Throne: Royal Millennium Trilogy by C.D. Newton - HTML preview

Chapter 2

A General vs. a King

“DIDN’T I TELL YOU, General, to wait until I returned before you could start this absurd campaign?” I said. I glared with much disapproval at the tablet device. Staring back at me in full military regalia was an arrogantly smiling General Moammur Gadhafur.

“All is fair in love, war and politics.” the general’s voice echoed with sarcasm.

“Let me make this clear to you. I was only patronizing you. Don’t take my poor judgment for granted. You will never sit on the throne of Zoomoonda.”

“Allow me to share this with you. Go do what playboys do best…play. Why don’t you leave rule and governance to the grown-ups? I’m talking about men with real experience in leadership and vision.”

“Do not disrespect me. I am still the king. I am still your king.”

“Please forgive me, Your Majesty. You’re right. However, I’m sure you’re well aware of what’s happening with the Arab Spring and within the continent of Africa. There is a sweeping push for democracy. Not even Zoomoonda can escape it. It’s inevitable.”

“Zoomoonda is not Egypt, Libya or Syria. My family’s royal rule has been very kind and generous for Zoomoondans.”

“If you’re that confident in your family’s monarchical rule, then let the people decide if they still want it or not. You might be surprised, as were the other rulers. Democracy might be what they truly desire, Your Highness,” the general said.

“I’m confident Zoomoondans will show their loyalty to the monarchy and retain me as their king.”

“Then when you return let’s have a public debate, along with a Jamaa-Kita exhibition. Shall we?”

Granted, the general was a vibrant speaker, so a debate would be interesting.

 But a “Jamaa-Kita?” That literally meant, in Swahili, Family-War.

It was more of a showy symbol of might and strength. It was an ancient Zoomoondan tradition where two competing tribal elders would select two males and two females from their respective families and battle it out. Including the tribal elders, the goal was to knock the 

opponent off his or her feet in five separate contests. A win would be a point for the tribal elder they represented. Whoever had the most points out of the five battles was considered the victor.

“Looks like I’ll have to pull my great-grandfather’s chariot, sword and spear out of storage,” I said.

“So I take it that’s a ‘yes.’”

“Anytime. Anywhere,” I said.

“Good. The old Pyramid Arena. Give my regards to your father, the Royal Emperor. I wish him a speedy recovery. As you know, I have a campaign to run. Let me give you some sound advice, AJ.”

The general’s voice echoed with mockery.

“Any time you wish to do as the ruler of Tunisia, no one will fault you.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Exile is not such a bad thing. But if not, have a safe flight back home. Zoomoondans couldn’t bear another tragedy.” With that snide remark, the general disappeared from the screen.

***

Our motorcade of limousines joined the other limousines of influential Americans waiting in line. When we finally reached the entrance of the luxury Ritz Carlton in Cleveland, we temporarily parked and exited the vehicle. In usual ceremonious African fashion, lovely rose bearers threw petals at the feet of the entire royal cabinet. 

There were throngs of screaming and yelling people barricaded around the entrance of the hotel. There were young, old, black and white, curious viewers. All these excited faces where apparently anxious to get a peek at the visiting African royalty.

“Lion-King! Hey Lion-King,” a young man from the crowd yelled furiously.

I turned to see the source of the voice. I thought to myself, maybe he’s calling me that because of the symbol of a lion and the continent of Africa on the flags mounted on each of our limousines. Or maybe he was just being a typical smart-mouthed teenager. Perhaps the young man was trying to mock me by associating me with what used to be princess Akeema’s and my favorite animated movie, The Lion King.

“Lion-King, can I get your autograph? Please?”

I stopped. I glanced at Timmie. He nodded. So we left the red carpet and went over to the young man. His grinned widened. His crew of friends was beside themselves with excitement.       “Wow. You’re a real king. I’ve never seen one before.

“Well, Your Highness, King Ajeem, is very real,” Timmie assured him.

“Man, do you bling, bling like this all the time?” I winked at Timmie and answered, “African-American young blood, my chariots have platinum spinners. That’s how I roll.”

