Rule of The Monarch

One : Willow Tree

31 July

'Can't you just tell him to bugger off? I'd really prefer to stay home with Evelynn.' Heather reasoned, studying her mother's expression for any signs of defeat. Alya could hardly stifle her laughter any longer. Heather Carlton, her childhood friend, was attempting a battle of wits with a woman she would lose to. Heather had always been a headstrong woman, living life by her own rules, and this time was no different.

The Carltons had been invited to another weekly tea at the palace. A normality of course. Except this time, the Hemingways were there as well. The rivalry between both families was an old one. Going on so long that even the citizens of Keydon had grown tired of their endless bickering.

'I don't think you have a choice, Heather,' Alya stepped in. 'He is the king.'

'And he is my uncle.' She replied with a finality. 'I just don't see why I have to attend these meetings to mend our severed ties. It has nothing to do with me.'

'You know it has everything to do with you.' Lady Carlton gave a stern look. 'You're going, Heather. It's been decided. I expect to see you properly dressed and with enough rest tomorrow. Keep your eye on her, Alya,' her gaze softened as she stood to leave. 'We don't want her running away again.'

'That was one time!' She called after Lady Carlton, collapsing on the brocade settee she often occupied. 'Why can't I stay?' She muttered like a child whilst staring at the swirls of dust settling. Another daily visit gone wrong, Heather thought as she looked around the study. Her mother was busy tending to an empty house and her father was away again, on business as the Duke of Sommers. Every visit reminded her why she didn't live here anymore. The Carlton Estate had to be the loneliest place on earth.

'She wasn't wrong you know,' Alya said once she'd joined Heather. 'You don't actually have a say when it comes to royal invitations.'

'Well that's rubbish!' The negative energy practically burst inside her. 'An invitation should work as all invitations do, royal or not. We could do with less pointless meetings and more to do with the people. My uncle should throw a tea party for them, not the people who won't cooperate.'

'This isn't about the invitation is it?' Alya sighed as her bespectacled friend merely shook her head. 'Come on we'll speak in the gardens.' She pulled Heather by the elbow and dragged her out into the sun. 'You are too dramatic for your own good my friend. I'm more than convinced that you're exaggerating. It can't be that bad.'

'No.' Heather's voice was calm and collected, unlike the dissatisfaction bubbling within. 'It's far worse.' She kicked a stray pebble in their path. 'Mother and Lady Hemingway ought to be cross-eyed at the rate of their eye-rolling tournaments. Father and Lord Hemingway won't shut up about which lineage is better.' She stopped a moment to inhale. 'And to make matters worse, I am the only child who has to attend these things. It's not like I'm the only heir!' She threw out her arms in frustration. 'I have a mind to hunt Astor Hemingway down and force him to tea.'

'I think it's a bit too early in your life to commit murders.' She smiled. 'You're not going to die attending a tea party Heather. The Hemingways aren't exactly bad people.'

'Well they're not... they weren't,' Heather said uncertainly. 'They were not before they questioned my ability to lead. I'm not the one who's ancestor betrayed the kingdom. And to have one of them sitting on the throne? My uncle is mad to even consider it.'

'You and Mr. Hemingway are the only two left to the heir,' Alya reminded as they went around Lady Carlton's rose bushes. Keydon was an odd kingdom, letting a lineage contribute once and wait until the others have had their turn before having a chance at becoming ruler again. Leaving the duke's daughter to prepare taking on a role only princesses should have. 'Besides, isn't Christopher going to be there?'

'Christopher is unreliable.' She muttered darkly. 'I'd have a better chance at being served his princely head than meeting him willingly at the palace. He's always at art class or fencing during those horrid meetings. Frankly, I'd leave him. He's gotten so lucky, I'd hate to be the one who ends it.' She scowled. 'All he ever does is boast about another tournament.'

'Now, you and I both know that isn't true.' Alya chided. The prince was quite similar to the Carltons and made good company between the two. 'What has he done to make you hate him?'

'I don't hate him.' Heather caught her friend's pointed stare and looked at her defensively. 'I don't! No, never mind. It's nothing.' Her smile resembled something closer to a grimace.

'Good practice, but I think you need to be a bit more convincing when you're talking about the Hemingways.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You're not fooling me,' she nudged her playfully, coaxing a smile out of her friend. 'You like the Hemingways. You just don't like them with your parents around.'

'I suppose...'

They had been so engrossed in their conversation that it took a few moments before they could register the scream coming from the end of the path. Then a second one, piercing through the air and snapping them into action.

It was at the willow tree from their childhood where two maids stood clutching each other and staring at something they couldn't see. But Heather didn't look up. Looking up meant defeat to the situation, so Heather stared at the ground. The soil had red splotches and little bits of flesh were strewn around the tree. There was no mistaking that familiar scent of blood.

Alya was the one who cast her gaze to where the maids looked. A torn woman dressed worthy of a ball hung quite dangerously from a low branch. Her disfigured face was dolled up with powder and paint. And the red soaked rope at her neck was tied with ribbons the colors of rainbows.

But there was something else the two wished they hadn't seen. A chop of dark hair far too similar to Heather Carlton.

'That's... not real,' Heather looked from the body to Alya, sympathy reflected in her eyes. Sorry. That's what they felt. That's what Heather said to her mother when she found her sister dead in the gardens. The gardens They built together, now tainted in her blood.

A/N

I think I should clarify that the story takes place in 1913-- in a fictional kingdom. So facts aren't always accurate. I've taken a few liberties, but I've done my best to make it as close as possible-- in my own words of course.