by V Vee
Algerone refused to let his mind travel down that dark path, instead he focused on the brilliant image in front of him. Of all his children, he should have known that Beaumont, with his big heart, forgiving and kind nature, would be the one to have Valerie’s talent and ability to capture life and emotion and express them through art. Reflecting back at him from his son’s canvas was a dark, heartbreaking picture but one that still filled him with hope. The painting was split into two separate places, joined together by the figures in the center. Lightning filled a dark sky on one side of the canvas, on the other a bright, happy, cloudless sun filled sky was captured. Two trees were gracefully painted on either side of the canvas. One was bent and bowing over from the force of the storm’s winds, barren, dark, and broken, while the other stood straight, blooming with fruit. Behind the bowed tree, and beneath the stormy sky, there were gray, dangerous, and choppy waves, affected by the storm, and the grass on the ground was a mixture of brown and green, blowing in the wind. Contrastly, behind the healthy tree, a large home rested at the edge of a pool, with healthy, hunter green grass surrounding it, flowers growing within it.
But it was the figures in the center of the painting, the seven figures joined at the line, the barrier of these two worlds which caused a lump to form in Algerone’s throat. On the bright—some would say beautiful—side there was a man, Algerone could tell it was him. He had rope around his waist and chains around his wrists and feet. As his eyes moved over the painting, he followed the path of the rope and chains. The rope was connected to the tree in the “perfect” world, which now that he looked closer at it, he saw that it wasn’t as wonderful as he’d originally thought. The home had bars on the windows, and what appeared to be a camera poking up through the grass and from the pool. So the “beautiful” world was really a prison. One, he’d tied himself to. However, when he followed the path of the chains, he saw that they connected to Valerie’s wrist, and that his wife had wrapped the chain around her hand to make it tighter, even as the keys dangled from her fingers. The other three chains were connected to his children, who were holding onto Valerie’s dress, and each other, but paired together with the chain around their waist, all except Dahni who rested in a baby carrier against Valerie’s chest. All the chains were connected to the tree caught in the storm, wrapped tightly around it, and locked together.
Algerone narrowed his eyes and studied the painting more intensely. Valerie and the children had expressions of concentration on their faces, and were bent over. Valerie was gripping Algerone’s hand and staring directly at him, and his head was tilted back. At first glance it looked as if Algerone is fighting the storm to pull them to safety where he is, but having looked over each piece and facet of the canvas, Algerone realized that his family was braving the storm—or willing to brave it—to save him.
Algerone rose from his seat and knelt next to Beaumont pulling the young boy into his arms, as unshed tears burned behind his closed eyelids. Emotion coursed through him as he felt Beaumont’s thin arms come up around his shoulders and his head rest on Algerone’s shoulder.
“Are you okay, Kothrar?” Beaumont asked him after a moment.
Algerone pulled away and sniffled, wiping the tears from his cheeks. He gave his son a small smile and nodded his head. “Xeok. Throm vraie. Brii vreda.” Algerone assured his son he was okay, and that he was merely proud.
“Of me?” Beaumont asked.
Algerone inclined his head. “Xeok,” he answered his son in Malvidencian. He spread his hands and indicated Beaumont’s painting. “Look what you have made, sōe dath. You have created and given life to a masterpiece. You are just as talented as vrŭe kruthrar,” Algerone praised his son.
Beaumont’s eyes shined brightly with joy. “Really?”
“Xeok. Yes,” Algerone answered.
Beaumont bit his lower lip shyly and leaned towards Algerone. Smiling softly at his son, Algerone indulged him and leaned closer in order to hear the little boy’s secret. Beaumont was such a stickler for the rules, especially when it came to the parameters his mother set forth for their arts and crafts projects. Algerone had no doubt that his son was probably going to confess to some imagined slight or offense.
Perhaps he accidentally forgot to rinse his brushes thoroughly, Algerone chuckled internally.
“I named it: Fighting for Daddy,” Beaumont confessed before sitting back in his seat, wringing his hands nervously as if waiting for a reprimand from Algerone.
Algerone opened his mouth to respond but before he could, Valerie finally walked into the room after having been in the bathroom cleaning up. Algerone had offered to help her, but after many more kisses, lots of groping, and some laughter, Valerie had finally convinced Algerone to go out to the family room to spend time with their children before dinner. Even disheveled as she was, her shirt untucked, now wearing a pair of sweatpants, her thick, black hair, pulled back into sloppy ponytail at the base of her head and secured with a hairband, Algerone still thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Okay everyone, it’s time for dinner! Let’s go. Whose turn is it to help me serve?” Valerie asked.
Without a word Chikere walked over to Valerie and stood next to her. Algerone watched as Valerie lifted a hand and ran it over the brown curls of their son’s hair. She murmured something softly to him, something only Chikere could hear, but whatever she said caused a wide grin to spread across his youngest son’s face. Algerone watched in amazement as Chikere took Valerie’s hand still smiling, and bent over it, placing a kiss on the back of it like a gentleman. Valerie took hold of the fabric of her left sweatpants’ leg and executed a perfect curtsey in front of Chikere.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she interred with a faux-British accent, which wasn’t all that off from his own Malvidencian one. Though, with the location of Malvidence being located between Europe and Africa, the Malvidencians with their diverse population, sounded more English, with a hint of African inflection, dialect, and influence. It was the reason for his children’s names, influenced as they were by the Malvidencian and African language.
