The corridor was an echo chamber.
Every time my boots hit the ground, the sound would bounce off the walls, creating a disjointed melody. I took in the gray stone lit only by the ornate wall lamps that cast dim yellow lights along the narrow pathway.
Everything about the area built unease. Every time I ventured into the corridor, my heart would thump. I did not understand what the exact cause was for my reaction to the space, nor had I tried to figure it out. I guessed it could be the fact that the walls and floor were the same color, varying only in texture.
The air was not only dank, but it was cold, vents near the ground blew the chilly air only through my exposed ankles. I regretted wearing the vintage jeans that frayed near my ankles. The rest of the palace several feet aboveground was nothing like the underground bunker. While the air smelled of mold, I knew my parents would not have allowed for such a thing to take root in our home. That would distort the air of perfection that they aimed for.
I wondered why my father summoned me to the subterranean meeting room. He allowed me an hour to be there, which was odd since he usually made things happen the moment it came to his mind. The meeting room had been a place I had only been in once before, sixteen and still being pushed into becoming well versed in all aspects of war and ruling a kingdom. Four years later and that drive had diminished when my father realized that I was better suited to being a philanthropist, unlike my eleven other siblings. That had been a wedge in our relationship, but if I had kept letting him push me into what he wanted me to be, I would have been miserable.
When I reached the door, there were two burly men dressed in all black standing guard. The titanium door was two feet taller than the men were well over six feet and wider than them both standing together. They nodded as I came near, a sign of respect. I returned a curt nod, knowing that they would not accept my offer to me informally. They parted the door for me without saying a word, and I walked into the secure room.
The room was well lit, computer screens lined the walls and television screens. IT smelled like cloves and was warmer than the hallway. My parents had everything made or panned in gold. The masterpiece of the gaudy decor was a large table with baroque etchings along the surface. The only things that were not gold were the hand-painted portraits of my father, grandmother, and great-grandfather. The three leaders of the Cider regime, at some point, no time soon one of my siblings, would have their picture on the wall.
The whole room screamed of frivolous waste that I championed against. The money spent in a room that only the royal family would see could have been used to better the lives of our disenfranchised subjects.
We had made so many advancements in society, but there were still citizens that weren't eating every day or able to support their families, let alone themselves. Yet, I knew that if I was to protest anything I thought about how we spent money and resources, it would fall on deaf ears.
The only person inside was a woman who had hair cropped to her jawline, and her hair was a dirty blond. The guards' eyes were closed as she worked at keeping up the barrier that left the room impervious to eavesdropping.
I was the first to arrive, which was not an uncommon occurrence. Not wanting to stand and stare at the woman who was trying to remain concentrated, I took a seat at the table. My hands rested on the smooth table surface and then looked over at the screen. They all showed the latest in military interest, most being new news to me.
In the middle of reading about the Monarchy of Europe pointing missiles at the Asian Empire's border, until cool air hit my skin pulling my attention from the screens. I looked down at the Sub Rosa engraved at the center of the table. A symbol that signified the security of the secrets shared among the people who had a chair at the table.
Shifting to my father, who strolled into the room with an air of confidence that most agreed he earned. His bald head shined from a fresh polishing while his deep brown skin pleasantly illuminated by the conjoining of the lights from the musky corridor and the bright room. His face was not as stern as it usually was when he looked at me, but there was still some edge to his glare. I could feel a slight breeze as his robe pulled the cool air inside with him.
My mother strutted alongside him, her curves hugged by the impeccably tailored emerald dress. Her deep skin radiated against the deep green material. She set her face in a perpetual state of false interest. She had a way of making you feel like your point of view was the most important thing in the world while intertwining her will into your very being. She earned the title as the Perfect Queen. Diplomatic and fierce at the same time.
Behind her, my eldest sibling Celine rolled in on her wheelchair that my mother had specially made for her so it could move through thought. She caught my gaze, and I watched her wince from pain and noticed that her small afro was glistening with a light dew of sweat and wished the worst on the hex worker who had cursed her. It was all I could do since my short-lived journey into medical spell work had not gone well. We had remained close despite the eighteen-year difference in age. After she became the kingdom's treasury secretary, we had a lot more time to spend together. I was always in her office asking for funds that I would use for relief projects.
As everyone took their seats, I watched my dad, who remained standing at the head of the table. He is always looking for the move that would make him look the most powerful. Even when he was around his children, he wanted everyone to know that he was the head and we were barely vestigial organs. It came with being on the battlefield for forty years. Both of my parents were in their sixties so they had over a hundred years of life to keep proving themselves and maybe more since advances were being made so quickly even within the year 2778.
"Myles," my father said, which ceased the remaining conversations that were still ongoing. The triplets stopped talking about the impending battle between some small homegrown terrorist groups in the Lower Mexican states. I was glad that they didn't get to discuss the carnage that would ensue.
"Dad what's going on?"
We looked directly at one another. His irises were darker than black coffee. He had not called a meeting that included me in well over a year, so I knew that it was serious.
"We, your father and I have been in conversation with Queen Dulce and King Aécio II, of the South American Kingdom, concerning the animosity that had been building between our two nations. You and everyone at the table are aware of how close we have been inching towards conflict, which is in neither of our interest. So we came to a compromise that incorporates you." My mother's words came out as smooth as honey. She was not my biggest advocate, but she knew to be the one to soften the blow.
"What is it?" the words came out harsher than I wanted them to. So harsh I softened my posture when my father's gaze intensified. I knew the North and South were barreling down a path that could lead to war, but I was not sure why there was tension or how I could help fix anything.
"You and Prince Bernardo Rouanet will marry one another within the oncoming week and will have children at some point to unite the kingdoms permanently for generations." My father spoke with an impassive face.
"What is that going to solve. That doesn't even sound possible," I tried to keep myself calm.
"We had the laws of our countries reviewed by independent parties who found statutes that allow for truces and treaties through royal intermarriage for peace. The nuptials will lead to better relationships that will spur trading, alliances for any future battles we may face, and the free movement through land, sea, and air. I know you like to help our citizens and this would lead to the many opportunities being created for our poorest." He tossed in the last line as an appeal to my sense of public service.
"So you're trying to marry me off as if I'm property."
I couldn't help but to feel offended at them deciding my life without even whispering to me about any of it. It was a common thing in our family, so I wasn't even sure why I was so surprised.
"I don't agree with this at all," I said, pushing the golden seat back along the stone tiles.
"We already made the deals and traded resources to show good faith. You don't really have a choice. You will prove your worth to this family, to this crown." My father looked at me with apathy, as always. He saw me as something he could use, like a pawn more than as a son.
"I can't do this," I said, feeling some internal rage turn into desperation which I knew both my father and siblings would feed off of.
"We all have to put service to the kingdom over ourselves," Celine said to me from the opposite side of the table. I looked at her and saw the sad smile immediately feeling like an asshole for complaining when she has given so much. I also knew that though we were close, she wasn't above using guilt tactics as she had just used to get me to fall into place. I took in a breath and thought of how to make the moment benefit me.
"I demand that new installations of water purification systems in the gulf coast and a revamp on heat charms in the Northern Canadian territories. On those conditions I will do as asked," my voice echoed through the room while my stomach felt like it was falling from a grand height.
"It's a deal, prepared to move to the Latin neutral line where you and the prince will live until further notice," my mother smiled as if she merged a company, not like she sold her son to a stranger. I looked at her and nodded, wondering how I had gone from preparing to make a meal to being married off to an enemy of the kingdom.