Girl Versus Dynasty

What’s one girl against a dynasty? If you asked Lily, she’d tell you the girl is nothing at all–even if she was once destined to be queen.

Lillian Elizabeth Brecken, of the Royal Breckens, was born the heir to the throne. She never could have known that her birthright, preparation, or dedication would make no difference. Brewing within her, amidst the blood of the most powerful family in the country of Dest, was a disease that would one day render many of her muscles weak and unresponsive to her wishes.

Margaret, a stunning woman of thirty-four years, had been Lillian’s lady’s maid for as long as she could remember. As they endured the tedious work of taming Lily’s waist-length, blonde curls, the other woman sighed. “Your Highness, if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a million times, a princess does not—“

Lily arranged her delicate features into a display of innocence as she interrupted, “indulge her baser desires? Engage in activities involving any level of danger? Have fun?” Fourteen years of being endlessly molded to fit a particular form was beginning to chafe. She popped a raspberry into her mouth, chewing loudly and allowing a bit of juice to dribble down her chin for effect. She could almost see the effort it was taking Margie not to roll her eyes in response, and it was wickedly satisfying.

“I was going to say that a princess does not slouch, but now I’ll remind you that not allowing people to complete their thoughts is rude, unbecoming of someone of your stature.” All the while, the brushing of hair continued. Lily reminded herself that Margaret, whom decorum forced to pin her equally beautiful chocolate waves beneath an itchy cap, had the best intentions.

Resigned to stop making the poor woman’s life more difficult, Lily straightened her spine. At least, she attempted to do so. Unfortunately, making the muscles surrounding her vertebrae pull the bones into a vertical column proved extremely difficult.

Recognizing that it was beyond time to come clean about the symptoms she’d been experiencing of late, the princess parted bowed lips to speak. This time, though, it was the other woman’s turn to cut in. “Goodness, Highness, are you okay?” Apparently her lady’s maid, a veritable expert on the girl, had noticed her struggle.

“Um, not exactly,” Lily replied, sheepish. If she was honest with herself, the cramping and decreased strength had started in her legs nearly a year ago. Just after the celebration of her last birthday, she recalled trying on the new pair of lovely leather flats her mother had asked the cordwainer to craft for her. When she got up to look more closely in the full-length mirror, she’d both watched and felt her legs give out as she stumbled backward, fortunately finding the soft settee on her way down.

“What does ‘not exactly’ mean, Lillian?” Placing the brush on the vanity, it was clear Margaret had moved from concerned to accusatory.

Lily stared at the horsehair bristles of the brush, at the golden plating and elegant design, attempting to pause time. As the only child of the king and queen, she knew better than to hide her ailments. Moreover, everyone around her knew the consequences of not immediately addressing concerns with the healer. Her punishment was sure to be swift and sizable.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she decided finally to rip off the bandage and let the entire story spill out in a rush. Until she finished, she hadn’t realized the weight her secrecy had amassed atop her shoulders. Unfortunately, when she looked up, the expression etched into the long lines of Margaret’s face ushered in a new weight, one that threatened to rip a hole through the bottom of her belly as it plummeted toward her feet.

“Wait, Margie, are you worried about what my parents will say or do you think this is as bad as your eyes are communicating?” When she received no response for a few moments, she added, “come on, you’re making me anxious!” Her pleading eyes were saucers.

The lady’s maid didn’t answer, simply letting go of the hand she’d been holding and hurrying out of Lily’s chambers.

Years later, watching Margaret pick berries in the garden, Lily bitterly remembers that fateful day. Everything that had followed seemed to happen in slow-motion, from the healer’s entrance, to the scary physical examination, to the dark discussion with her parents. In reality, the thorough reorganization of the landscape of her life happened incredibly quickly.

Despite the diagnosis, her inevitable need for a wheelchair, and uncertain prognosis, the king and queen had been adamant that their daughter would rule. When members of the court had petitioned her parents regarding their decision, she crept into a cove off the throne room after lessons, mouth arid as she listened to the final remarks.

Uncle Donovan asked her parents to “think of the country, the people!” The princess found this to be an incredibly silly statement at the time, as all her mom and dad ever did was think of Dest and her citizens. “They need a strong leader. What message will this send?” Donovan, with his shoulder-length raven locks and irises that were nearly indistinguishable from his pupils, had a cold personality that mirrored his features. Still, he was her father’s brother, and his charged opinion stung.

“Forget our people–consider what our enemies will do if we allow a cripple,” Lord Martin spat the word, “to rule!” As Chief of Defense, Lily could understand his thought process. However, with his hulking frame and general hairiness, to her he’d always been Bear. So, as a man whom she loved deeply, who’d spun her by her wrists until she devolved into a fit of laughter when she was small, his disgust was a direct assault. She could feel her self-confidence continuing the nosedive it had been taking of late, the gaping holes in her sense of safety and belonging becoming irrevocably large.

When another voice started to chime in, it was silenced by her father’s authoritative baritone. “She is the heir,” the last two words were emphasized as though they were the most important he’d ever spoken, “to the Brecken throne. It is her birthright. It runs in her veins. That is final.”

Though she couldn’t see her mother, Lily knew that the resplendent queen would be at once conveying deference to her husband and absolute authority. She rarely chose to speak up, but just as the shuffling of feet towards the doors began, her voice commanded the crowd’s attention once more. “To be crystal clear, we will forgive the sentiments shared here today, though we will not forget them. Any further talk of putting anyone but my daughter on the throne will be considered treason.”