The surrounding crowd responded with a spontaneous laugh.

“Now that’s what’s up,” the young man said.

“Why do I see many African-American males with sagging pants exposing their underwear?” I asked.

“That’s how we roll, King Ajeem. You know, show our swag, our swagger.”

I signed his and a few others posters, T- shirts and caps.

“Whether you know it or not, you are the descendants of mighty kings and queens. We rise and never sag. That’s coming from the king of bling bling,” I said with a smile.

“I feel you. Thanks,” the young man said.

“Your Majesty, we must go inside,” Petals said. I acknowledged Petals with a nod. I turned my attention to the smiling faces. They watched as Timmie and I raised our arms above our heads. With open palms facing the crowd and thumbs and first two finger tips joined, we shared the traditional Zoomoondan departure greeting. It represented the Zoomoondan diamond symbol.

“Oh look, they’re doing the Jay-Z Illuminati thing,” the African-American young man said.

“No. It’s a Zoomoondan swagger thing,” I grinned and said.

“This is our traditional departure greeting. It’s a symbolic jewel. Like a diamond,” Timmie said.

“It means you are all jewels and we wish you peace and prosperity,” I said.

I watched the crowd imitate our departing gesture and say back to us in unison, “Peace and prosperity.”

We joined Petals and my royal entourage and entered the luxury hotel.   

After many pep speeches and a rousing one delivered by the President of the United States himself, I got my wish. I always wanted to speak to the most powerful man on earth. Here 

was this country’s first African-American president. It had to be both exciting and challenging for this man of color to lead this vibrant nation.

What was the real source of his strength? From where did his obvious need for courage come? Was it from his lovely wife, the first lady? Or did he surround himself with the most capable members in his administration? Perhaps both.

Without my brother to encourage me at this most difficult time in my life, maybe this young president could say something to impart fortitude to me as Zoomoonda’s newly appointed king.

I desperately needed it.

“We’re truly sorry for your loss, Your Majesty, King Ajeem,” the first lady said.

“Yes, we truly are. If there is anything we can do, let us know,” the president said.

“The same goes for us,” the vice-president and his wife said.

“You are all too kind. We appreciate your sympathy and support.”

“How is the Royal Emperor recovering?” the first lady asked.

“Fine. He’s as strong as an ox. The surgery went very well,” Timmie said.

“Good. King Ajeem, how are you holding up?” the president asked.

“I’ve seen better days. But I’m trying to rise to the occasion and make my brother and people proud,” I said.

“Your brother was a good man and wonderful king. But keep in mind that you are not your brother,” the president said.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“What I mean is, you could end up disappointing yourself if you try to be just like him. If you’re discouraged, that will impair your governance.”

“So what do you suggest that I do, Mr. President?

“King Ajeem, if you don’t mind my saying so, you should try to establish your own legacy of leadership. Ignore your detractors or rivals. Be your own man and king. Do what’s in the best interest of your people and you will succeed.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I needed to hear those words more than you know,” I said.

“You’re welcome. Just look in the mirror every morning and say—”

“Yes I can,” the first lady interrupted.

“Don’t let doubt consume you,” the vice president chimed in.

“I’m working on it. But I admit I don’t have my brother’s keen decisiveness.”

“You should take a page out of the president’s leadership playbook,” the vice president said enthusiastically.

“What do you mean?” Petals asked.

Judging from the vice president’s eagerness, I sensed a great story was coming.

“Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you. This president can make the tough calls when he has to. When it came time to get our country’s most notorious foreign terrorist, he gave the command. Against my and other senior officials’ call, he gave the go-ahead. He pulled the trigger. This president doesn’t lead from the rear, he’s right out front. Our Navy Seals got the job done. The world was a safer place, thanks to him.”

“An amazing example of leadership,” Petals said, staring at me.

“It doesn’t stop there. Remember the Somali pirates who kidnapped the relief aid workers?” the vice president asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“That was another example of courage and leadership. This president gave the order to the Navy Seals to take them out and rescue the aid workers.”

