Niq - New Adult

Chapter 7

Vix barges into my room just after dawn, swishing open curtains and dragging my covers off.  “What are you doing?” she demands.  “Get up.  We have to be at the coronation in an hour and you’re still in bed.”

“Go without me,” I whine, hiding my head under a pillow.

“Not optional,” she says, her sing-song voice grating inside my skull.  Vix charges into my wardrobe and selects a full length halter neck gown, in the softest honey-coloured silk.  “Put it on.”  She throw it at me.

I throw it back.  “I hate that dress.  I can’t wear a bra with it.”

Unruffled, she hands it to me again.  “Who cares?  You have cute boobs.”  I don’t deign to answer and Vix plops on the bed, suddenly serious.  “Niq, don’t give Parliament a reason to start looking closer at your life.  Put on the dress and let’s go.”

She right and I hate it.  I snatch up the dress and stalk off to the bathroom to change.

Half an hour later, Vix, Kazerine and I are stepping out of the limo and onto the purple carpet at Parliament Palace.  Photographers and screaming fans swirl on either side of the long walkway to the elevated platform where the other Queens are already seated.

Normally, I enjoy coronations.  It’s one of the few times almost every Queen in the city is in the same place, and with so many of us together, it seems like I’m not so alone. 

We are seated by age, so Vix and I have to squeeze past the little Princesses dresses all in pink and white, the babies in tutus and the older girls smiling gaily for the cameras.  The young teens look bored and the girls who have reached Fornication age preen in front of a million male admirers. 

I finally drop into a chair next to Vix.  On her other side, the Queens are much older, as most of the Harvest Queens are confined to bed, incubating.  Kazerine is only a few seats along from us, one of the youngest Queens released from Harvest in the city.  After her, the faces grow increasingly wrinkled, down to the Grand Old Dame, Queen Adelayde, last in line.

All told, there’s less than 400 Queens in the city, and a few hundred are present today.  Of that number, only a mere handful are of the legal age and available to engage sexually with the multitude of men present before us.  It’s no one the screams of “Janique!” and “Viqutoria!” seem the loudest.

I wave and blow obligatory kisses, stretching a false smile across my face.  As the most senior member of Parliament approaches the podium, trumpets sound and the crowd falls quiet.

“My good sirs,” Lord High Chancellor Chisholm addresses the men before him.  “And my beloved Queens!  Today is a day for joy indeed!  Our talented Queen Soafy has produced a miracle!  A baby girl of such beauty that the heavens themselves weep for her loveliness…”

I tune him out.  Bored, I scan the sea of males, each of them hanging on every word of the Parliamentary address. 

One face catches my eye, the only one not staring with rapt attention at the podium.  It’s Onrhi.  I’d know that nose anywhere.  He’s too far away to tell for sure, but I think he’s looking at me. 

Instinctively, I reach for my hair, twirling the strands to comfort myself.  I don’t want him to recognise me.  Not here, not like this.  I want to tell him in person, explain everything.

Suddenly, the crowd erupts in delight as Soafy appears, bearing the newest Princess in her arms.  I lose sight of Onrhi and begin to doubt it was even him in the first place.

After the formalities are over, there is a luncheon inside the Parliament Palace.  Every Queen files inside, gossiping and catching up, delighting in the presence of other women.  Only I walk alone, finding a seat at an unoccupied table and allowing the celebration background noise to dull my thoughts.

Eventually, Vix finds me.  “Oemgee, I was so right,” she exclaims, a knockout beside me in her ruby dress.  The neckline is cut down to her belly button and her breasts threaten to bust loose as she leans in to divulge.  “Pawlleen just confessed she totally did get her boobs done just so she can do a topless Harvest Day pic…  Niq?  Are you in there?”

“Not really,” I reply absently. 

“I know what you need,” she says.  “A good laugh.  Don’t worry: I’ve got a surprise planned for us at the after-party!”

“Great,” I say, with no feeling.

Lunch lasts for hours.  I used to love these events, but today, I can’t focus.  My only thoughts are of Onrhi.  Finally, as night falls, the limos arrive, bearing the oldies and the kids home, and the rest of us onwards to the after-party.

Some crazy event coordinator has hired out an entire club, just for us.  A line of men snakes for miles from the door and body guards stroll along the waiting queue, selecting preferences for their Queens. 

Inside, I knock back the first drink I am handed and try to lose myself inside the alcohol.  Another three shots and the room begins to swirl pleasantly around me as the music carries me away.  I head for the dance floor, floating on the beat.

“Hey, everyone!  Shut up!”  The music ends abruptly and Vix’s voice carries through the club.  She’s standing on the stage, swaying a little and trying not to giggle.  “I have serious, a serious announcement to make.  There are imposters in our midst!”

“Oh no!”  Someone eggs her on theatrically.

“Oh yes!  I have to reveal that Agnisse, where is she?  Agnisse, you saucy minx, show yourself!”

“Here she is!”  The crowd turns to look at the tiny Queen with her dark afro fanning her face like a crown.

“So, Agnisse is actually a phoney!  I have the real Queen Agnisse right here!”  Vix gestures and a ladi-boy joins her on stage.  He’s a giant with massive fake breasts, but down to the afro and the orange chiffon gown, he’s dolled up identically to Agnisse.

The crowd roars with laughter as the “real” Agnisse parades around the stage, blowing kisses and waving royally.  “But that’s not all, my friends,” Vix continues when the din finally calms down.  “There are even more reveals to come!”

Nine more ladi-boy/Queen lookalikes are presented: each is greeted with more volume and guffaws than the last.  It seems like the show is wrapping up when Vix points to me.  “Oh no, Janique, you too have been discovered.  Behold, the new Janique!”

While the other ladi-boys have been hilarious in their terrible likenesses, mine is an eerie clone.  The crowd whistles appreciatively and I concur: he’s a better me than I am.  His red silky wig flows down his back and he elegantly crosses the stage, copying my signature saunter with complete accuracy.  Our faces are so alike, even though I know he must have had surgical help, I can’t help but be impressed.

Vix ushers him to the side and presents the finale, her own ladi-boy twin.  While the whole club cheers in drunken appreciation of her cleverness, I am wondering if there isn’t a future opportunity here. 

The ladi-boys file off the stage to mingle and take photos with the Queens.  I grab my double by the arm and hand him a drink.  “We should talk.”

Half an hour later, I slide into the back of a limo, bound for home.  It’s been a weird day, but the thought of speaking to Onrhi when I get home makes me smile.

I race inside my palace, desperate to reach out to Onrhi.  Despite the fact it’s almost dawn, he’s online.

Hey yoo!

Hey.  Busy night?

Yah, drnks w freindz.

Sounds fun.

Yis.

It’s hard to type when the keyboard won’t stay still, so before I can ask Onrhi when we can meet again, he beats me to it.  Feel like another park walk tomorrow night?

I wold, totly.

Good.  See you by the fountain.

He signs off, just seconds before I pass out on the sheets.