'T'Challa,' I started speaking as soon as my friend had picked up the phone, 'I thought you said they knew I'm not here for anything political.'
'Yes, they do.' Confusing filled his voice. 'What happened?'
'O, nothing yet. But that Lady invited the Vice President and some secretaries for dinner. She said "she's gonna make it real special" .' I imitated her American accent for that last bit.
'She probably just wants you to meet some people,' T'Challa tried to calm me. 'Perhaps they only wish to speak about the president's fishing.'
'Ha. Ha. Ha.' Very much unamused I gripped the phone tighter. 'Please be serious, Challa. What should I do?' it was quiet for a moment.
'Let them do the talking. Try to see what they want. Listen carefully. If they say something you don't like, but you don't know what to say, excuse yourself for the bathroom.'
'Shutting up. Fleeing to the bathroom. Got it.'
'You know that is not how I meant it,' T'Challa said softly.
I sighted deeply. 'Yeah, I know. And it is good advice. It's just… no never mind.' I had want to start my "I will never be a good queen" rant, but thought better of it. It started to become pathetic. T'Challa was right; I had to listen to them, find out what they thought, what they wanted, how they think. Then I could figure out what to say for myself.
'Thanks Challa.' In spite of my newfound "courage", I still sound glum.
'You got this, El.'
'I hope so. I really hope so.'

Thus I had to dress up again in the evening. By now I had gotten used to the people fussing around me to fix my appearance, though comfortable it never was. If only I could learn how to do my own hair and make-up the way they did it - but no. I would still be too lazy to do it. That's why I never wore any on regular basis. Too much effort.
This time the dress was slightly longer, and deep blue. The jewellery was pretty, silver with small diamonds; around my neck, my wrists and hanging from my ears. The glittery stones were also on a hair band that had been woven through my hair, creating a rather complicated looking up do.
'Look James,' I said grimly when the team was finally ready. 'This is my battle-gear.'
James smiled. 'You look very dangerous, highness.'

As usual, my guard occupied his place behind me as I walked, and as I sat down at the dinner table. This time they had seated me on the far most right of the right side of the president - who was sitting at the head of the table. The side I was sitting on had been picked for his family, with his wife nearest, and his son next to me, and on the left side there were seats for the Vice President, and two secretaries.
Hence I and Daniel were once again sitting near each other. At first I was afraid Daniel would come at me again. Surprisingly, he didn't. Indeed, he seemed a bit… scared. His eyes flashed between me and something behind him as he helped me sit down, and only smiled timidly. It wasn't hard to imagine what had happened. However, it was a bit harder not to laugh at the thought of it.
The table got loaded with bowls and plates full of food. Immediately my scenes were overloaded by the smell and look of all the baked, cooked and (of course) fried foods. Many shades of brown were present, as were there various variations on the colour yellow ranging from white to gold. Green popped up now and again, alongside red and orange, and even some hints of purple. It was a real feast for the eyes and of course the nose -though even more so for the tongue.

As soon as they started passing around the various bowls and plates, the conversation drifted off to local and national unimportances. That comforted me, as I was safely listening from the side. It was when the glasses of wine had been emptied a couple times too many, that I got dragged into the game.
'You know what I think?' the Vice president bellowed, already too far taken by the drink in his cup. Nobody asked him what he thought, nonetheless, he evidently thought he everybody needed to know. 'I think people should stop complaining you know? We're a democracy; they chose us. If we screw up, it's their fault: should've picked the other team if you think they can do it better. No need to whine about it afterwards.' The others nodded approvingly.
'Yes, Gerald, exactly,' the president responded. His face was slightly glowing. 'It's not like they're stuck with us from the beginning. They had a choice.'
'Done is done, except it and let go.' Gerald snorted. Then he did something highly unexpected; he turned to me. 'Don't you think so, highness?'
Perhaps somebody that wasn't me would have taken this as a nice way to be involved in the conversation. I only heard the sneer.
'I think that people expect that the politicians they choose do the things they promised before they were chosen. That they can expect in my opinion.' To me it sounded like a reasonably good formulated answer, especially considering the "surprise attack" which forced me to give it. The men around the table, however, didn't seem like they had heard me. They gave each other looks that conveyed something like: "children…" As if what I'd said, was complete nonsense.
'Did you hear?' It was Richard speaking this time. 'They're thinking about lowering the age minimum for the presidency.'
'What?' Gerald hit his hand on the table. 'Do they want children to run around in this house? We need adults to rule the world!'
Again, all the others seemed to find themselves in what this angry man was saying. I kept eating quietly, while the steam seemed to come from my ears. If it went on for longer, I would lose my calm.
I rose. 'I'm sorry,' I said, trying not to shake, 'could you please excuse me while I go to the bathroom?'

I took my time in the bathroom, hoping they would already have served desert before I came back to the table. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror for a long while, waiting to regain the control over my expression. No smirk. No scowl. A polite smile should be the only thing I showed. Politeness. Considering. Perhaps a bit of kind gratitude for the food they had served me. Absolutely no annoyance, disgust or anger.
When I reopened the door to the bathroom, James was standing there as expected.
'Do you think,' I muttered, making sure no one could hear me, 'I'd start a war if I threw my desert into Gerald's face?'
A slight tremor moved the corners of James' mouth. 'I don't know about a war, highness. But I certainly think the Vice President of the United States will not enjoy being attacked with whipped cream covered fruits.'
'Shame. I think it would look good on him.'

When returned to the table, I dug my elegant spoon in the ice cream, hoping they wouldn't bring me back into their conversation. Sadly, they did. Eventually.
'So, what do you think?' The Vice President asked me, after he had held a long pause of their democratic system.
For a moment I clenched my jaws together.
'I think,' I said, cringing at the venomous sweetness in my voice, 'that it is not necessarily the system that is good or bad, it is the people that run it.'
They were taken aback by this. Finally they looked at me with a less condescending look. Not for long, though.
Gerald snorted. 'No, really. It's the system. Look at the results; we need order in this world, and that can't be if everyone "does it their own way".'