The Melody Of Destiny

Chapter 12

Prince Alexander the 57th:

I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my tie for what feels like the hundredth time. My reflection staring back at me, a mask of composure. Do they see the cracks? Do they see the raging waters crashing against the wall, threatening to spill out and consume me? I practice my smile once more: "Ladies and gentlemen..." my unsteady words trail off, blending into the noise as assistants rush around in a flurry of activity. A stylist approaches me with another brush. "That's enough." I say, but they go right on ahead, polishing up my image. Kalani stands there, directing them. Urging me to try again. I have been rehearsing all afternoon, but I cannot get myself to say it the way they want. Each word feels like a lie, a joke. I am supposed to deliver this convincingly? It is a façade, all of it. A show, and I am the puppet. The main attraction. Surely, they must see through the polished exterior, through the show and dance. People are not that stupid. They must sense my incompetence my fear. Their expectations are suffocating me. I am just a man. I am not their saviour. How long before someone calls me out. How long before they see I am not some chosen one.

I don't think I can do this. I start walking away from them all, but before I can stop it, I am herded towards the stage—myself, Kalani, stylists, assistants, guards and shadows. There are too many people, and here I am, about to step in front of the world. I take a deep breath eyeing an escape. Kalani taps my shoulder, telling me to take my hands out of my pockets.

Annoyed I step away from her, from the noise, from the bustle of energy but subsequently I step onto the stage. The bright lights of the cameras momentarily blind me as the journalists and crowd all call my name.

Smile. Inhale. Exhale. You can do this. I can do this. Deliver the rehearsed lines, smile and exit. I can handle that. I can handle that. Respond to a few pre-approved questions... simple. I have got this. Now, start talking. If you want this carefully crafted illusion to succeed you have to talk.

It is time to put on the show, but I feel paralysed. Stand tall - they said. It projects confidence. Have an open stance - they said. No rocking. No fidgeting. Their voices reverberate through my head. I step up to the microphone, planting my feet firmly shoulder-width apart, trying to slow my breathing. Breathe from your diaphragm - they said. It will steady your voice. They better be right because everyone is quieting down, staring up at me in anticipation expectantly. Waiting for something great from me. I cannot give them that.

You can do this. You must do this. Smile - they said - but not to much. Be friendly but not their friend. Be confident. Be powerful. Be regal but relatable.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." I start to talk forcing my voice to steady, yet each word feels hollow, and meaningless. Engage your audience they said. I slowly move my gaze between each journalist. It shows them you are in control. My hands start to shake. Instinctively I put them in my pockets but Kalani's voice echoes for the love of the Empire keep your hands out of your pockets. I slowly clasp them in front of me. Don't block your body. They would say. Look up. Lean forward. This is to much. I'm talking too fast. I see Kalani out of the corner of my eyes. "Slow down" she mouths. Steady your voice. Enunciate. End in low tones, clear and calm but not monotonous. I take a sip of water. This has been drilled into me since I started walking. This should be easy. This is what I have been trained to do. Look regal, convey composure and power—is that so hard, Alexander? Mother's words keep bouncing in my head as I push through my speech.

Mother thinks I do not care, but I do. These are my people, after all. It is the charade I cannot stand. The performance, the lies. It is all a facade. I feel like an imposter, adorned with medals I have not earned.