Chapter 15

When they returned to the palace, Lambert held her hand to help her out of the car. She bowed her head to thank him and was attempting to walk off to go rejoin Medina. He refused to let go and instead, pulled her back towards him with a wry smile at her surprise.

"If I think of other ways in which you might be able to assist me in my work, I would like to call on you again."

"Certainly, your highness."

His eyes seemed alighted by something in her answer as he bid her goodnight. She had answered thoughtlessly from days of repetitive etiquette lessons that had been drilled into her at this point. It wasn't later until she had given it more thought that she realized that he had meant more then just what had he said. She hoped she was only imagining this outcome and that any 'assistance' he might need would remain work-related.

Their growing friendship hadn't gone unnoticed. Although most everyone knew their outing was staged, it still birthed new rumors. Lambert's words, spoken to her in front of an audience of staff and said with no explanation, didn't help to settle the matter at all. The next morning, she awoke to Medina grinning like a cat and excitedly holding up the front page of a local newspaper. The cover story, complete with a large photograph of herself and Lambert was titled 'A Royal Love Story'.

"Oh no…" The color drained from her face as she snatched it out of her hands. Even holding it somehow made it less believable.

"Congratulations," she cheered.

"No! This isn't congratulations! This is bad!"

She flipped through the pages hurriedly reading every word. It wasn't exactly a surprise that the media had jumped to the wrong conclusion but it was still hard to wrap her mind around. Perhaps she wouldn't have minded so much if the article wasn't so hard set on making her seem like, in their words, 'a coquettish foreign princess who has stolen the crown prince's heart'.

Medina however wasn't the least bit aghast at the situation.

"But you've finally made your entrance to the world of royal society! Everyone's talking about it!"

"Did you forget that Lambert is engaged? And this is not a 'love story'," she said angrily, holding up the paper. "It was just a tourism thing! Maybe it looked like a date, but it wasn't! It was expressly for the purpose of promoting tourism!"

"Oh…" Medina's enthusiasm was deflated upon hearing the truth but wasn't too bothered. "I don't think very many people are going to pay much attention to those details. It would seem boring in comparison. It's rare for the princes to appear in public after all, much less so with female company."

She knew she was right. Talking about buildings and travel destinations would never sell as well as gossip. Still, this wasn't what she imagined their promotional photos would be used for.

"Wait, Lambert can retract this, right? You know, tell these people to set the story straight?"

Medina stared at her with wide eyes and smiled in pity at her hopelessness.

"Miss Alex, there's an lot of other media outlets that have ran the same story. It's probably international by now. The princes wield great power but not that great. In that regard, I have today's schedule for you!"

Alex listened as she went on but heard not a word of it. She tried not to show it on her face but she was worried. What if Ivan had misread the situation? She found it hard to believe that he wouldn't know an act when he saw one, but still. She wanted to clear the air with him either way. She dared to say she even missed him. Were her feelings for him something she could say aloud or would it only bring trouble?

They were on their way to Chezem's quarters for a period of study when they were accosted by none other then Falitna. She was followed by her own entourage of noble-ladies and maids. On her orders, they blocked the hall to keep anyone from passing. She was clearly looking for a confrontation.

"Pardon me," Falitna said with a bow. "I wanted to apologize for the other day."

"Oh, you really don't have to." Alex smiled and tried to wave off the whole thing to no avail.

"No, I insist," she said, approaching her directly. "We haven't been properly introduced. I am Falitna. I'm a daughter of one of the ministers… and Prince Lambert's fiancee."

"Is that so?" She did her best to pretend to be surprised. Of course she already knew that but it was supposed to be a secret.

"It is. I have heard you're getting awfully close to him so I thought I should inform you to save you from embarrassment. It would be a shame after all, if you set your heart on him only to find out that you're just the other woman."

Alex smiled harder with a painful wince. She had looked at Lambert's body out of curiosity but she had never once thought of him in any romantic or sexual way. She appreciated his friendship but she had no intention of getting between him and his engagement. Even if she had, there was no part of her that wasn't angry at the way she had just been insulted. She quickly tried to remember if the palace had rules of etiquette for punching someone in the mouth.

"Thank you," she said slowly and with all the restraint she could muster. "That's just… So… Kind of you."

