“Maybe we should pass the crown onto Juan, he’s of age in September,” my father’s harsh voice broke out in the room. It was silent for a while. The council quieted after my declaration that I did not want to marry someone while I was so young and not out of love. I watched my father’s eye twitch as he brooded in his silent disdain for my words. He knew not to directly object to my words — there had been too many occasions in which we got into fights over words, and I embarrassed him in front of people he held of importance. This whole room was filled with people who were of higher rank in the kingdom, and he knew if he tried to start with me, it wouldn’t end very well in his favor. Now, he seemed to have reached his limit, because there he went suggesting something so outrageous it pried a cackle out of my maroon-painted lips.
“Something funny, Valentina?” Father questioned; his strong accent heavy with every word as he turned his evading gaze onto me.
“Yes, actually. I find it quite hilarious how you think that baby Juan could rule this kingdom. And I find it positively silly how you are implying I give up the throne!” I shot back, my eyes narrowing on him as his lips pulled up in a cocky smirk. I’d always wanted to knock off his face with the back of my heel.
“Well, you cannot rule without a King, and you refuse to marry, also Juan is almost 18 and I think he’ll be a fine King,” he drawled lazily, as if he’d thought about this a thousand times. I knew he couldn’t be serious. This whole room knew he couldn’t be serious. Juan, bless his soul, could barely tell his left from his right. It took him six years to learn the times table! He’s just trying to act like he could replace me. He knew he couldn’t — as much as he hated it, I’m going to be an amazing Queen if he ever let me take the throne. He’d been stalling for the past six months about it, forming new excuses every week before he finally settled on one two months ago. Now he wouldn’t shut up about it. You need a man, Valentina. Every good Queen needs a stronger King, Valentina. It’s such garbage. He knows that there’ve been hundreds of amazing Queens whose husbands had nothing to do with the throne. He knew I didn’t need a man and it made him angry. It made him angry and annoyed because he’s a sexist, arrogant and power-hungry man who would do anything to make sure I’m not the one in power. But he has no right because it’s tradition. And the throne is meant for me. Mine.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, Juan isn’t even trained for it, and there’s no rule that says Autumn cannot take the throne without being married and she’s very capable of doing the job on her own,” a general spoke up from across the room, General Carlo. He was a new addition to the council, freshly appointed, and I knew I had a good feeling about him. My father’s eyes snapped to his, so much anger bubbling behind them that I was afraid Carlo was about to drop dead. Father was so used to people being afraid of him and always being too scared to speak their minds. So, the fact that Carlo was bold enough to speak his mind was annoying my father.
“Silence! She will not be Queen yet and that is final! I won’t have a woman ruling my Kingdom for as long as I live! If she does not marry, then she does not rule! And that is that!” he finally declared. Everyone knew what he’d been thinking before he stormed out of the room, the excessive diamonds and gold that decorated his bright scarlet robe and countless necklaces that dangled from around his neck clinked together as he moved.
The outburst resembled a tantrum, the ones toddlers threw when things didn’t go their way, with their faces turning a scary shade of scarlet. The only thing missing was him stomping his feet. The whole place was silent, everyone passed weary glances at me like they’re unsure of what to say and I just sat there and stared at the picture hanging above the seat my father just occupied. It was a beautiful painting, done by a very talented artist, and it was one of my father and mother on their coronation day. They looked so happy. My mother had the biggest smile on her face and my father still resembled a decent human being. I was surprised it still hung there.
“You all can leave, we’ll discuss the rest of the issues another day,” I said softly, my eyes not straying from the painting. I didn’t hear anyone move and I tore my eyes away from it to see everyone sharing wary glances with each other. “I said leave!” I finally snapped, my body slightly lifting from my chair, my hands bracing against the large oak wood table. They all finally snapped out of it, their limbs scrambling to gather their things and I could hear frantic footsteps rushing out of the room as I dragged my eyes back to the painting. The large double doors slammed behind the last person, and I released a long breath I wasn’t aware I was holding as I gazed into the still eyes of my mother. Gosh, I missed her. She would’ve known what to do, what to say to him, how to crawl my way out of the hole my father was so desperately trying to throw me in. If she were here, she’d take my hand in hers and look me in the eyes to tell me exactly what I needed to hear. She’d face the wrath of my father and try to set him straight, because he loved her, in his own twisted way, he loved her. But he was a deranged human being, and he only loved her till she wasn’t of use to him anymore. Then he got rid of her.
I was never allowed to leave the castle much as a child. I was the sole heir to the throne of Cordova, and I had to be sheltered and protected as such. I wasn’t allowed to go into the town like other royal children, I wasn’t allowed to go to the normal school, my ‘friends’ were hand-picked for me, and I spent my days between the beautiful stone-made walls of this castle. I didn’t mind it much; I didn’t have a right to mind it much. I was fed, lived in a large, mystical castle, had the blissful happiness of a child, and had my Mama. I didn’t get to see the town or meet the people of Cordova, but Mama had told me all about them. She had told me stories of her days up and about in the town. She had told me how nice and beautiful the people were, how green the grass was and how the town was filled with life every single day. I had fallen in love with my people through my mother. She had made me excited to serve them and made me giddy with the thought of watching over those people. She’s the reason I wanted to be a good Queen.
I still remember the last conversation I had with her. I was still a little young, but I remember them clearly. There were doctors all around us as they had tried to find a way to save her, but she had already accepted her fate. She had a smile on her face and held my hands in hers. She had asked me to sing her to sleep. She did that often while she was sick. She would get ready to rest for the night before she’d ask me to sing her the song she had sung to me as a child. Then I’d sing her to sleep, stroke her hair and watch how sunken her cheeks had become. I’d look at her pale, pale, skin that was once such a rich bronze and I’d look at how chapped and dehydrated her lips always seemed to be. I looked at the same things that time as well as I sang, but I knew then that she wouldn’t be waking up the next morning. The last words she said to me flow through my brain as I look at her face in the painting.
“Mi hija, I need you to be the best Queen you can be. I need you to always fight back and show him who you are. He has won this battle, but it is only one of many. Promise me that you won’t let him win the war, Autumn.”
“I promise I’ll do my best, Mama,” I had replied with tears streaming down my face as I watched the life drain from her eyes.
“That’s all I always asked from you…”
I let the words repeat in my brain. Let them soak into my veins and fill me with the confidence I needed. I let the emotions I felt that day run through me, I let them fill me with the rage I needed to face the man I call my father. I remembered how cold her skin had felt that day, and I remembered how I watched life slowly drain from her brown eyes. I remembered how I had felt her palms go limp in my hands, how her grip had slowly loosened, and her head had lulled to the side. I remembered how he was the one to put her in that position, how he was the one who caused the sickness she had to live with for so long.
I remembered who I was, Valentina Autumn Delgado, heir to the throne of Cordova and my mother’s daughter.
I let every single emotion I feel towards that man rise within me as I gazed at the woman who looked like me in that picture. I welcomed it and held it within me, and when I felt like I was finally going to snap, I went to find my father.