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Queen of Kings (Pt.2)
Published Jul 17, 2012


Written By

oldmember_lucianna88

Storyteller
16753Views4.5Rating

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Queen of Kings, Chapter 2 - "An unsuitable heir"

(Please read the Introduction and Chapter 1 if you haven't read them before otherwise this part will make no sense, you can find them on my page).

The late King's letter to his daughter, now Queen, continues...

Queen of Kings, Chapter 2 - "An unsuitable heir"

(Please read the Introduction and Chapter 1 if you haven't read them before otherwise this part will make no sense, you can find them on my page).

The late King's letter to his daughter, now Queen, continues...
All too quickly you and your brother grew, you were both walking and talking in the blink of an eye.

As we cleared out the nursery I looked around at the vast empty space, I listened to the echo, it saddened me that things were changing so fast- but such is life, I was powerless to stop it. Our small tiny babies were no longer that, they were fast-growing individuals with little personalities of their own.

And that is exactly what troubled me.
As the years went on the difference between you two was glaringly evident. Considering that you were twin siblings you never looked much alike on the outside, but more significantly you had become very different from eachother on the inside.

The good nature that was present in you from an early age was simply absent in Grantley.

What did I see when I looked at him? I saw my Father all over again.
He was such a rude young boy, he was so callous in his words, his sarcasm was cutting and his respect for others was non existent. Despite the attention and material goods he was lavished with he was never grateful for anything.

The words “he’ll grow out of it” constantly whirled in my mind as I tried to assure myself that immaturity was the root of the problem, but was it? Or was it early signs that he was one day going to be utterly unfit as a ruler?
He was foul to his maids and treated them like trash under his feet, “ghastly common folk” he’d mutter. Oh how it horrified me, he appreciated nothing. Grantley was number one in Grantley’s life, and I feared it would always be so. One day I shared my fears with Arbie. “What do I do?” I asked as we quietly played chess, “the boy is to be King one day, but so far he shows only contempt and annoyance for others. Will the reign of my Father be repeated in him?”.

Arbie said nothing for a long time, he didn’t have to, I knew he had the same fears. When he did speak it was to make a suggestion, “Perhaps your children are old enough now to visit the poor with you Nathaniel, they’re nearly ten-years-old after all. Maybe Grantley would learn humility, gratitude and respect for others through doing so”.

I agreed and decided to take his advice.
I decided that you two should both accompany me to the impoverished Stockhearst area in the East on your first trip to the poor. A few months earlier I had donated money to their small community in order for them to build their own carpentry to help them become self sufficient, I promised I would come back and see the business they had set up when it was ready. Today was that day. The inhabitants had heard my children would be present and they were delighted. They waited in great anticipation for their chance to see their young Prince and Princess and I was brimming over with pride, I couldn’t wait to show you both off.

“The carriage is here, come on, get in” I said, “what are you waiting for?”. Grantley ignored me. “Grantley doesn’t want to go” you informed me. “Why don’t you want to go, Grantley?” I demanded.
“Oh! Papa!” he groaned, “why would I want to visit the poor? I was supposed to go riding today, I don’t wish to spend the day with this country’s most unfortunate. That is not my idea of a day well spent!” I was flabbergasted. “You don’t want to?” I snapped, and for the first time I revealed my doubt to my son out loud, “then how are you going to be King someday? Pray tell! How?” I demanded.

I couldn’t conceal my disappointment in his attitude. Our carriage chauffer slumped around awkwardly and whistled to himself, a tune I don’t remember, apart from that there was pure undiluted silence.
With a great fury he looked me in the eye and icily announced “Well if YOU can be a King, anyone can!”.

His words wounded me more than any sword of battle ever could, like a dagger to the heart they pierced me. You see I had made some errors as a leader, all of us do, but I had always done my best, I loved and cherished my subjects and valued my country so very much.

As he stamped all over what I held so dear that day I realised beyond a shadow of a doubt that my son was never going to feel the same way as I...he would never love his country like I did.
In stony silence we journeyed onwards to the slums, again the whistles of the chauffer filled my ears, while the ever increasing problem of not having a suitable heir filled my mind.

As we arrived in our chariot we were met with the usual cheers and applaud that I had been accustomed to all my life, the people here had made the effort to come out to greet us and nothing was going spoil this day.