"Of course it is," answered Falitna, with a condescending smile. "I know what an honor it must have been that someone like you was even able to serve him these last few days. But that time has come to an end. Remember your place and stay away from him."

Without warning, her mouth answered without a thought, "since you want to tell me where my place is, how about I help you find yours?"

"Excuse us! We must be going now," shouted Medina. "Immediately! Please excuse us!"

She grabbed Alex's hand and pulled her down the hall before another word could be said and war outright declared.

"Ms. Alex, I know how hard it is to stand Lady Falitna, but please remember she is also nobility! You would undoubtedly be punished for coming into conflict with her."

She groaned but knew that Medina was right. Although Falitna had started the fight, she was the one who would be seen as in the wrong for elevating it to a physical confrontation. She was glad then that Falitna didn't understand her threat and she hoped no one would actually explain it to her.

"Yeah, I get it," she answered. "But I tried! You saw I tried and she kept pushing me! When I finally push her back, preferably into a fountain – "

"May I suggest you battle her in a more subversive way? If you could just say something to make her lose her temper first, for example. Then she would be reprimanded instead of you."

A light went off in her head as she understood. They wore matching smiles and were of the same mind when it came to such mischief. It was another reason she was glad Medina had taken over Ivan's position; he would have never agreed to help her win a cat fight.

They reached Chezem's room and Alex found herself in just as much awe as she had been at the flower garden.

To say his room was full of books was an understatement. Firstly, there were either no walls or the walls had been turned into bookshelves. Either way, the entire room was insulated with books. What couldn't fit on the shelves was stacked in assorted piles around the room. There was a stack on tables, under the tables, on his desk, beside his desk, and even on the couches. There was nowhere to step without the possibility of tripping over a pile. It was a bibliophile's dream but a neat freak's nightmare. The only place that was free of them were the windows, Chezem being mindful of the damage sunlight would cause.

"Prince Chezem," she called out to him after not seeing him anywhere.

"Yes?"

His voice came from above them. They looked up and saw that what his room lacked in size was made up for in space. There was a second level to it, a loft that opened up to a much bigger area. It was a where Prince Chezem had his bed and of course, more books.

"I'm here to return the books you loaned me. I was also told that you'd be teaching me a bit more about the country's history?"

She could hear him sigh as he begrudgingly moved from wherever it was he had been hiding. He took his time making his way to her and still had the book he had been reading open in his hands.

He wore reading glasses, which surprised her as she hadn't seen him with them on anytime before. He was dressed casually in a light green wrap skirt called an izaar, and a white linen shirt. His patterned kufiyah matched his skirt but his long hair still swayed with his every step. It suddenly made sense as to why he was muscularly toned despite being nonathletic; most of the books in his room were thick as well as being hardbound in wood or stiffened leather.

He took the books from her and only spoke to her after he inspected their condition.

"You may sit. Not there," he added as she was about to sit on the couch closest to her.

She apologized quietly and moved to the only one that didn't have books on or near it.

"Is this okay," she asked.

"It'll do. How far have you gotten," he asked as he shelved the books back where they belonged.

She took a moment to think of what the last subject she had read was. She learned that the country had always existed in one form or another.

It started as a remote area whose only importance was its plethora of cows and manure. Apparently someone thought it was a good enough piece of land to claim as a kingdom but not notable enough to write anything else down for a thousand or so years. Then, as if suddenly remembering that there was more than just cows, like a sea for instance, the kingdom engaged in fishing, pearl diving, and trading said pearls. Honestly, the country itself seemed to be so laissez faire that it just happened to accidentally get rich and survive into the current day.

The only exciting thing of note was that it later became ruled by a king who adored piracy so much, and was such a pain in the ass to every navy that wasn't his, that even warring states signed peace treaties and joined forces just to get him to stop. He refused and only backed down after being threatened by the then British Empire.

Then it became an entreporting business, a fancy way of shipping things into other countries that weren't otherwise allowed without paying taxes. It remained peaceful and relatively well-off in this business by taking advantage of the multiple wars around it, fighting in none but selling supplies to whoever would pay. It seemed no neighboring country cared to claim the useless land next to them, even if it did have pearls and had recently discovered the date palms that had always been there.

That attitude remained until the discovery of oil fields, which was probably also by accident. With it, Eber-Nari was launched it into the modern age with the job of defending its borders. It did this expertly, not only winning but conquering and annexing both countries adjacent to it and violently disposing of their respective former rulers.