Shaking free of the memory, Lily fails to shake off the bitterness. In fact, remembering her parents–her father’s olive skin and hazel eyes shot through with gold like lightning bolts, her mother’s features so similar to her own and yet uniquely exquisite–steals her breath. Just like that, she is sucked into another of the memories that play on a loop in her tortured mind.

Shortly after their declaration of her unconditional claim to the throne, her parents were murdered. On the evening of their deaths, when the pair failed to make it home from their trip to one of the village’s near the castle, Lord Martin came into the dining hall to find Lillian. He was awkward, abruptly and tactlessly explaining that there’d been a fatal ambush. The entire affair reeked of treachery, confirmed by the way Bear’s eye twitched as he avoided her stare. He had given into her every whim as a child, playing game after game if she wished. She knew his tells, and that small twitch was a twist of the knife.

“I, of course, will act as regent until you come of age,” he’d said. She was focusing on not vomiting, or else she likely would have said something thoughtless.

Fortunately, Margaret had heard the news and raced into the storm of all Lord Martin had revealed. Lillian ran to her through an onslaught of tears and the heavy fog of grief, clung to her for dear life once they touched. “Say nothing,” Margie whispered into the ear of her devastated charge. When the older woman pulled back a bit to make eye contact, Lily nodded her head slightly before running from the room.

That night, she’d found herself in the small library on the ground floor near the servants’ quarters where she now continues to watch the woman who very likely saved her life with those two words. The dark, dusty space had always been a favorite haven, but once the use of a wheelchair became necessary, she rarely left its comforting walls.

In fact, she only ever spent time sleeping in the bedroom near the library that had been made available to her years ago. It wasn't that she was too spoiled to appreciate the space, it was that the library's books provided endless opportunities for escaping the life she'd been relegated to. More than that, the room reminded her of the way she'd been unceremoniously removed from her previous chambers. Immediately following her parents’ funeral, the heiress’s quarters had been conspicuously given to her towheaded cousin Lucas.

Lucas was the eldest son of her father’s sister, Aunt Beatrice, and, more importantly, was next in line to the throne after Lily.

Lord Martin explained the arrangement to her on the night of their burial. “Your Uncle Donovan and I were thinking that this space might be more comfortable for you once you…well, once you’re unable to climb stairs. I didn’t think you’d want someone carrying you up to the third floor each night.” The lord’s lies were piling high, one on top of the last, a heap of traitorous garbage. He would never be Bear to her again.

“Of course,” she and her words were wilting flowers, conceding to the elements.

At that point, Margaret had already protectively shared with her charge the knowledge that several members of the royal court had conspired against the king and queen, that they planned to install Lucas on the throne once the country was primed for such an act, and, finally, that they would not hesitate to take the true heir out of the picture altogether if need be. The only reason they hadn’t had Lillian killed was that, as a disabled child, they did not view her as a threat.

As expected, over time Lucas’s succession as king became the expectation across the nation. The people seemed relieved at the good sense of the royal family, passing over a disabled female and providing them a strong male heir in her stead. Though it was never said outright, it became clear that Lily was expected to support his claim to the throne or die denying it. The saving grace was Lucas’s deep goodness and his mother’s near-certain innocence in the regicide.

Margaret now makes her way inside the castle, finding Lillian in her usual spot next to the window and Lucas on the chair beside her. The cousins, who could easily pass as siblings, have always been friends–a bond that was forged long ago and would always transcend the adults’ antics. It’s clear that the once-heiress’s mind has been wandering into the past again, and Margaret feels a pang of remorse.

“Take a seat,” eighteen-year-old Lily beckons. She may require a chair for mobility, but she’s still stunning. “I’m mostly talking to the berries, but you’re welcome, too, Margie. We’re discussing little Luke’s coronation.”

Lucas blushes, retorts, “I am a few months younger than you! Must I expect you to hold those hundred-odd days over my head for the rest of our lives?”

The two youngest in attendance laugh at one another, each taking the teasing in stride.

At that, Margaret sits on the cushion of the bay window and the three begin to make easy conversation over glasses of wine, as they often do.

The loyal lady’s maid cannot take her mind off the fates of these young lives, listening as one talks of the coronation they both know was meant for the other–a ceremony that wouldn’t be taking place at all if the princess’s parents were still alive. She is lost in thought, as well as comfortable with the pair and feeling the effects of at least two glasses of the fruity wine. At one point she nearly utters her internal thoughts, allowing only the words “I regret…” to escape her lips before quickly silencing herself.

Lily and Lucas exchange glances before the former gently leads with, “you regret what, dear Margaret?”

Truthfully, in listening to the princess talk about her parents—whom they’d all agreed they missed deeply—Margaret had been about to reveal something she had vowed to take with her to her grave.

All those years ago, Margaret had overheard a plan to kill the king and queen of Dest, along with their ailing daughter. Unable to imagine a world without Lily–whom she had cared for since she was an infant–and certain the rulers would want their child spared, she took a risk. The nanny-turned-lady’s maid had boldly barged into the room and offered the conspirators an alternative ploy. The idea had been accepted, namely because many in the room felt deep shame around the thought of murdering a child–their own family, no less.

Now, however, Margaret wonders if there was a way for her to warn her rulers, to stop the deaths of Lily’s beloved parents. She is filled with regret, something she stems with wine and manages by taking exceptionally good care of the child she helped orphan.

So, what’s one girl against a dynasty, you ask? If you ask Margaret, that girl is absolutely everything.