any evidence of his presence. His red Sicilian brocade robe floated behind him as he took a seat at the top of the large table. All the attendees became reticent as he sat down on the puffy chair with the highest splat.

  “My king.” Jonathan stood up, as did the rest of the Assembly. His father looked solemn as if he had no spirit to hear what any of them had to say. Since his father was in bad spirits, Jonathan would accept anything suggested just to get out of that hellhole.

  “Everybody, we may begin,” King Christopher spoke authoritatively. They obeyed and waited for his signal to start speaking.

  “Upon the words of former King Ezra Freedian, I, the king of Regitum, father of Noteram, and representative of the East, Christopher Freedian, shall tell the truth and make decisions based upon careful study and apply them in the sole purpose of helping the East develop without compromising any law stated by the previously mentioned king,” the king recited his usual line whenever a meeting was to take place and start.

  “We, members of the Assembly, swear by the words written by the former members of the Assembly, that we shall discuss and make decisions that shall only be accepted by the king, and that shan’t disagree with the laws stated by King Ezra Freedian,” they all spoke in unison then occupied their seats.

  “So,” the king started, already bored, “what did we come up with?”

  “My king,” one of the attendees said.

  “Commander Portland.” He gestured towards the head of the police department of Regitum. The man in the blue and red official uniform nodded politely at his master.

  “We were discussing the matters of North Caligo, and we see that it would cost the kingdom a significant amount of money to build the houses for the unemployed. However, there is another way.” He was soon interrupted by the head of the International Relations Ministry.

  “Did you really think we are about to waste a great deal of investments on such a poor country?” Charles Arnold laughed.

  “I don’t believe you are going to let the people line up on the pavements famished, Arnold.” King Christopher gave the man his side eye.

  The previous night with Red made him realize something. He was the king. He was able to get whomever he wanted to accomplish whatever he desired. Despite his endless powers, the West did control his decisions, but they did not control his ethics. He was their master. Even though lately, he had been doing nothing except the wretched comfort of the Elites.

  The line between his brows appeared when vivid memories of last night’s nightmares came to his mind. They were tarnished memories he could not get rid of. Visions of the wars and dead people he could not recognize approached him in bed. They were disfigured, moaning loudly, and crying incomprehensible words. Their skin started melting and soon he was invaded by the shadow skeletons of ghosts… of–of… soldiers who died in a war they had nothing to do with… of children with intact beautiful faces but a body of bones… All those people died because of him… The king rubbed his eyes and let out a ragged breath.

  “This is not my point, my king,” Charles argued. He certainly kept his voice low and his eyes fixed on the ornamented rings wrapped around the king’s fat fingers.

  “You said you were not going to build the houses. Then how are we to help them?”

  “I did not expel the idea. I was simply stating that there are far more important things to focus on… My king.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as the circus,” Jonathan contributed.

  The room went silent as the king’s consultant spoke. Jonathan relished in the power of his position as the king’s right hand. Though he thought his father would work with him and they would both come to a decision that would keep them on good terms with the West and at the same time undetected by the Assembly, he knew something had changed within the king.

  “Cirque Et Feu will perform on Independence Day and that is it,” King Christopher stated and relaxed back in his chair. He had a look of boredom and determination.

  Jonathan frowned as the Assembly looked nervous and astounded. What was wrong with him?

  “What do you mean that is it, my king? They should perform regularly in the show. That was the plan all along,” he reasonably argued.

  “Tell me one thing that would be of good use to Regitum, let alone the East.”

  “If I may speak, my king.” Elisabeth Browning, the minister of Visual Publication, chimed in.

  “Go ahead,” Jonathan said.

  “As we have discussed before, many of Regitum’s rebels are leading revolutionary groups in secret. They will work against the kingdom very soon. If we don’t act up, they will take over. They are multiplying.”

  “And you speak on behalf of whom?”

  She felt her cheeks colour. She knew he was sizing her up for being the minister of Visual Publications and speaking about revolutions. Jonathan stared at his father in confusion.

  “It would not be for the benefit of the kingdom to ignore such a fact,” Jonathan defended Elisabeth.

  “It would be for the benefit of the kingdom to start helping the people to stop the revolutions.” The king raised his voice starting to turn red.

  Craig Ranger, the head of the Pecuniary Affairs Bureau, cleared his throat.

  “With all due respect my king, if the kingdom chooses to help the poor parts of Regitum to start with, it would cost it an enormous amount of money. If we spend some of it on the show, it would only cost little money especially that it is going to be filmed inside the castle.”

  “We have western tricksters backstage. We won’t need any special equipment. It will all be an illusion. It will influence the people through the screen into believing that this kingdom actually cares for them,” Jonathan intensely argued.

  “Precisely!” The king landed his hand on the glossy table with a thud, leaving his handprint on the black surface as a mark of his anger. “We need to trick the people into believing they are happy but they are not!” Red’s words replayed in his head. “Why not be honest and fix the mistakes we have built through history. If we diverted from that blood-stained lore, we wouldn’t have reached this dead end. The people will make a revolution. If there are ones who will not be influenced by this show, they will gather up and form a new revolution. It will never end. I am sick and tired of the lack of sharpness in the Assembly. All you seek to do is destroy the beliefs of King Edward who worked upon his morals and won World War III, and follow the steps of his son Ezra who murdered his brother Roosevelt just to get to the throne. I will not be that type of king. Change is near and you better start getting used to it.”

  The king stormed out of the large room and shut the door behind him with a loud thump
. Everyone stared at the closed door.

  Jonathan heard someone else in his father’s voice. These weren’t his ideals. He would have drifted from the right track a long time ago if he believed in what he had just stated only moments earlier. But he knew his father. He did not care for anyone. He only wanted to live by the rules of the West and was too lazy to come up with a revolution like this. Half of the Assembly was made of westerners and the news would get to the authorities in no time.

  Rumours were crawling around the castle of a little visit paid at the king’s room last night. And his mind only set on one girl. If she were the reason behind this change of plans, he would ruin her.

  The king strolled inside his office. It was empty and neat as usual. As he sat behind his desk, he double tapped on the empty mahogany space, and a hologram of a flat screen appeared in front of him. He slid his hand to the right and pictures of world leaders, employees, and criminals dashed before him. He went to the activists’ folder and pressed on “Humanist Activist – Henry Crawford.”

  He wanted to make things right. He wanted to fix at least what he could with what remained of his reign.

  Chapter 15

  Thin snowflakes landed on the edges of the castle’s enormous windows. Snow lay on the grass like spread salt. The trees were losing their coloured leaves and enjoying the biting frost in their nakedness. Riley put on her summer dress as the castle very well-heated that it resembled summer days inside. She sipped her coffee and read the morning newspaper.

  Noteram Today

  Alleged criminal, Robert Peterson, was spotted two days after the national bank of Apricitem, the City of the Sun, has been robbed of exactly three million twenty-seven thousand dollars. Three days after the Regitan police hunted him down, he was found dead in his apartment.

  Robert Peterson… that name sounded familiar. Riley pondered for a while as she sipped her black coffee. Her friend Charbel had mentioned him once. He was a good friend of his. Robert was not a criminal. He had been framed for something he did not do, but the Regitan army—the royal army—did not cease on hunting him. She remembered he worked at the same secret society as Charbel, the one that helped lower class people and screwed with the Elites. They must have been on to him for they hunted him down and did not quit until they framed him with something the West had probably done.