It remained an important port for trade throughout the years. Thanks to its new wealth, its market came to include gold from Switzerland and diamonds from the African coast. Money also brought power and it became friends with many foreign nations but remained neutral to their conflicts, officially declaring that it put itself first foremost. But the oil fields that helped it grow were predicted to run dry soon.

That's when the trouble began.

"Oh! The modern era," she answered. "I was just getting to the part about the protests."

Chezem said nothing as he took a comparatively light book off the shelf and handed it to her. Then he took a seat across from her and went back to his reading. The silence was heavy and awkward. She opened the first book and began skimming through the table of contents.

"Aren't you going to teach me?"

He looked at her over the rim of his glasses. The bottom of his face was hidden by the book he held but his eyes said he was clearly annoyed.

"Self-study," he answered. "You can ask me questions on what you read, if you have any. Please refrain from doing so if you can help it."

"Oh. Okay…"

She glanced over at Medina, who returned her look with a small shrug. His guarded behavior was well-known throughout the palace and came as no surprise to her. She dismissed herself from the room and left them alone. Alex surrendered any chance of trying to hold a conversation with him and turned her focus on reading the book he had given her.

Her face began to contort in shocked disbelief at what she read. She knew every country had its violent conflicts and turmoil, she just hadn't expected it to be so… very recent. Just less then twenty years ago, it had been under an oppressive dictatorship that resulted in a bloody revolution.

The country's rapid growth in such short amount of time had given it a power unprecedented by even the oldest and most developed countries. This gave the ruling class wealth and weight to throw around as they lived decadently. But there of course existed the inevitability that these oil fields, the source of their prosperity, would dry up.

They decided to solve the problem by turning the country into a tourist attraction, a place for the wealthy to spend money. But these shining skyscrapers and fancy parks, the very ones she had visited, were built on the backs of an army of cheap labor, from foreigners and locals alike. These workers were promised fair pay and equal opportunities. What they found was enslavement to their employers, who paid them less than promised and held their basic human rights hostage for an unreachable ransom.

It started as a few peaceful protests against this system and against the elite who had allowed political corruption, extreme poverty, and the horrific denial of human rights. It turned into a brutal government sanctioned massacre at the hands of the police. One sacrificial death turned the people's cries of grief into shouts of anger that sparked the fire for riots and retaliation.

Her face turned pale at learning what historians had titled this gruesome chapter of the country's history centered around King Tamir's ascension.

"Prince Chezem, I have a question," her voice squeaked and her anxiety was clear.

She looked at the dates in the book again and calculated that she was around ten when these events occurred. Chezem would have been even younger and she doubted he could remember it first hand. But he did say to ask him if she had questions and right now, she had many questions.

"Have you tried further reading?"

He didn't even bother to look at her or hide his irritation. She sucked in her bottom lip in frustration. She didn't feel as if she deserved the cold shoulder but did as he suggested. What she read only deepened her disturbance.

The protests began in response to a string of suicides. People had chosen death over the bleak futures they were promised; starvation, joblessness, or indebted wage slavery. The first protesters were just a group of students mourning their friends and family with a candlelit vigil. Their numbers increased steadily and their cause grew to include all kinds of people and it became a protest of their conditions. It didn't get their voices heard, but their actions did.

They conspired to refuse to work for the bourgeois and instead shared their own resources, shutting down the ruling class and nearly bringing the country to the brink of communism. The state had no choice to respond and they did so without mercy. They declared their actions treasonous and it gave the police license to ran amok. They arrested people en masse, destroyed property, staged murders, forced disappearances, and sewed discord among its leaders.

The laws became harsher as well. The king enacted a curfew that everyone be indoors before sundown. Gathering into groups of three or more people became illegal. Foreign laborers who didn't fill their work quota faced deportation. They arrested anyone who spoke against the state and sent them to labor camps with no hope of being released.

She pulled her knees close to her chest in fear. None of this had been mentioned on the history tour she went on with Lambert. No one had told her any of this at all. Further reading was not helping calm her nerves. She thought back on her every interaction with King Tamir and tried to picture him as the cruel man described in the book.

