The Caged Crown

At age four, Elenora Ashila became heiress to an increasingly polarized kingdom.

From that point on, she was going to be queen regnant, not a consort. Her mother and grandmother were consorts, one before the other. Did they ever wish they were in charge like their husbands?

One thing had always been clear: Elenora wouldn’t rule alone. Her father, King Alfred VIII, mentioned something called a ‘’parliament’’. Was it a secondary body of the Royal Council, a large museum, or a new kind of stadium for the World Cups?

Her father said, ’’They are an advisory chamber elected by the people. It’s what the youngsters call ‘democracy’.’’

His definition contradicted what Elenora had obtained in secret from Lucio, the Lord Chamberlain. In a real democracy, a monarchy was not only out of place, but it was completely needless. Elenora was expected to work with this newly established legislature, along with someone called a ‘’prime minister’’.

They could come up with any law they wanted, but ultimately, the king would have the final say.

Some democracy… Elenora pondered.

The parliamentary system was rising water. You couldn’t stop it, unless you used drastic methods to drain it. Those methods likely filled her father’s mind, as he was talking to his advisors about a growing ‘’leftist threat’’, whatever that meant.

Politics were like science: They always came up with new words to complicate already complicated matters. This time, Elenora couldn’t push it away: What was leftism?

Both in the Chamber of Delegates and the Royal Council, people spoke about socialism, communism, and anarchism. All these isms, and Elenora got a multitude of answers that never aligned well.

Meanwhile, Elenora had perfected at waving at people, cutting ribbon, writing speeches, and learning table etiquette. All that ceremonial stuff would be her undoing in the long run.

Elenora had more questions than answers regarding politics, because everyone around her rarely gave her a straight answer.

On a fateful afternoon, days before Elenora’s twentieth birthday, the family was having a get-together that turned laughter and drinks into cries and silence. Queen Mariana was getting quieter as the lunch table went on, until she finally sobbed.

Prince Harald, Elenora’s uncle, asked what was wrong. Mariana urged everyone to ask Alfred, before she left the table. It was then that the King spilled out his cancer disease and emphasized it was bad.

Though Elenora’s birthday on January 18th had some laughs, everyone’s minds were on Alfred. Harald took his niece aside and told her Alfred had granted her a seat at the Royal Council. But the Crown Princess had no appetite for state affairs under such circumstances.

The council itself was a distraction that helped Elenora somewhat, but she would think back to her father, whose life seemed more in jeopardy as time went on.

One night, Mariana urged her daughter to see Alfred in his bedchamber. It was only a matter of time.

She held her father’s hand as his soul was leaving his body. He had been king as far back as she remembered. Kings before him put duty before family. Somehow, he managed to balance both.

When she was playing in the garden as a kid, her father would come out the door after work to catch his daughter jumping onto his arms. He may not have taught his daughter much about politics, but he did teach her to play poker, chess, and keep a straight face amidst it all.

He answered, ‘’Games like that can teach you lots about a person.’’

She was twelve at the time and too confused to ask how.

The sickly king rolled his head over to face Elenora. He ran a finger across her cheek.

‘’My girl…’’ he said.

Her twentieth birthday was five months ago, but she was still his little princess who was so full of life and could light everybody’s day with her smile. It could make the most depressed man’s day, if only for a few hours.

‘’Father?’’ Elenora asked.

His eyelids lifted a tiny bit.

‘’Am I ready? I feel like I know next to nothing…’’

‘’You will… when the time is right…’’

That assured her as much as anything else. Why wasn’t anyone telling her anything? Was Lucio even hiding stuff from her, despite their close relationship?

Elenora kissed her father’s forehead as she said goodbye. King Alfred passed away three hours later, but his death wasn’t announced until the early morning.

Lucio walked into Elenora’s room. She had hardly slept since she departed from her father. There was no time to mourn, as Lucio asked about her regnal name.

‘’Elenora I,’’ she replied.

No other queen had reigned over Midoria before. She had heard about old duchesses named like her.

Lucio smiled and bowed. ‘’Long live Queen Elenora I!’’

After years of being addressed as a Highness, she was now a Majesty. She was a princess who took her duties seriously; now she was a queen who could shape her kingdom for better or worse.

As though Lucio had read the newspaper that made her stomach turn, her eyes were glued to the headline: ‘’King Alfred VIII is dead. Long live Her Majesty Queen Elenora I!’’

Her coronation was scheduled already for next week.

All she had to do was listen, excluding an important oath she had to swear in front of tens of officials, nobles, celebrities, journalists, and cameras. This would mark the first televised coronation in Midoria’s history. Would this be its last?

Sitting on the Midorian throne, the same one her father sat on as he pledged his oath, Elenora was going to honor that tradition today.

Her chair was elevated above a staircase. By her side, stood her mother and grandmother, both queen consorts and mothers from two respected generations. It dazed Elenora that she never had to worry about becoming a consort. Maybe, if she were fortunate, she would live to see herself as the Queen Mother, when her future child would take the throne.

Father Paul, the Archbishop of Dracino and Primate of Midoria, walked slowly towards the young queen. In his hands, he carried a stuffed red cushion with the Midorian crown on, a silver crown decorated with glitter and a blood-red crystal in the center. A cross was on top.

She truly wasn’t going to rule alone.

The oath presented itself in her mind, and she lifted herself from her throne almost impulsively.

‘’I, Elenora of House Ashila, do solemnly swear that I will uphold the law and tradition, reign with dignity and wisdom, before Almighty God, and for the welfare of the Green Kingdom. And this I shall do, until the day I die.’’

The words poured out by themselves. For a moment, Elenora feared she missed a line.

Father Paul handed the crown over to one of the bishops. Another handed the Archbishop a bowl with yellow liquid, which Elenora had been told was oil. Was it going to be warm or icy?

She got to her knees, as Father Paul dipped two fingers into the bowl.

He drew a smooth line across Elenora’s forehead and finished the anointing by drawing a vertical line. A bit of the oil was running down to her brows. She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping the liquid wouldn’t touch her eyes as she proceeded with the ceremony.

The Archbishop paused as he carefully rested the crown on Elenora’s head. It was heavier than she imagined.

‘’By the power vested in me, by our Almighty Lord,’’ he said, ‘’I crown you Queen of Midoria.’’

A surge raced in Elenora’s heart. Father Paul rounded off the coronation after a short pause:

‘’Arise, Queen Elenora.’’

The stage was set. The time was now. The Elenorian Era had begun.