“Fascinating,” Petals said with more-than-necessary enthusiasm.

The president chuckled before saying, “My vice president obviously is my biggest supporter.”

“I call it as I see it, King Ajeem. He’s being modest. I’m sure you see what I mean, Your Majesty. The president is cool like that. You can be that same type of ruler.”

“I am deeply inspired. Thank you for the amazing stories.”

Petals shot me a reminding glare, followed by a nod.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Mr. President, I’m aware our countries have excellent relations. That will continue.”

“To add to that, Zoomoonda had an excellent production year with our oil refineries. As our Minister of Oil, I am pleased to inform you, the price per export barrel will be reduced at a substantial cost savings to your country,” Timmie said.

“Well, that’s wonderful news,” the president said.

“And, in an election year,” the vice president chimed in again.

“And to the first lady, and the vice president’s wife, I would like to offer these gifts.”

 

I nodded to my attendants. Two of them dutifully came over to our table. Each of them removed from gift boxes radiant diamond necklaces. They placed one on each of the ladies.

“Oh my, they are exquisite,” the first lady said.

“They’re absolutely gorgeous. We can’t accept such a generous offer,” the vice president’s wife said.

“Please, I insist,” I said. “Also, for the fine personal pep talk, allow me to show my gratitude and purchase your entire debt from China at no cost to you. Would you have a problem with that, Mr. President?”

The president, first lady, vice president and his wife all exchanged speechless gazes.

Finally, the president spoke up, “Uh, we’ll discuss your generous offer at another time.”

Judging from Petals’ beaming smile, I must have done well in my first official act of foreign diplomacy.

***

Before I retired to the Jacuzzi to try out my new, lovely imported Ethiopian royal bathers, I wanted to have a private, one-on-one discussion with Princess Akeema. She had been through so much. Originally, I thought it would be best if she remained in Zoomoonda to recuperate, but she insisted that she come to America. Since the plane accident, our sweet uncle-and-niece relationship had unexpectedly deteriorated. Akeema and Petals were sharing a suite just down the hall from the Executive Suite Timmie and I shared. These were not the opulent accommodations we were all used to back at the Palace. However, we didn’t mind the downgrade for now. I gently knocked on their door.

“Hello. It’s me. Are you ladies decent?”

Princess Akeema’s voice from behind the door said, “Come in.”

I stepped in. To my surprise, there she was.

Boldly standing there, almost nude.

With her hands on her hips, she glared back at me. Akeema had on only her bra and panties. I quickly turned away from her.

“Akeema! I asked if you were decent. What kind of game are you playing?”

Akeema snickered before saying, “I thought you liked seeing women scantily clad.”

“If you don’t cover yourself up…” I began.

“What? What are you going to do? You’re not my daddy.”

“Akeema. My sweet Akeema, why do you insist on giving me a hard time? We used to have the best relationship. Don’t you remember?”

Akeema must have felt a little ashamed. She put on a posh pink robe that had a large letter “A” on the front. I turned around and watched her saunter over to the sofa and plop herself down on it.

“Don’t you remember when you were about ten years old? We used to have the best of times together.”

“That was a long time ago. Things change. As you noticed, I’m not a kid anymore,” Akeema said.

“You used to love it when we watched the movie Lion King over and over again. You were Simba and I was Mustafa. We would recite the lines verbatim. Don’t you remember that?”

Akeema didn’t answer me.

“I miss those times. I want my sweet little princess back.”

“I want my father and mother back. But we don’t always get what we want, now do we?” Akeema said.

I could see where this was headed. The last thing I wanted was for her to become even more upset. At least for now we were talking. I decided to change the subject.

“I’ll tell you what else I noticed about you.”

Princess Akeema shot me a suspicious glare.

“I noticed that you have a new tattoo. It’s on your right shoulder. May I see it again? Only don’t take off that robe.”

“You’re silly, Uncle. But I don’t care if you see it. Look.”

Akeema pulled her robe down over her shoulder just enough to expose her tattoo. It was a very artistic and elegant head shot of a regal, ancient queen.

