The Blue River

I

Stories I have read, poems I have memories. But nothing could actually express what I am feeling. No great poet or philosopher can comprehend this suffering and pain I'm enduring. No being on earth will relate to my terrible faith; my grief. Wishing upon a wishing star, for this burden be taken from me. The burden of marriage, the burden of being tied to one person for the rest of your life, and the burden of being owned.

Not only is this marriage sorrowful, imagine to being tied to a barbaric, to Mohammad Reza Pahlavi Shah of Persia. Just the thought of being wed to him and also sharing his crown to the Persian Empire has me shivering with fear and anger. Fear of the unknown, and angry that I am being forced into this; forced into something I've been groomed into since birth.

A peace settlement was made between Mohammad's deceased father, Reza Pahlavi who was the former Shah of Imperial Persia, and my father Sir Eric II. The agreement was such, that the heir of Reza will marry the first daughter of Eric II. What a misfortune, such burden had to fall on me. My faith had already been decided, since birth I was raised and groomed to both Persian orthodox and the Scottish. I learned many languages, traditions fit for a Persian Queen, or better known as Shahbanu. Not only marrying his imperial highness is the problem, but marrying a stranger who is nineteen years my senior!

Only if I was granted just this one wish. To remain here, in Wester Ross. I plead for nothing more. Well except for this task be given to another, I'm sure there are plenty of other girls that will willingly want to trade places with me now; like who wouldn't want to be the Queen of a supreme country like Persia? There has to be someone that will want to give away their virtue just for power and will want to sell their souls to the devil for a warmer bed. Even my maids are smitten with the idea of 'Mohammad' more like his money, since they have been eyeing my gifts from his highness with great adoration. Gifts that he thinks will buy my submission. It will take more than expensive dresses , jewelries, rugs and gold oil lamps and various spices, diamonds and rubies the size of Eric's forehead; tokens to win my submission. It will take way more than that!

Just thinking of the new changes, had me forgetting my nagging twin, Eric. Or better known as 'the nag Eric the III'. He got that nickname from the additional pair of the family, cunning Edward and mischievous Elaine. The four year old's had brought the family great delight, panic attacks and entertainment every time they pester Eric. I wonder what those rascals are up to now? Perhaps setting fire to Eric's clothes, again. Do not let those large brown marbles, chubby cheeks, adorable faces and innocent looks when they've done anything far from that, fool you, they are devious. Devious I tell you!

"What on Earth are you still doing Emily? The 'shah' has ordered for your presence in the sunroom. You know how father gets, when you do not do as you're told." There he goes again, 'Emily do this, do not do that, do not push Eric in the swamp.' I've had it with them ordering me around, I'm a grown woman that can do whatever she wants. Even pushing Eric in the swamp for him to drown so that I can be the oldest, yes I can do what I want. The annoying oaf has been ordering me around since in the womb. Even with the five second difference does not make him the eldest! Doesn't it?

"I'm digging your grave. What does it look like I'm doing?! I'm picking up roses for mother dearest. Would you be a good lad and give me a hand." Which was totally a lie, I know nothing about flowers. Just stalling for me not to go inside. Turned my back to face him as I pulled on a green thing that will not come out of the ground. Bloody bastards!

" Yes I see, we have gardeners that can pluck out weeds. Now get up and get in a proper attire. The king is waiting." He bowed, then left. Why bow to your own sister? Stupid fool. I knew that the king called me, is just that I want to make them wait. Like a wise woman once said 'a Queen is never late, but everyone is supply too early'. Collecting all the gardener's tools and the now dead flowers, and dusting the dust off my now mud covered white cotton dress. What point in dusting it, it's clearly tarnished. That's why no one should wear white when gardening. Like who knew, I giggle to myself.

And to add to my luck, heavy rain started falling. Its raining season.

*15 minutes later*

Due to circumstances of my always disappearing, I've never met his imperial highness. Today is the day, that I meet Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, my future husband. Just thinking of his name, made different presumptions on how he might look like. One stands out from the rest, a picture of an old man with curved bushy grey eye brows, thick beard and a rusty voice and with a large belly that hangs with his trousers. He will look short but with a round built, and a limp in his step and he will wear an eye patch and carry a long sword. Yes I am sure he looks exactly like that, or even worse. Now is the chance I see for myself, if my opinion are in fact correct or worse.