The Rebel Queen

Prologue

Prologue

9 September 2022

The silence was deafening, broken only by the inordinately loud ticking of the wall-mounted clock.

Its steady, rhythmic pulse echoed through the grand, ornate halls of the royal palace, a stark contrast to the somber, heavy atmosphere that had settled over the opulent chambers.

The air was thick with a palpable tension, the kind that follows the announcement of a monarch's passing - a monumental shift in the delicate balance of power, a seismic transition that would reverberate through the entire nation.

Just moments ago, the news had broken that King Alphonso, the revered and long-reigning sovereign, had drawn his final breath.

The kingdom was now left to grapple with the reality of a new ruler ascending to the throne.

Marino, the crown prince, now found himself thrust into the spotlight, the weight of the crown suddenly resting upon his shoulders as he prepared to address his subjects for the first time as their king.

The responsibility was immense, the pressure immeasurable, as he steeled himself to take on the mantle of leadership during this uncertain time.

Nearby, Barbara, Marino's wife, sat with a white handkerchief pressed against her face, her delicate features contorted with grief.

The passing of King Alphonso had hit her hard, but the news that had followed - the unexpected death of her beloved godmother, Queen Elizabeth II - had utterly devastated her.

The two women had shared a deep, abiding bond, a connection forged over decades of friendship and mutual respect.

To lose Elizabeth now, amid this tumultuous transition, was almost too much for Barbara to bear.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled to come to terms with this double tragedy, her entire world seemingly turned upside down.

Marino watched his wife's distress with a heavy heart, his own emotions warring within him.

As the new king, he was expected to project an air of stoic composure, to lead his people with unwavering strength and resolve.

Yet in this moment, seeing Barbara's pain, he could not help but be moved.

He crossed the room, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors, and gently cupped her face, his calloused fingers tenderly wiping away her tears.

"Breathe, Barbie," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Calm down. Rome, please bring her a glass of water."

His secretary, a dutiful and ever-present shadow, hurried to comply, returning momentarily with a crystal tumbler filled to the brim.

Marino accepted it gratefully, pressing the cool glass into Barbara's trembling hands, and urging her to take a sip.

The silence, once so deafening, was now punctuated by the soft sounds of Barbara's shuddering breaths, and the gentle clink of the glass against her teeth as she drank.

Marino watched her intently, his brow furrowed with concern, his grief momentarily set aside in favor of tending to his wife's needs.

He knew the weight of the crown was heavy, the responsibility of leading a nation in mourning a daunting task, but at this moment, his primary focus was on comforting the woman he loved.

As Barbara slowly regained her composure, Marino's gaze shifted to the grand, ornate grandfather clock that stood sentinel in the corner of the room.

Its pendulum swung with a steady, unwavering rhythm, a silent witness to the tumultuous events unfolding around it.