Chapter 1

THEY CALLED ME 'SPARE' FROM THE moment I was prematurely yanked from the safety and comfort of my mother's womb, so early that I required steroids and breathing treatments until I turned three years of age. Perhaps they thought it was endearing, referring to me as 'Spare,' but, in fact it was condescending, especially when used by my older brother, Carlton, who relentlessly called me that until the day he died; the day I became King.

There are always at least two stories of anyone's life. The one they tell and the one that is true. This is my true story, not the one that will be told of me once I am dead. I will be remembered as a steadfast, monarch who loved and cared for his people, kept them safe and brought them out of despair. This true story is the one that is too brilliant, so heartless and enormously romantic to be told because it was all worthless to the kingdom.

My parents were King Porter and Queen Abby Schreave rulers of the young country of Illéa. Their love story was built upon duty - that was what the public was told.

My father was a tall, strong man with shiny black hair. His square jaw was covered by finely manicured facial hair. He looked regal, even though he was not born or raised to rule. He was always busy and seldom spent any time alone with me. He never tucked me in bed, played ball with me or reviewed my school work.

King Porter took to ruling as a duck to water. He was decisive and absolute when it came to his three loves. First, he loved his sovereign reign. At the age of twenty-three he was crowned King of Illéa after his cousin, His Royal Highness Justin Illéa's sudden and mysterious death. My father quickly developed a fierce and unquestionable love for his power. Soon after his coronation, he established several social laws, financial policies and security protocols to protect and enhance the nation. He spent endless hours directing, planning and ruling the nation as he assiduously built upon the vision set by Gregory Illéa.

Secondly, King Porter loved his son, not me but his elder son, Carlton. It was evident that although his favorite son Prince Carlton was spoiled and sickly, he had the one quality that endeared him to our father: pliability. Prince Carlton blindly followed every order, command and suggestion that fell from the lips of King Porter and as such, King Porter continued his reign while his beloved son was an honorary figure head, puppet king.

King Porter's last love was his wife Queen Abby, formerly Abby Tamblin, three. Their wedding was my father's first marriage and my mother's second. My mother was the second winner of the Selection when she married Justin Illéa, grandson of Gregory Illéa. During Justin's nineteenth year, his bride was chosen from the thirty five provinces of Illéa.

Abby Tamblin was happy with Justin and Justin was no saint. The selection of my mother was a set up. She was cherry-picked from the thousands of applications submitted because she was chaste, submissive with helpful affiliations and had large amounts of money. What was billed by the media as a random opportunity for a daughter of Illéa, became a calculated venture by Justin.

Because my mother was a three with financial resources to contribute to the royal family coffers, Abby was the only choice for Justin. Justin dated and seduced nearly all of the selected before they were sent home, used. Unfortunately for Justin, my mother, the heiress to Good Foods, a company that provided food to over ninety percent of the homes in Illéa, was more attracted to my father. Abby and Porter began a secret affair and devised a plan for them to spend the rest of their lives together.

I'm not sure if my parents originally wanted to run away together or to take over the throne, regardless, after Justin's death, my father proposed to my mother and she humbly accepted with the blessing from the terminally ill, Gregory Illéa.

At the time of their marriage, my mother was pregnant and there was never any doubt that the child born was my father's and created from their secret affair. As their secret love child, Carlton was treated as the highest of all ones. They poured into Carlton all the love and trust that they could no longer find in one another.

If they could easily plan the death of Justin, whom they both loved, then how could they be secure in their own marriage, which was built on conspiracy?

My parents had a passionate and tumultuous relationship with frequent arguments, accusations and demands. Their love was complex in so many ways, but definite. Amazingly, my parents never denied each other comfort or love, and their example was something that I wanted for my own marriage, only I wanted trust.

My father kept his three loves close to him at all times. They were minutely monitored for stability, viability, trustworthiness and direction. His loves bent to his desires and in turn they were guarded by father.

I knew I wasn't one of my father's loves early in my life. I, the spare, Clarkson Schreave, was born five years after my parent's marriage as a source of spare parts for the sickly Prince Carlton. The umbilical cord that nourished me in my mother's womb was needed for Carlton and King Porter demanded that the future King have immediate access to those nutrients.

I guess in his way, my father cared for me and was the only person who treated me as more than a spare. It was by his command that I attended every educational session provided to Carlton. I believed my father allowed these lessons because he cared. Carlton declared that I was only there to be babysat and kept out of the way. Regardless, I was educated as a royal.

My mother cared only for Carlton and tolerated me. She was forced into a second pregnancy that she feared and didn't want. At the time my parents were anxious about Carlton's health. Each accused the other of causing his illness. And because of their shared conspiracy regarding Justin, my father refused to be vulnerable during sex. It was said that my conception was witnessed by four of the palace guard, two for my father and two for my mother.

