Kerttu's Elite - A Sequel

Uncle Ahren! - Chapter 7

“That was a disaster,” Mom stated, sipping her tea with disparity. Mom, Lady Brice, and I were seated in her office.

The last town hall meeting had turned into a brawl about who had attacked the palace. There were multiple accusations of Marid, their own neighbors. I was most interested in the concept of the new Northern Rebels. I had been forced to study them specifically when I was growing up. They had went mostly underground after my great grandparents died with the exception of Marid Illea’s scheme. But he himself wasn’t technically a Northern Rebel. Then who was?

“Your Majesty,” Louisa entered with a bow. “A note from the king of France.”

“Ahren,” Mom said, taking the note in hand. “Thank you.” Louisa scuttled off. Mom read the letter with dexterity, her eyes lasered onto the page. “France wants to declare war on Swendway.”

“What?” Lady Brice gasped. “Just because of the ship?”

“No, apparently it’s much worse than that. Swendway has increased their tariffs on oil. France needs that right now. And their rulers have always been in contention with one another. This isn’t good.”

Her and Bryce debated ideas, nearly talking over one another. “Kerttu,” Mom proclaimed, turning her gaze to me. “What do you think we should do?”

I looked up from the ground, finishing my contemplation. “We should go to France and send Dad to Swendway. He understands the language and you obviously know Uncle Ahren. We should try to quell things on both sides, understand what’s happening.” Uh, I hated politics talk.

“Perfect.”

We arranged travel plans and decided to take our awesome private plane in two hours. We were taking the whole family, leaving the advisors to run the palace for the next couple of days. I had finished my packing, the maids and assistants putting the last things together.

I knocked on his door, praying that he opened it.

“Hey,” Shaan said, deflated. He hung his head back on the door frame. Pokes of hair were protruding from his chin.

“I didn’t know you could grow a beard,” I said meekly, hoping to break the ice. It stayed firm. Which then caused me to babble uncontrollably. “We’re going to France to mend things over with Swendway and I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

“Oh.” He tucked his lips inside his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He rolled his eyes, tousling with his hair. “I hate apologizing.”

“Me too.” I muscled the words out of my body. “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad. I shouldn’t have been kissing you like that anyway and I-”

“No, that was on me. I should know the power of my lips on you,” he joked. We shared an awkward laugh.

“So what you said...was that true?”

“Yeah, yeah it was.”

“Okay. Mine was true too.”

We didn’t move.

“So…” I drawled.

He wrapped his hands loosely around my waist, pressing his forehead to mine. “When are you coming back?” His hot breath fanned over my face, his thick eyelashes batting.

“In a week.”

“Okay.” His face broke into a left-sided grin, his handsome eyes twinkling. “I’ll have something planned when you get back.”

“Nothing too crazy, right?”

I pulled him into a lengthy embrace, my hand blended into his hair. His lean frame cuddled mine.

“I like you a lot,” he whispered huskily into my ear. “Come back to me.”

I nodded. “I will.” I stayed in his arms moments longer, simply delighting in his warmth. “I’m going to go before I start crying.”

Then we were on the flight to France.

“Ahren!” my mom screached, practically ran down the halls to hug her twin. It was a cute picturesque moment. No matter how frigid things grew between them when they were apart, they were great when they were together.

Mom was never happy with how much they communicated, he wanted to live his own life. The two just don’t mix well together in long distance. Amberly always left Ahren some not so obvious letters to get Ahren to call her more. It worked sometime.

They were rapidly talking simultaneously while we conversed with Camille. She looked as glorious as ever, striding towards us.

“Johan, is that you?” She did that weird things adults felt forced to do: pinch children’s cheeks. Do that to older people and it’s called assault. Rightfully so.

“Yes,” he replied the best he could, his cheeks seemingly rubber.

“And Calix!” He jumped onto her back and she trudged her way over to us. “How do you live with them?”

Amberly just smiled, meaning I had to respond. It was our tradition with anyone in our external family. “It’s pretty easy. They like attacking Mom more.”

She laughed, the light sound emitting from her mouth. “They are so cute, aren’t they?” She was looking at Mom and Uncle Ahren, positively beaming.

“They are,” I agreed. I still remembered their birthday five years ago. It was the first time they had been in the same place in a decade. They had both cried so much.

She put the kids down and pulled me to the side. “I’m assuming this surprise visit is political. You know what’s happening with Swendway?” Her french lilt made the words sound much more interesting than they actually were.

“All we know is what was in Ahren’s letter and the tabloids.”

“The tabloids always lie,” she cursed, shaking her head.

“So what’s really going on?”

“Let’s eat dinner first.”

We ate in the gorgeous French halls, enjoying laughter and fun. Ahren and Amberly were close, which made Mom a little jealous. It was hilarious for everyone who was not her. It was a quiet before the storm. No one could guess what was coming.

The children and Amberly had left. It was always odd sitting at their dinner table. Mom had unpurposefully told me that Uncle Ahren wanted kids while Camille did not. She said it wasn’t her lifestyle. She was a queen. A queen did not have time to breastfeed and take care of little lives. It made me wonder why Mom had decided to have us. And she did it so well.

“Eadlyn, it’s a disaster,” Ahren divulged, sipping his glass of wine. “Our citizens are getting more cars everyday, we’re running out of gasoline for them. We’re charging them more than they can afford. We are socialist as well, how can we take care of them if we don’t have the funds.” He had grown impassioned with politics. It slightly irritated Mom but she had grown used to it.

“Where has the money gone?” Mom countered, her eyebrows becoming a straight line.

“Well,” Camille said lengthily with a sigh, “The rich wanted to match the industrialism of Illea yet the poor can’t afford it. Most of our country’s wealth is based off farmers, we can’t handle it. The gap between the rich and the poor is truly horrendous.” She grasped Ahren’s hand and he gave her a warm squeeze. Her eyes glistened like glass with determination, a true diamond. “We can’t help our people. There is nothing worse.” With her free hand, she wiped her tears and sighed again. “Please help us, Queen Eadlyn.”

Mom consumed the rest of her glass in a single sip. “I don’t know, Ahren. I can’t be biased, I have to do what’s right. I’m sorry.”

Before either of them could respond, a servant came bustling through the large doors.

“Your Majesties, the Illean palace has been attacked.”

**What's going on?**