I managed to survive the last couple days of my visit to The White House. It helped that Gerald, our "lovely" Vice President didn't come over for dinner again. Though the tension and awkwardness didn't go away after that one catastrophic dinner.
On both sides there was quite some relief that I was leaving.

Never had the palace looked more beautiful than when I drove up to it from the private landing ground, after our plane had landed. It was only moments after sunrise, so the golden sun made the entirety look like a still from a fairy tale.
Back at home another countdown clock restarted; only two more months to go to the coronation. Preparations were made of all kinds; turned out some kind of minister – all right, that's not kind of me to say, Minister Davitte was a really kind lady, and she had been uttermost respectful towards me when I met her, when I was about eleven – had launched a nationwide project for all sorts of artists to create the decorations for the route between the palace and the cathedral. People seemed to like the idea, and they seemed to look forwards to the grand feast of the coronation. Even though I didn't – and to me it was also my eighteenth birthday.

After I had settled back down in my daily "routine" (which, sure enough, did include running every morning – and yes, I was very proud of myself – while James gave tips on how to breath and hold my body) I also continued my research. Oddly, finding out more about the kingdom I was about to rule didn't reassure me. Indeed, it worried me more.
'James,' I called out, with a restrained voice. 'I need you in here.'
'What's wrong, highness?' It was after our usual round around the palace grounds so I had taken a shower, and sat on my bed with damp hair.
I looked up, holding the laptop for him to see.
'You tell me. These numbers, they're not right.'
James came closer, inspecting the screen, and the numbers displayed on it. 'What's wrong with them, highness.'
'Nothing.'
'Nothing? I'm sorry, highness, how are they not if there's nothing wrong with them?' He frowned and seemed genuinely bewildered.
'Exactly.' A grim smile appeared on my face. 'How can these numbers be the right numbers, if there's nothing, absolutely nothing, wrong with them?' I scrolled to a specific paragraph. 'Let's see. Marerra does not import energy from other countries, yet has plenty to go around. Also, our skies are clean, just like our waters. There is no downside to these numbers, which can't be correct. Our carbon emissions should be extreme, yet our reports say they aren't.' Frustration build up inside me, and I smacked the laptop shut. 'Can you explain this to me?' I leaned my head back so I could look at him. He kept his face a neutral mask.
'I am sure there is an explanation for this, highness. Your country has done very-'
'O, please,' I sighed, 'stop this nonsense. These numbers are false. Someone tempered with them, that's for sure. I only wonder how many people worked on this to get it in official UN reports.' With tense, circular motions I rubbed my forehead, trying to diminish my starting headache.
'Highness…' a new gentleness rose in the guards' voice. 'You shouldn't think this badly about your own country. I am sure these reports weren't faked or created with fraud. If the numbers really aren't right, there must have been a mistake.'

I chewed my lip. Scanning his face, his eyes, trying to analyse his words. Since our midnight conversation he had shown more of himself. Thus I had improved in finding out what he was thinking.
'You know something,' I concluded. 'You know something I don't know. What is it?'
Naturally, I didn't get an answer. James looked at me, a bit sadly, I thought.
'There is nothing I can tell you, highness.' Clever way to articulate the sentence. He didn't even admit to knowing something. Yet he didn't deny it, either.
'All right,' my fingers tapped impatiently on the table, 'I see how it is. Well, if you know something about this country I don't, it must've been T'Challa telling you. Wasn't it?' Again, no reaction. 'Then I'll ask him.'
I reached for my phone, but James put his hand on it before I could grab it.
'Highness, please.' A little bit more stress on the "please", a little bit more urgency.
'I'll take it you'll get in trouble if I call T'Challa?'
'Certainly.' There was no fear in his face or voice, nor concern. But I had gotten used to his neutral expressions.
'And I won't get answers, will I?'
'I'm afraid not yet, highness.' Not yet – he had added that little word on purpose.
'Not yet, so you promise I will get them?'
'In time, highness. In time you will know everything.'

I took my time deciding if I should let it be. My eyes pierced him, attempting to read his thoughts.
'All right,' I sighed eventually, 'I trust you. But I do want answers eventually. T'Challa is in on it, so it can't be that bad - or nothing I have ever believed is a lie. Let's hope that's not the case.' The way I know smirked up at James was the most painful smile I had ever given. Not only would ministers be involved if this was fraud, but also Janson, T'Challa, and my father.
'Please, forget it, highness, you have enough to worry about.' He tried to soften me with a careful smile.
I nodded, distressed, like I was most of the time recently. 'One could say that.'