Royal Reflections

Chapter FIVE

Lucille

“I am the princess," I proclaimed with as much authority as I could muster. “I summoned you here to tell me why I haven't been in contact with the prince. I also want to know more about the reported food shortages in various regions of Molave."

“Not all reports are accurate."

“Mrs. Drake, I'm reporting that I've barely spoken to my husband in weeks. That is accurate. As for the reports of food shortages, I took a tour of the western province yesterday. The grocer's shelves were nearly empty."

Stone-faced with resolve, Molave's chief minister, Mrs. Drake, stood before me. The only comment that caused a micro-expression was news of my tour. In the hierarchy that existed, I was above her. The unspoken reality was quite different. Mrs. Drake had access that I did not. She held closed-door meetings with King Theodore and Prince Roman.

“That isn't your concern," she replied. “It would be better if you didn't voice those thoughts publicly or in private with the queen or king."

Yesterday, when I sent an email to Mrs. Drake, I also sent one to the queen. The one sent to the queen hadn't been returned, and as for the chief minister, she was now here, in the province of Monovia at Annabella Castle.

Perhaps her presence was the answer from both correspondents. Mrs. Drake worked closely with the advisors to the royal family, affectionately referred to by many as 'the Firm.'

I'd first heard the term during my pre-marriage exercises. It wasn't my husband-to-be who mentioned it. The nickname came from Roman's sister, Princess Isabella. While we didn't exactly become quick friends, over the last few years, Isabella and I had established a rapport of sorts. Perhaps it was more of an understanding; nevertheless, it existed.

Molave had yet to follow other monarchies around the world in recognizing females as equal to males in their birthright. It wouldn't matter if Molave did. Isabella was five years younger than Roman. Which meant she was five years older than I.

Currently, thirty-eight years of age, Isabella had been married to the Duke of Wilmington since weeks before Roman's and my first anniversary. I later learned the princess had been forbidden to marry prior to her older brother.

If everything went as planned, one day I would be queen. The only way Isabella could ascend to that title would be in the case of Roman's passing and that of our children—the ones we don't yet have—and even then, it would require her husband, the duke, to renounce his duchy of Wilmington, a region outside the Molave state.

Due to conflicts of interests between the two countries, there had been discussion of renouncing the duke's title prior to their marriage. I wasn't privy to how the dilemma was settled, only that the two married, somehow keeping Francis's title intact.

While regent titles may never be bestowed upon Isabella and Francis, in the heir department, the Duke and Duchess of Wilmington wasted no time in producing their heir and a spare.

Turning away from Mrs. Drake, I peered out the library's large windows. The castle grounds beyond the panes were brightening with autumn colors. The summer heat was gone. Our Eurasia tour was over a month past, and from what I was able to glean, it had been a humanitarian and public relations success.

Foreign relations were given a less favorable rating.

Roman's ideals were not in alignment with his father's. The people of Molave as well as neighboring royalty didn't always approve of my husband's outspoken ways.

Once we returned to Monovia, Roman was summoned to the palace in Molave City. That was nearly a fortnight ago. I had only spoken to him a few times on the phone since then. The walls of Annabella Castle, where we called home, were beginning to close in around me, much like the choker I'd worn in London.

“Your Highness."

I nodded toward the seat opposite me in my formal library.

Mrs. Drake curtsied before taking the chair. “The Duke of Monovia is resting."

“Resting? Why isn't he resting here in our home?"

“The royal family is making every effort to keep up appearances." She leaned closer, lowering her volume. “The Duke's success is essential for Molave's future. Especially with the king's age, the duke has been under a tremendous pressure. That pressure has at times been reported as disagreement within the family. As you know, that isn't the case."

Sitting properly with my ankles crossed and my hands daintily in my lap, I made the same plea to Mrs. Drake that had fallen on deaf ears with Roman. “I want to help, ma'am."

“Your Highness?"

Exhaling, I lowered my chin and steadied my expression. “I read many of the news breaks regarding our tour."

“You really shouldn't believe—"

“While I was relegated to photo opportunities," I said, interrupting, “those endeavors were met with praise. If I could speak to King Theodore, I would implore him that allowing his daughter-in-law, the country's princess, to be an ambassador for Molave in a more substantial role than that of subservient wife would send a strong signal to the world."

A few of the news sources had been downright cruel regarding projections of Roman's wellness—physical and mental. Despite my personal feelings concerning my husband, I had once cared for him. I had made an obligation to be his wife. The way he grew rigid in public, was obviously distracted, and quick to disagree also had me worried. It was what I wanted to ask him about after our dinner at Buckingham Palace.

Roman despised weakness.

I knew that.

And while he wouldn't admit there was anything going on with him, it was visible to more than just me.

That perception of infirmity was why no matter what occurred behind closed doors, I maintained my strength in and out of his presence. Truly, I disliked the man I married, but I would take my vows to my grave and support him, the family, and the country.

