The Princess

Chapter eight : Princess Siana

Sooner than I had prepared for, I found myself seated in my father’s ancient chair—its high back still whispering of his legacy—at the council table where the Seven Elders gathered like constellations aligned for judgment: Gaius, Enoch, Darius, Michael, Fredrick, Agar, and finally, the lone star among them, Lady Amiliana. Across the table sat my shadow in flesh—Alphonso. My nemesis. He seemed ready to ignite from within, like all the air in the room had fled to swell his bitter chest. Could he even breathe with that much arrogance choking him? I pondered in cool disdain, betraying not a flicker of discomfort, though the sight of his bloated, twitching face gnawed at my every nerve.

“We all know why we are here…” Elder Darius’s voice drifted through the room like the toll of an ancient bell. Eyes turned to him, reverent. He was the oldest among them, said to be touching a miraculous hundred and fifty years—though I often wondered if it was age or whispers of sorcery that preserved his presence. “...With Alphonso's challenge for the crown, standing equal in claim to Princess Sia, the Council permits both as heirs. But only one may sit upon the throne.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled like wind through dry leaves. I’d expected this moment, this verdict. “With that said,” Elder Gaius added, “we invite Alphonso to declare why he believes himself worthy of the crown.”

I watched Alphonso fidget, his beady eyes darting about the room until they landed on Elder Agar—a man whose soul clung to patriarchy like rust to iron. He had never concealed his disdain for me. Once, when I was still in my mother’s womb, he’d bet I was a boy. When I emerged with a cry and a crown of curls, my father had laughed; Agar had not. He never quite forgave reality for denying him a prince. That grudge still glimmered in his gaze.

“…Obviously, Sia—”

“My titled name is Princess Siana, Alphonso,” I said, smooth as a drawn blade, slicing his arrogance mid-sentence. He swallowed hard, fury knotting his throat. I could have laughed, but queens don’t cackle at fools. Not when they’re this close to the kill.

“You see?” he barked. “How she interrupts like a spoilt brat! That’s why I must rid the kingdom of her devilish temper. We can’t let our children learn such rebellion from the throne, can we?”

“That’s right!” Agar growled, like a loyal hound guarding stale ideals. I scoffed inwardly. Was that truly his argument? That I lacked decorum? What other threadbare reasons would he spin next?

“And also… I am a man,” Alphonso continued, puffing himself up. “As King, I can build powerful alliances. I won’t appear weak…”

His voice faded when he caught my smile—not the pleasant kind, but the kind that made silence ring like a sword drawn in moonlight. I was waiting, quietly sharpening my words, my will. Soon, it would be my turn. Then, I would speak with fire and clarity, tear down their pretenses, and remind the stars why they once crowned daughters as queens.

Patience, after all, is a virtue.

And patience, unlike pride, wears a crown well.