As I grew, I knew to remain quiet and unimposing. I was to follow in my brother's shadow and never to over-shadow him. Carlton never passed an opportunity to put me in my place. Prince Carlton was a sickly, brilliant boy that everyone favored because of his dimpled smile, carefree attitude and constant illnesses. He was far from innocent and it was his shrewd manipulations that allowed him to receive his every whim, including body parts for his infirmed body.

The Crowned Prince of Illéa was diagnosed with severe liver disease when he was four years old. It was an inherited disease that the King faulted the Queen for passing onto their son. The doctors informed the royal couple that the only cure was a transplant. By the time I was two years old, half my liver and a kidney were removed from my body along with numerous quarts of blood that were given to Carlton. I'm not sure if they ever sought a non-related donor for my brother, but I was certain that they did not expect me to live long once they harvested the needed parts for my brother. To their great annoyance, I survived.

Because I survived my third birthday, the King and Queen determined it was time to name me properly and introduce me to the people of Illéa. At my naming ceremony, an announcement was made to the daughters of Illéa born one year before my birth through the day of my naming of their eligibility to enter the Selection in sixteen years for a chance to become a princess and wife to His Royal Highness Prince Clarkson Schreave, third in line to the throne.

Unlike my brother's naming ceremony, mine did not include directions for the proper raising of the future princess regarding educational training, social and beauty recommendations. At the end of my brother's ceremony, numerous threes started schools, workshops and tutoring classes to properly prepare daughters for the Selection for Prince Carlton. Girls who were fours or above attended private tutor sessions. Parents of eligible daughters who were five or below sacrificed meals for their daughters' to attend the public school future queen lessons.

It seemed the country ignored my existence as easily as my family. There were no tutors or classes to become princess to Clarkson. Perhaps people were confused as to whether Carlton and I were one in the same because we shared so many of the same physical attributes. We both had dark hair, dimples and strong chins. It was like my looks and body was on a five year delay to twin that of Carlton's features, although I never fell ill to the disease that ravaged him throughout his childhood.

My lungs never fully recovered from my premature birth and I was forced to limit physical activities, even though the steroid use made me very active. My brother remained thin and slender all of his short life, however, due to my continued steroid use I was heavier and stronger than Carlton by the time I was ten. My father hated the use of the steroids because they forced me to expend a large amount of energy for short periods of time. It was a nuisance and made him nervous. When I was fifteen, my father made me cease use of the treatment. The result was that I became more stationary and focused.

The first time I realized my brother was not as strong as I was, I was ecstatic. It was my brother's twelfth birthday party that included a royal carnival. The warm Angeles air made it difficult for me to hold a good breath, so I was not allowed to participate in any of the physical games, but my brother could, with the help of servants.

I followed my brother everywhere that day. I watched as he rode on the whirl-a-wheel, angered that I wasn't allowed to participate.

"No one has time to tend to you if you faint," my father reasoned. He forcefully pressed his finger into my cheek, leaned down and declared, "you shall not take away from Carlton's day. You shall sit and remain still."

I followed my father's instructions as well as a seven year old could. I watched from afar as Carlton rode the wooden rollercoaster that was set up on the lawn. Perhaps if it was just Carlton on the rides, I might have stayed put, but the whole affair included children who were twos and threes as well as a few children of palace workers. It was crowded and I figured no one would notice my participation.

As soon as Carlton was finished with the rides, he ventured to the games. I snuck behind him in line for the "dunk a guard" booth. Carlton threw nearly ten balls before someone mercifully tripped the handle and the guard fell into the tank of water.

While everyone was congratulating Carlton on his accuracy and forte, the game was reset and a new guard sat above the water. I quickly grabbed a ball and threw it with as much enthusiasm and strength that my seven year old, oxygen deprived body could muster. The ball whizzed through the air and hit the lever, dropping the palace guard into the tank. I was so amazed that I completed the task on the first try that my glee could not be contained.

"I did it, I did it!" I screamed for all to hear, as I ran over to my brother, excited and thrilled. His was the only opinion that counted for me because no matter how much he teased me, no one else was allowed to treat me badly when he was around. He protected me. He made sure I was safe from strict teachers, cruel nannies and mean maids. He knew I was royalty and all the people that worked at the palace were below us. He was my defender, hero and nemesis all in one.

"What do you mean, Spare?" Carlton asked with irritation because I interrupted the praise he was receiving.

"I did it, I dunked that guard," I smiled, eager for my own praise.

"Good job, but next time you should probably stand on the adult line rather than the baby line," he snickered.

The sound of laughter rang out from my brother's admirers at his cutting remark. More disturbing was the look on my father's face as I remembered his command.

"You're strong enough to throw a ball then you're strong enough to pay the consequences," my father reasoned as the belt landed time and again across my back.

That was the day of my first whipping. That was the day I learned discipline.