The events escalated of course. Sharpened by their depression, the protesters fought back. The weapons the police had used against them became their means. If they could not be out after dark, then they were out at the first rays of sunlight. If they could not gather into groups of three, then they broadcast their resistance to the thousands through social media. They unfurled their flag of dissent across buildings and defaced monuments. If they were threatened with deportation, then they became nomads; they moved from house to house and from hand to hand to stay ahead of police raids. Those who had made themselves enemies of the state became ghosts, known only as faceless voices from a blank screen to their followers and oppressors alike.

Suddenly the protesters were an army of feet, hands, and mouths that spun the world around them. But they were an army in name only, a fact brought to light when the king demanded that the real army take action. The country plunged headfirst into a civil war. Police bullets and canisters of mustard gas faced off against stones and bottles. Their battlefields were the streets where there was no distinction between innocent or guilty. There were no holy places left untouched by the conflict. Mosques, synagogues, churches, and schools were forced to close their doors or risk becoming targets. The country was beginning to collapse and its bleak end was clear.

Yet the protesters would not be stopped by bullets, beatings, or burning gas. The world outside their misery stood with them. Their message spread and it returned with aid, solidarity, and hope. Somewhere through the cracks, through the fighting, destruction, and death, their world began to change.

The police they had fought against began to join their cause. They threw down their allegiance to the state and instead, became the vanguard of the unarmed resistance. They shielded them from harsher enemies like starvation and infection. Then stranger still, the army ceased its assault and stood silent. They were ordered to stand down. They watched over the dissidents and their actions but refused to fight. Some one higher was giving them orders and they were on their side.

Alex turned the page only to find a list. It was the names of past ministers, their positions, and eerily enough, their mortal status. Those who had staunchly stood against the protesters had a change of heart and made concessions in their favor. Those that hadn't were deceased. It was obviously no coincidence. It wasn't the only mystery or sudden death that piqued her curiosity.

The protesters had won the change they wanted. It would be a slow and arduous process to see it come to fruition but somehow, it had begun. Their country had been given a new face. Due to the suspiciously timed yet reportedly completely natural death of the old king, his younger brother was to be crowned, King Tamir.

He was described as far different then she had known him. It said he spent the first years of his reign undoing the damage that previous rulers had done. He released political prisoners, established financial aid to help those who had suffered worst in the conflict, poured money from the royal treasury into rebuilding the neighborhoods that had been destroyed, and established laws that would grant legal protection and inalienable rights to the previously exploited.

He abolished the entire Imperial Council, positions that had long been passed down through inheritance, and replaced it with a cabinet whose members were to be democratically elected. As his most marked achievement, he was credited with the country's change from an absolute monarchy to a constitutional one by doing no less then demanding an entirely new constitution be written from scratch.

He didn't stop there. The revolution had been like a deep wound to the country; appeasing the protesters had only stopped the bleeding but there was still internal damage that needed to be treated. He worked tirelessly to heal it. The country's success, its entire infrastructure, from schools to hospitals, from public safety to financial services, were all been in his hands. His reforms swept through them all.

Her jaw dropped. She had seen herself what he had made. In the list of countries arranged by market value, Eber Nari made the top twenty. Reading what it had come from and where it was now, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Reading King Tamir's part in it and all he had done, never before had she wanted to shout 'holy shit' more than that moment but she knew profanity was not looked upon favorably.

An odd thought struck her but perhaps this was the reason he had been married so many times. Reading that he had saved an entire country, she wondered if she was falling for him too. That kind of capability certainly wasn't an unattractive quality.

She looked up to see Chezem staring fixedly at her. He was entertained by the emotional expressions she made while reading. She had let slip more then a few gasps and mumbled sobs. She cleared her throat and whispered an apology as she tried to demurely hide her face behind the book. There was still a few chapters left that she hadn't read.

It turned out that 'The Painting of the Red Tower', as it was called, was a metaphor for the decidedly less heroic actions his majesty had taken. In order to secure his position as king, or perhaps to cement it, he had ordered the imprisonment of the old king's children, his own nieces and nephews.

They were locked in a tower on the palace grounds on the day of his coronation. There were twenty of them in all, twelve boys and eight girls of varying ages between sixteen and five. They all were found dead the very day after their uncle was crowned king. The only trace their executioner had left behind were deep bruises in the imprint of a silk cord that had been used to strangle each and every one of them.