Beckett stood over the fireplace, the emotions of the day finally catching up with him. His father was dead. Sure, his relationship with his father wasn't the best, but still, it was a harsh reality to face. He sighed, running a hand through his short, curly red hair. He didn't know what to do with himself. There was also the fact that his mother was ruling a country she had no right to rule. He was twenty-three and more than capable of ascending the throne. He clenched the bottle of beer in his hand more tightly. How could his father be so blind? How could he be so stupid to trust her? Beckett brought the bottle to his lips and took a few gulps. He turned at the sound of the door opening and closing. He half smiled at the sight of the platinum blonde before him.
"How are you holding up?" Eliana asked as she closed the distance between them.
"How do you think?" Beckett asked, his tone bitter. "My father's dead, I come home to find out not only has he been sick for months, but he let that bitch rule in his stead rather than recalling me," he began. He clenched his free hand into a fist. "Oh, and I cannot legally rule until I find myself a wife, a process that I'm sure my mother will drag out, as if the Selection won't be long enough, we'll still have to make it down the aisle."
"I asked how you were, I didn't ask for your life story," Eliana teased as she settled beside him. She nestled up beside him and he rested his chin on the top of her head. "But you're right, that's bullshit."
That's what Beckett liked about Eliana, she was straight to the point, and saw through all the niceties of court. Beckett hated palace life, he wasn't suited for it. The double meanings of words, the lies, the schemes, he yearned for honesty, and he found it, in Eliana. He didn't love her by any means, but they found companionship in each other, and maybe a little bit more.
"I need to get her out of power," Beckett said, wrapping an arm around Eliana. Which admittedly, would be complicated. Everyone was used to his mother getting her way and doing as she pleased. She had a hold on the cabinet of ministers, which meant there was no overthrowing her. He'd never garner their support, they'd forever see him as the troubled little boy who often threw 'tantrums'.
"And how are you going to do that?" Eliana asked, pulling away so she could look up at him. "My father and all the other ministers practically worship your mother, the only thing protecting your place in the line of succession is your father's will. If it was up to them, your sister would be apppointed Queen and they'd rule through her."
"Then I suppose it's a good thing it's not up to them." Beckett said, taking another sip from his beer bottle.
Eliana tossed her hair over her shoulder. "So, what do we do?"
"We don't do anything," Beckett said. "I have to host a Selection, sooner rather than later."
Eleven Days Later
Beckett waited until the day after the funeral to have this discussion with his mother. He wasn't sure how she would take this, but he had to try. He wanted his reign to start, sooner rather than later. Had he continued to live his life unbothered in the palace, he wouldn't have minded the wait, and would have enjoyed his so-called freedom a while longer. But his mother either didn't know or forgot that he had spent the first two years of his service in Illéa, saw first hand how the people suffered with her in charge and vowed to put an end to it. Now, he had to face his mother, as he had so many times before.
"Beckett, do come in," Tyra said, she hardly looked like a widow in mourning, and why would she? The mourning period ended a day ago, and clearly she had no intention of playing the act of loving wife a moment longer than required. Her ginger hair was tied back into a braided bun and she wore a dark blue day dress. "Normally an appointment is required, but I'll make an exception for you."
"Well, don't do me any favours, except perhaps for one," Beckett said, narrowing his blue eyes on his mother. "I want to announce my Selection on next week's Report."
Tyra raised her eyebrows in shock, then quickly composed herself. "Beckett, don't be ridiculous," she said in her soothing, patronising tone. "It's been merely a day since-"
"My father's funeral, and the official mourning period's conclusion," Beckett interrupted her. "Which means we have to resume business as usual, don't we, mother? I do believe that business as usual would include my Selection."
Tyra pursed her lips, clearly displeased at having been beaten at her own game. "Very well, then, if you're sure."
"Oh, I am," Beckett said as he approached his mother. He spoke slowly and deliberately. "Because there's one thing I'm sure of, you will not rule a second longer than necessary, I will see to it."
With that, Beckett turned and left the room, he resisted the urge to slam the door behind him, not wanting his mother to know how much she got under his skin, how much he could barely stand to be in the same room as her, let alone live under her thumb. Soon, she'd be the one squirming, but for now, he was powerless.