“If you will excuse us, Sir Chikere and I will adjourn to the kitchen to serve the meal. If it doth please Your Highnesses, if you will wash your hands and present yourselves at the table so that we can sup together?” Valerie continued on in her very posh, faux-British accent.
AJ rolled his eyes. “Mom, c’mon.”
Valerie gasped and put a hand to her chest, before fanning herself as if she were overcome. “My word, Your Highness! Such common street talk! And to address your kuthrar in such a manner? Perish the thought! Now, hie thee away to cleanse your hands.” She turned and lead Chikere into the kitchen where dinner waited.
Algerone turned to his other children who were all watching him, to see what he would do—all except Dahni that is. The little girl had turned her attention to the carpet beneath her and was trying to both inspect it while sitting, but also trying to stand and walk on it. Algerone foresaw a disaster and moved to his youngest child to lift her into his arms. Looking at his other children, he smiled at them.
“Well, you heard your mother, the future queen. Let’s go wash our hands,” he said with forced enthusiasm, hoping his children couldn’t hear the guilt churning in his gut. If the snort AJ released was any indication, however, at least one of his kids was calling bullshit on his words.
As Beaumont and Chiamaka headed to the half-bathroom in the hallway just off the kitchen to wash their hands, Algerone reached out to stop AJ from leaving. Algerone jerked his chin in the direction Valerie had departed and smirked.
“So what was your mom up to, huh?” he asked, with a small chuckle, trying to bond with his eldest son.
AJ narrowed his eyes and stepped close to Algerone. “If you came back home more often, then you would know that Chi loves Downton Abbey, The Crown, Arthur and pretty much any other show mom,” he said, emphasizing the English word, “lets him watch on BBC America. So whenever it’s his turn
to help in the kitchen, Mom pretends as if we are all British royals dining with the Queen, to help ease Chi’s anxiety with having to ask questions or interact more than usual.”
AJ lifted his head in a gesture of pride and squared his shoulders. Algerone was slightly taken aback by his son’s stance and the way it seemed as if the boy was getting ready to fight him. If he wasn’t so shocked, and even a little disappointed that his son felt as if he had to go on the defense with him rather than just talk to him, Algerone was still proud of eldest son. “But you don’t know anything about that, because you’re never here and you don’t know anything about your children, their likes or dislikes, the problems they’re going through, or even your own wife.” AJ scoffed at Algerone and shook his head.
“Why not make this a short trip, Prince Algerone so my siblings and I, and our mom, can recover from your visit, and go on living without you like we have been.”
And with those words, AJ pushed passed Algerone and headed to the bathroom to wash up. Algerone hung his head, shame causing him to feel older than he was. When Dahni kissed his cheek with a resounding smack of her lips, Algerone only felt the smallest measure of comfort.
He would cut this visit short, but only so he could go back to Malvidence and do what he should have done fourteen years before.
Algerone helped Chiamaka with her plate, his eyes taking in the sight of his family as they sat at the dining room table to share a meal. The baked chicken alfredo Valerie had cooked was delicious—which was to be expected from anything his wife made—and the banana pudding that waited for them in the center of the table, was just as visually appealing. Algerone was trying not to scarf his food down in order to get to the dessert, wanting to be a good example to his children, but it was a study in his well-worn self-control.
Conversation around the table was centered around the children. School, their favorite television shows—What the hell was a Doc McStuffins anyway?—what movies they’d just gone to see, what fun adventures they’d had with their friends, their cousins: Valerie’s nephews, and even what toys they’d seen on different commercials or in the store that they wanted. Algerone listened to it all, letting their childish enthusiasm flow over his skin like cool, refreshing water from the most natural, cleanest river, and seep into his spirit and soul, lightning and uplifting them. Though he and his brothers had different meals with their parents, all of them always making sure to have at least one meal a day with each other with everyone in attendance, unless someone was out of the country, the atmosphere was much different there.
Every meal began with the perfunctory inquiry into their days, their weeks. Their parents would ask about their current projects, their organizations, their careers, even their hobbies. These questions were all an attempt to lull the boys into a false sense of security. Once the happy, softball questions had been lobbed and answered, their parents went for the jugular. One by one they would “call onto the carpet” each son and interrogate them over friends, their latest sexual conquest or relationship, interview, fashion choice, photos that appeared in the newspapers, magazines, tabloids, and on social media. They’d ask each boy if they have found a “potential princess” to bring to dinner and present to their parents. And by the time dessert was served, each Smythe son, each Prince of Malvidence, had been chastised and threatened with an arranged marriage.