Mrs. Drake sat unyielding, her neck rigidly straight and her lips pressed into a straight line. Her short hair contained a peppering of gray that on a man would be considered distinguished. The purple pantsuit she wore contrasted nicely with her black blouse and string of ivory pearls. Despite her position in the royal firm, the chief minister wore the customary heeled shoes and carried a small clutch that all females had.

It could go without mentioning that Elizabeth Drake had worked diligently to get to her position. Molave was not a shining beacon in the world of gender equality.

“Your Highness," she said placatingly, “if you were to step in and do the prince's duties, it would appear as if he were incapable."

Is he?

I didn't ask that.

“Or, ma'am," I countered, “perhaps it would demonstrate that the king sees both of us as capable."

“The family has taken steps to reduce the prince's stressors."

Taking a breath, I stood, paced near the windows, and turned. “Mrs. Drake, I will be frank. Roman is my husband and my place is as his helper. Stuck in this castle by myself is not a way for me to fulfill my role or my duties as his wife or this country's princess." I lifted my chin. “If you're unable to help me reach Roman or King Theodore, I will have no other choice than to reach out myself."

“You're not alone."

“No. You're right. I'm well taken care of. I asked for your audience to emphasize to you, woman to woman, that I am available to do whatever I am asked—and even what is not asked."

Mrs. Drake nodded. “I will take your pleas back to the king."

Walking toward my desk, I picked up my schedule for the day and then shuffled to one for the week. I lifted my chin, meeting Mrs. Drake's gaze. “Friday, Duchess Isabella is celebrating Rothy's second birthday at the palace in Molave City. I will be there."

“Yes, well, that was one of the items I came to Annabella Castle to discuss with you face-to-face. Your presence won't be required."

“Required?" My volume rose. “It is a birthday party for a two-year-old boy. Attendance is not required, it is requested, and I have accepted."

“Your acceptance has been overruled." Mrs. Drake inhaled and stood with a curtsy. “Princess Lucille, when you agreed to marry the crown prince, you did so with the understanding that you were subject to the royal family. At this juncture, the royal family is asking for your patience."

My patience had expired long before the disastrous Eurasia tour, long before my husband's struggle for power found one outlet—me. That particular component of our marriage was the one reason why up until yesterday seeing the food shortages, I hadn't pushed to reunite with Prince Roman.

“What is being done about the food shortages?" I asked.

“Perceived, Your Highness. It's simply a matter of distribution."

In a country the size of Molave, the majority of commerce was imported. Our country's energy went to refining the natural resources for export. The exports created wealth that didn't coincide with hunger.

“Yesterday, in the western province, I entered a grocer's," I said. “Empty shelves were visible not perceived."

“Are you without any of your amenities, Your Highness? Do you lack food," —she looked around the palatial library— “shelter, medical attention?"

“I do not. Neither should the citizens of Molave."

“There have been some tensions in mining. It's a wrinkle. Another stress on the prince."

Mining.

“If I may," Mrs. Drake said, “I am needed back in the capital. I will take your concerns to the royal family. I would urge you not to leave the castle grounds as you did yesterday. There has been a bit of an upheaval, and your safety is paramount. Another reason why traveling to a child's birthday celebration is ill-advised."

I pressed the button on the table near my chair. “Mrs. Drake," I said through clenched teeth, with a nod of my head.

The door to the library opened as Geoffrey, one of the castle butlers, entered.

“Your Highness." A nod and a curtsy, and Mrs. Drake was gone.

“Tell Lady Buckingham," I spoke to Geoffrey, “I wish for her audience."

“Yes, Your Highness," he said with a bow.

As he stepped away, I hurried to my laptop and began to type.

First, I tried Unrest in Molave.

The circle spun and spun, but nothing materialized.

Second, Food shortages.

Multiple articles appeared with news from around the globe, but nothing in Molave.

I was typing in: Mining tensions Molave as there was a knock and Lady Buckingham entered.

My gaze met hers. “Is access by my computers restricted?"

She curtsied and came closer. “Your Highness?"

“I can't read any of the news about Molave."

“What news?"

“Anything. I can access North America, the United States. I even see an article about King Felipe VI in Spain." My pulse began to race with each spin of the circle on my screen. “Here is something about a coup in Istanbul and an article about Borinkia." My gaze met hers. “How long has this been happening?"

Lady Buckingham's expression sobered. “The information available to you has always been vetted."

“What?"

“Only since the recent tour has it become more restricted."

I slapped the top of the table. “I read about the reactions to the prince."

She nodded. “While we were out of the country, yes. The vetting is more difficult outside the grounds of Annabella Castle. Since our return, you have been shielded."

Shielded.

“This is bullshit."

“Your Highness," she said with a hint of admonishment.

“Lady Buckingham, have my things packed. Tomorrow, I'm headed to the palace in Molave City to see my husband and attend Prince Rothy's birthday gathering."

“I was instructed—"

“I am going," I said with every ounce of determination. “And we will not announce my travel until it is underway. Is that clear?"

Lady Buckingham acquiesced with a bow of her head and a mention of my name.

Turning back to the windows, I stared out at the colorful leaves as my thoughts spun with questions, wondering what I'd missed while locked away.