|aristocrats z.m.|

forty + four

The meeting hall^

We left the spring palace, the place I called home, and relocated in a new area. It was newly constructed, all in accordance to my will. Zayn and I met with hundreds of exterior and interior designers. I wanted something simple, and Zayn approved whatever I desired.

The babies were no longer babies, instead they were beautiful six year old boys. It has been four years since I've last written in you. Maman has passed. The incident at coronation defeated her. She suffered a heart attack that night, and it gradually fell from there. For three months, she had highs and lows. One day she felt better, and the next she'd be crying in pain. I am happy it was only three months, for seeing her hurting was the worst torture fathomable. She died in peace, in her sleep in the same way I had always seen her. A smile never escaped her lips, even on her deathbed.

My castle was beautiful, and located on the water. A large base was constructed at a bay, where the caste was built. The bay gradually built into the sea, which could be seen within eyes view. The castle was white and grand, adorned with large windows. It was exclusive, just for Zayn, our family, and handpicked servants. The favorites.

Today is my first day here. Truth be told, we did not just relocate as a result of lust for change of scenery. We loved our old home, but we loved our life more. The nation has been on war with Greiserezen for the past ten years. I was never aware of this until recently. My life was within the manor, and Zayn was very cautious with my affairs. He did not want me to worry, so he pretended everything was alright.

Nothing was alright.

The peasants outside the manor were hungry. They grew tired of war and it's chains, they wanted to be set free. I do not blame them. I have witnessed the pangs of hunger. They ran to our fortified land last week, running through the palace and screaming for change.

They came unarmed, only with lanterns, but the gesture was enough to scare everyone. Zayn sent all the hysterical aristocrats to their homes. Through this ordeal, I became very aware of the war.

The war Zayn's brother had started. The one he never spoke of, the one that hurt him enough to tears.

I knew Zayn would never resign the war, for it was the foreign peoples that killed his brother. This was a personal war, not one of land, religion, or mere disagreement. This was a war of blood.

Zayn's half brother, Amir, fell in love with a woman from a foreign land. This woman was manipulative and seductive. She drew him out, and he followed her. He would go to hell if it meant she would hold his hand.

He was only fifteen, and the maiden was far into her twenties. She was married to the prince of Greiserezen- an old and abusive man. At least that is what she told Amir.

Amali was an intellectual. She knew she had both nations at the palm of her hand, so she did what everyone would have. She shook her hand, and the two mighty princes fell. She convinced both princes to meet her at the border of their nations, claiming she was pregnant out of wedlock. Both lovestruck teenagers came, horrified to find the other. They fought, and tired quickly. They stopped once laughter was heard. The laughter stopped with gunshots. Two men-one prince and one king- gone at the hands of a pregnant.

No one knows who the child belongs to, but he is the next in line for throne. Once his mother dies. Amali had killed the king, and presumed the title of queen shortly in our neighboring village. She thought she would have ours too, but Amir and Zayn's father acted quickly. He reassumed the role of king and changed the law. Now, only partial or full French people could become king. This meant Amali could never become supreme ruler, for she was full Austrian. Her child was never confirmed to be Amir's, so the crown went directly to Zayn.

"Why do you worry, my love? We've survived this far.. we will be alright."

"And the people fighting? Those knights? Our peasants are starving because of this war, and our people are tired. They would never kill you, for they sympathize for your loss... but I fear there will be no people to rule over if this war continues."

"She is an imbecilic, your highness. She's just a woman.. She should be tending to your children, not deciding the fate of our nation." A wrinkly, spiteful man said. I had no idea who he was, yet he had much to say about me. Before Zayn could even open his mouth, I went off in my defense.

"With all due respect, Monsieur.. because I was raised to show respect to everyone, even scum like you. My children, who shall reign over yours one day, are more than fine. In fact, they are sitting up there, in the president's box, listening and observing their great father. But thank you so much for your concern. And as for your rude adjectives... in English the word is an imbecile, as in she is an imbecile.. not she is an imbecilic. But I don't expect you to know that.. you're just man. You should be out there hunting, not in here with the intellectuals. Here's a suggestion: whatever raisin sized organ is within your skull.. should feel very threatened right now. I have lost everything, except respect. I will never allow that to be taken by an imbecile like you. One more syllable... and you can expect to rot in the catacombs below us."

Everyone was silent. His dark eyes bulged out of their sockets, wrinkly skin shaking. My smile grew as applause rang through my ears from above. I looked at my children, who were now six years old. They were clapping and congratulating me. I smiled and hushed them.

"Does anyone else have more irrelevant concerns? Because the last time I checked, I invited you here to my home to save a kingdom.. not slander comrades."

No one spoke. I sat down and smiled, fanning myself. Zayn squeezed my hand over the table, sending comfort throughout my body. "I have an idea."