Those awkward dinner conversations were made even worse when dignitaries, ambassadors, or the visiting leaders of different countries came to visit. While there were always the more formal dinners had in the Great Hall with all of the advisors, political and social leaders, and notable figures from Malvidence in attendance, Algerone’s parents always extended a more informal meal with only family, assistants, seconds in command if they were in attendance, and translators if they were needed. Those dinners were always the ones that Algerone and his brothers hated the most. How were they supposed to behave? It had been easier when they were younger, much of their actions had been excused due to age and immaturity, however, they were adults now. Men. Those excuses no longer held weight or merit.
Dinners and meals with those of titles, men and women of power, meant that Algerone and his brothers were to be “on display” but also to be “casual.” They were to “entertain” but not to “conflate.” They were to behave as befitting the title of “His Highness” but they were not to treat their guests as anything less than “cherished members of the family.” It was so confusing that often Algerone and his brothers would smile and only answer questions when they were asked. Those meals would be the first to go when Algerone took the throne. He could not even conceive of Valerie and his kids being able to tolerate such deceptiveness.
Which brought his thoughts to another matter. Here in the States he and Valerie ate with the children around the table, in Malvidence not only would they not eat with them, it would be expected that a nanny, then a governess, boarding school, and finally university, would do most of the rearing and educating of the royal children. He and Valerie would rarely see their own children, except during the holidays and special appearances. Algerone could not see Valerie going along with such a matter.
“Algie?” Valerie’s voice pulled him back into the present and Algerone blinked. He looked around the table and realized they were alone with Dahni in her high chair.
“Hmm?” he responded.
“Are you okay?” Valerie asked.
Algerone nodded. “Yes, of course. My mind was simply wandering.”
Valerie quirked an eyebrow at him and Algerone chuckled.
“Okay, if you must know,” he stated, placing his silverware down on his empty plate and leaning forward to lean on his steepled fingers. “I was simply comparing our meals here with those at the palace.”
“Ah,” Valerie bobbed her head with a small smile. “Is it anything like what I see when I watch The Crown with Beaumont?”
Algerone shrugged. “I have not watched the show, but if they depict the meals as being ostentatious, pompous, stilted, tense, and lacking any type of emotional warmth, all while those seated around the table are trying to make political matches whether through business and social partnerships or through romantic ones? Then yes. They are exactly like that.”
Valerie shook her head and leaned over to wipe Dahni’s face with a warm washcloth. She tsked when Dahni twisted her face away, pushing her hands away.
“That’s so… sad,” she remarked.
Algerone didn’t say anything at first, letting Valerie’s words settle in his mind for a moment. Dissecting how they made him feel. He reached out and took the rag from Valerie and making a rabbit with his first two fingers raised and the other three fingers touching of his other hand, he distracted Dahni while he wiped her face. When he finished cleaning her face, he had the “rabbit” kiss her face, then grabbed one hand quickly to wipe it clean, and hurriedly cleansed the other, before setting the washcloth down on the top of her high chair. Then, making two “rabbits” he made them both kiss Dahni’s cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips, before he leaned over and nuzzled her neck, chuckling when she giggled.
He glanced up when he realized Valerie was simply sitting quietly at the table watching them. He lifted his eyebrows at her.
“What?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “I simply forgot how great you are with them when they are this age.” Her eyes widened. “I mean, you are great with them always, Algie…”
Algerone held up a hand. “No. I know what you meant. And you think you made a mistake, but you are right. About the dinners with my family, and my time with our children.” He looked away briefly in guilt. “I do so well with them when they are this age, because it’s all fun, and they don’t really notice the time I am away, you know? But as they get older, they start to pay attention when their kothrar is watching their game from an iPad rather than from the stands. It hurts them. They are also aware of how often their kuthrar cries when their kothrar leaves.” He stared at Valerie and saw the moment when her
eyes filled with tears.
He rose quickly and came around to kneel next to her chair.
“I swore to you at our ceremony and during our honeymoon that I would not leave you twisting in the wind, or wondering about my feelings for you. I promised you when you gave birth to Algerone Junior that I would bring you into the kingdom so that all would know who you were to me and we would never have to hide. I have promised to love you, but love does not hide itself if it has the power to show itself without danger. There is no danger to us displaying our love. I have failed you and our children. Just like the meals with my family—which you so accurately described as sad—my life outside of the six of you is filled with people trying to ahead politically, doing what they can to gain something from the throne.” He reached up to take Valerie’s face in his hands, stroking her high cheekbones with his thumbs. “You have given me so much. You and the children have sacrificed so much. No more. This I vow. I will spend the week and then I will return to Malvidence to tell my parents and the entire kingdom that I am married and have children waiting for me to bring them over to the palace.”
Valerie’s sigh of happiness and relief and the tears that rolled down her cheeks before she leaned forward to kiss him, let Algerone know he’d made the right choice.
Finally.
Chapter Eight
V alerie knew who was at the door as soon as she heard the doorbell early the next morning. Groaning in frustration, she tried to disentangle herself from Algerone’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist, Dahni’s tiny body wedged almost underneath her body, and—she glanced down at the foot of the bed—Chikere and Chiamaka sleeping at the foot of the bed.
“Where do you think you are going?” Algerone’s growly, sleep-roughened voice sounded in her ear.
