Aretha Socrates, after the sudden death of her parents, is thrown into the world of monarchy, prime ministers and bills. Now, she must decide what kind of king she intends to be: The one who saves her nation, or the one who lets them burn.
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I gazed at the brown porridge in front of me. It looked too much—to my dismay—like beans, the kind one would see in the dirty plastic plates of those deathly looking African children on the facebook page of UNICEF.
The fact that it was presented with what could be the most elegant and expensive porcelain bowl most of you would never lay your eyes on did not stop the vomit that threatened to push its way out of my throat, if I didn't get away from the bowl immediately. Or rather, get the bowl away from me, because I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Eyeing the woman in front of me, I noted that her head had not gone up since she placed the bowl on the Soban. Her ashy hair was held so securely on top of her head into a tight bun. A plain silver-coloured headband guarded the bun like the wall of china. The height of the monstrosity was what caught my attention. Not everybody's hair was meant to be in a bun, especially when it was apparent that she had very long and thick hair. Despite that fact, she was elegant and graceful, but at the same time, contained, with an air of bashfulness, like every servant in the blue house was required to be.
"Where is everyone?" I asked with an edge in my voice. This didn't look right. I was supposed to be served by six maidries. That was how it had been for the past three days. That was the rule, and it was an abomination for any rule in the nation of Eirene to be broken.
"This is the fourth day rule for mourning, Your Majesty." The maidry replied, her head still bowed, reminding me as though I was meant to understand the words coming out of her mouth. I scoffed. The Fourth Day Rule For Mourning? As if my life couldn't get any more terrible. I couldn't stand to stare at the maidry or the bowl of irritation she placed in front of me. "Please take this away, and don't come back."
The maidry made a move to bring her head up, but thought better of it and put it back down. "I'm sorry your Majesty, but I can't do that. You haven't eaten in three days your Majesty and—"
I slapped the plate out of the table, "That's because you people have been bringing me this irritation." It rolled to the floor, not breaking, because it was carved sturdy by the most skillful potters on earth, with the most rare and most refined Eirene kaolinite, it was made to last centuries. It didn't break, but it turned over, splashing the porridge first at the edge of the Soban and then all over the maidry's silk boubou. A flame of satisfaction lit up inside of me. A flame of satisfaction that quickly transformed into remorse when I noticed that the maidry didn't even flinch.
"Get away from me." I yelled. I couldn't endure this anymore. I just couldn't. Everyone had their limits. That cliff edge where they lose it all and never recover from the catastrophic consequences of their actions. I had reached that limit. And if she didn't disappear from my sight, I was going to take the bowl and confirm how hard one would need to hit it before it broke, and I was going to satisfy my curiosity on the maidry's head.
She would only stand there and let me bludgeon her to death, because I was the queen of Eirene, and she was merely a servant. No one would come rushing in, despite the fact that I was sure they watched intently in one of the many surveillance rooms in the blue house. I was the queen, no one would take their eyes off me for a second, and they would not barge into my mourning room and rescue the maidry, because if the fourth day rule for mourning was really what I thought it was, then this maidry was the only one permitted to come into this room for the rest of the day, and the laws of Eirene were more important than the lives of its citizens.