Or so I thought.
We stepped out and waved to the people while Grantley stood with his hands behind his back and a frown upon his face. “I’m bored” he complained, “it smells here”, “they’re all staring at me”, “can we go yet?” Soon I was informed that the locals had banded together to make welcoming gifts for you both, the village carpenters had crafted together something nice in honour of this special visit from their King and his Royal children. I found this to be a wonderful gesture, it had always been so important to me to help people help themselves, that was being a King was always about to me.

I was flattered by the actions of this little community. It gave me faith in humanity that people who had so little should offer gifts to my family.

If this didn’t humble my son then I didn’t know what possibly could.
But first we were to meet and greet the people. You and I shook their hands and chatted with them while your brother remained stubbornly stood on the sidelines and I desperately hoped that they didn’t notice his snobbery. You went to each person and gave them a friendly genuine smile. “Hello there Ma’am” I heard you to say to one lady, “my name’s Princess Vivienna, but you can call me Vivi. How’s your day going?” “Oh my, what a lovely shade of red your outfit is” you said to another. I watched with joy as you interacted and listened to them, you were a natural, a people-person... ...The masses always flocked you to like a moth to a flame, and so, it was then that it all began; it was there that a question that would nag at me for years to come would first enter my mind-

“Vivienna, why couldn’t you have been born first?”
The time came for us to be shown around the carpentry, the men proudly showed us what was going and explained the difference it was going to make to their community.

They would be able to sell tables, chairs, beds, cupboards, all sorts of things- useful things that would bring trade to them and set them on the ladder out of poverty, it would be a long ladder but it would be the beginning of a great change. I was delighted to see it all take shape.
“Now, how would you like to see your gift?” the jolly carpenter asked you, “say, do you like dolls, Princess?”. “I do, sir” you replied, “very much”. “Then you’re in luck....because we’ve built you your own special dolls house, just for you!” he beamed, “out of our finest woods, too, we hope you’ll like it”.

You smiled politely and thanked them, it wasn’t the most beautiful of dolls houses, in fact it was very plain but that wasn’t the point, you appreciated it anyway, and I assumed your brother would respond the same way.
“And for YOU, little Prince” the elder of the two carpenters announced gleefully, “We have a ship! A ship! It even floats on water like a real one! What do you think?”.

Grantley’s expression spoke what was in his heart, he didn’t need to express it in words, it was already crystal clear but sadly he chose to do so anyway.
“What do I think of it?” he seethed, “what do I think of it?”.

Every eye looked upon him and every ear listened, waiting for the answer.

“I think it’s a TOY. Do you men think I am a silly little baby? I am the Prince of Hoxley, ten-years-of-age! And you present me with a toy? This is just...insulting!”
“WHAT do I think of it???” What unfurled was a horrific display of ingratitude, I hoped my eyes were deceiving me and I wished the ground to swallow me up.

The sound of shattering wood reverberated around the small building and the gasps of horror from those watching from the doorway outside have never quite left my mind.

All the hard work of the carpenter’s hands was smashed to countless splinters and left in an undignified heap on the ground.
“THAT’S what I think of it!” I hung my head in shame and I apologised profusely. When I returned home I wrote a letter of apology to the community, and another, and another.

But the damage was done. Nobody would ever forget what had happened that day, most of all me.
I looked out over my precious realm the following morning and I knew I could never let my boy take this country from me. All that beauty that lay in front of my eyes would be in ruins if I did. I wouldn't allow it- I couldn't allow it.

Now now, not ever.

I had to come up with a plan...

Thanks for reading Ch 2 of Queen of Kings. I hope you enjoyed it.

(To be continued)!

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4 Comment(s) so far


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#1lish300Jul 18, 2012

love this story!

#2taj39759VIPJul 19, 2012

i've been waiting for this to come out.

#3TheRedCortinaJul 19, 2012

This is an unusual way to tell a story, but you handle it very well. Lovely narrative and your scenes/clothing are epic. Go you! :P

#4Lady ArielleJul 20, 2012

Really good writing....poor girl...having a brother like that...keep up the good work with your writing....\:rah\:\:rah\:\:\)\:\)

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