“Wow. Very nice. One of the ancient queens of the Pyramids,” I said.

“Yes.”

“What do the letters 'N-P-R' mean underneath the image?” I asked.

“Nubian Princesses Rock,” Princess Akeema said, proudly.

I smiled and said, “Oh really? Interesting name. So you’re part of some all-girl group?”

“I actually founded an elite underground group of teenage girls of color from around the world,” Princess Akeema said.

We exchanged silent glares. I’m sure she could tell I doubted her story.  But I figured I would humor her.

“So what does your all ‘elite’ girl group do?”

“You remember when that oil tycoon in Nigeria’s daughter was kidnapped by bandits, demanding a ten-million dollar ransom?”

“Uh, yes. But she mysteriously returned home unharmed.

“We did that,” Akeema said.

I smiled and shook my head. But we were talking, so I asked,

“Do you have any other current operations in development?” I joked.

“If I tell you, I would have to kill you,” Akeema said.

That wiped the silly grin off my face. Conversation time was now over. No “let’s have a good cry and make up” session tonight.

“O-kay Princess Akeema. I just wanted to see how you were doing.” I stood up and gently kissed her on her forehead. “You have a good night, sweetie. Love you.”

I left her suite thinking Nubian Princesses Rock. That girl will say just about anything to me.

Now that this day was practically over, I couldn’t get to the Jacuzzi fast enough.

***

It had been a long and demanding day. Timmie and I felt the best way to end the day was with our new royal bathers. We each had a pair, so the six of us were enjoying ourselves inside a large, heated, bubbly Jacuzzi. However, our royal relaxation session was cut short.

Petals burst into our private gathering.

“Your Majesty, I’m terribly sorry to intrude, but I must have a word with you. It is most urgent.”

I didn’t wish to be bothered with any official business, so kindly I said,

“Not now, Petals. I am officially off duty. Now is my private time for carnal desires.”

But Petals’ tone took on more insistence.

“Your Highness, please, this is a matter of national security. It requires your immediate attention.”

Did she not hear me? Surely it could wait until the morning. Couldn’t she see that I was busy at the moment?  

Well, actually, I was on the receiving end of oral royal service, provided by a very attractive and large-lunged young bather below the surface.

“Petals, not now. Later,” I said as my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

“No. You need to read this analysis report from the plane accident.”

“Petals,” I yelled before I realized what I was doing, “I’m not interested in seeing photos of the wreckage or reading an inspector’s analysis right now. You’re dismissed. I’ll review them in the morning.”

Petals stood there in her wrapped robe and slippers with a glare of resentment.

She didn’t budge.

That I took as an act of defiance.

I removed my organ from the bather’s mouth. I returned the stoic gaze.

“Why are you still here? Am I not your king? If I command you to bark like a dog and hop on one leg, you do it.”

Petals eyelids narrowed and she turned to leave.

“AJ, my brother, don’t you think you’re being too harsh to Petals? Maybe it’s important.”

“She’ll get over it, Timmie. Now let’s resume your kingly duties, my lovely gem,” I said to my sexy young royal bather.

I watched as Petals took a few steps, and then froze in place.

She hesitated. Little did I know, those brief seconds of reflection were actually the calm before Hurricane Petals.

Petals turned and sauntered to the Jacuzzi. She stood directly over me.

“No, I won’t get over it. Queen Mother was right about you. You need to stop being an irresponsible little boy and be a man. Whether you like it or not, you’re Zoomoonda’s appointed king. That privilege and duty is not to be put on and taken off like a discarded condom. You cannot always seek solace between the legs of silly little giggling hyenas when you get stressed out or things get difficult…Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty, are you going to let that old maid talk to you like that?” my royal bather said.

“You little gazelle fit only for slaughter, until the king puts something in your mouth, keep it closed,” Petals said.

“Why, you barren Sahara Desert old maid. You need to—”

“Enough!” I barked, never taking my eyes off Petals.

“She is right,” my attractive royal bather sm