Alfred

I cannot remember the first time I met Elinora. Mother tells me it was at Elinora's Christening, but being only three years of age, the ceremony must have been lost in the blur of noble duties. I don't remember our second meeting, or our third- Elinora was simply the Princess who went from the small toddler with the bright brown eyes to the little girl with the intricate braid who would drag me to play in the courtyard with her because Charlotte is a scaredy-cat who's afraid of getting burnt by the sun. Father would be pleased every time I interacted with the Princess, so in a way of appeasing the Duke, I would always follow Princess Elinora without a word of complaint.

I cannot pinpoint to the exact time that Elinora began her metamorphosis- I just remember it was a gradual thing. She became busier and busier with her studies and royal duties, and on the rare occasion that she would still call on me, the brightness of those fiery eyes seemed diminished in the afternoon sunlight. Being trained in royal etiquette since my youth, I knew that to ask about her day was to overstep, so I never enquired about what was wrong. In hindsight, maybe that was the beginning of the end for Elinora and I. It is easier, anyhow, to tell myself that I did not lose against the French Prince- I simply lost to myself.

Or perhaps, I was simply too self-absorbed to ask. My Father had set in motion the rigorous training regime fit for me, his only son- the sole heir to the Dukedom of Kent. And it'd been all too easy to lose myself in the hours upon hours of training with every weapon known to mankind, in the strategies of battle and the game of politics.

Sometime after my twelfth birthday, Father had marched into my study in a trail of fury, demanding to know what I'd done to not have received a summons from the Princess for nearly half a year. With his hands gripping my collar and my ribcage being painfully pressed against the wall, he'd told me that, in no uncertain terms, was I to let the attentions of the Princess escape, that he would always look down upon me, until the day I could make him bow at my feet and have him hail "my King."

This time, it was I who sought out Elinora. My hands had been quivering and the Duke's words resounded within my eardrums. I'd entered the study within the Princess's quarters and was regarded by those amber orbs that, in a period of six months, had developed a piercing quality. It was as if Elinora saw right through me- heard every one of my father's words and read all of my thoughts. At that time, I did not consider the flash of emotion in her eyes, nor the wry twist of her lips. I'd only approached her and made small talk until she'd asked me to leave. It is foolish, how, an occasion that I'd considered as the beginning of Elinora and I, was perhaps, the end.

The next time I saw Elinora was at what historians would later deem as the Last Battle between the French and the British. The morning before what was due to be my first time on an actual battlefield, I found myself inexplicably drawn towards the Princess tent. Elinora, I knew, would remain at the last line of defence, well-protected by her Guard so that not a single hair on her head would be amiss after the battle. However, that did not cease the worry for her mixing with my own anxiousness for the battle. We'd spent a couple of minutes in relatively companionable silence, and as the calling horn sounded, I found myself gripping her left hand and awkwardly dabbing my lips against it. Such an action was unprecedented between us, and it was enough for my heart to beat unsteadily and cause me to escape from the tent with quick strides.

A few weeks after the signing of the British-French peace treaty, the British Court was in upheaval once again. Why? One of the King's most prized scholars, had been caught in the King's private quarters looking upon secret matters of State and was to be beheaded by the end of the calendar month. However what was more shocking, was the fact that the Queen had stormed the Throne Room during this scholar's trial and had knelt at the King's feet to plead for mercy. In the end, it was said that the Queen had to be forcibly dragged out of Court by her own Guard. Rumours spread like wildfire. Why would the Queen, who had never stepped out of line once in her entire reign, be willing to throw away her dignity for a mere scholar? Did they know each other? Since when? And... to what extent?

On the twelfth day of the sixth calendar month of the twenty-sixth year of King Charles' reign, a mere eight months after the Last Battle, His Royal Majesty the Duke of Gloucester, King of England, Sovereign of the People of the Commonwealth King Charles Deveraux III passed away from a sudden stroke at the prime age of forty-eight.

Even with my position as heir to the Dukedom of Kent, I was only allowed close enough to get a brief glimpse of Elinora's drawn expression at the funeral. Back then, it never crossed my mind how a twelve year-old was supposed to cope with the death of her father, her mentor, her King, whilst still remaining steadfast with the burden of the England resting upon her shoulders.

I can count on one hand the number of times I met with Elinora during the four years of her mother's regency over England. Each time I saw her, Elinora looked thinner than the last, and that solemnly proud Princess turned into a docile rabbit of few words. In contrast, the Regent Queen Rosetta grew more and more arrogant by the day, becoming tyrannical with her poor decisions- refusing to listen to any of her advisors- there were many a times that Father would return from Court in such a bad mood that no one dared to seek him out until the evening.

England went into chaos- a poor yield of crops, then a famine, and when Queen Rosetta enforced a tax raise, riots broke out and Father was sent with ten thousand troops to subdue the masses. Accompanying the Duke on this campaign, I'd witnessed the reality that I had been sheltered from in the Capital- the people were dying, the fields were barren, and England was very much on the decline.

We'd returned to the Capital after nine months, and the Regent Queen was very much impressed with our efforts. She rewarded me with the title of General, and placed the troops of the Seventh Division under my control. Father was pleased, thus I was delighted, but there was that sliver of a conscience that questioned why I deserved to be honoured for silencing the commoners that had asked for nothing more than for their family to be fed. Where was the accomplishment in trampling those people whose spirit had already been broken?

Shortly after our return marked the debutante ball of Princess Elinora. England waited with abated breath. How would this Princess, who had practically been caged within the Royal Wing of the castle, act towards the public? What was her attitude towards the Crown that was rightfully hers, the corrupt Court that had been switched by the Regent Queen so that the obedient dogs were in power, the Mother who so blatantly barred the Princess from her heritage?

The night before the ball, Father summoned me to his study. He stared at me for such a long time behind with that bespectacled gaze. "If we succeed tomorrow, in future, you will divert much of your attentions to Queen Elinora. Your seed will issue the future heirs of England. Are we clear?"

I nodded dumbly, and it was only until I'd exited the room had I realised- Father had referred to Elinora as Queen.

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