Potenkiah, the deathgiver

Chapter 11

"Good morning, captain. May I come in?" asked Bridget, adjusting her robe. She looked over her shoulder.

"Your Highness, wait," called Bertaliz from her door. She was holding the dress she was supposed to wear. Her personal guards had followed her across the hall, and had stopped a few feet away, understanding that she was headed to her parents' room.

Bridget turned to captain Foster and his partner.

"I escaped," she told them, winking. "I can't stand them."

Too much attention, too many activities, and not a minute to herself in five days. She needed a break, comfort, and a dose of motivation.

The previous afternoon she'd talked to Annie and Paty, and listened jealously about their new school, their travel plans, their new classmates, and the welcoming party for the freshmen. There wasn't much she could tell them that they hadn't already heard on the news; that she had been invited to the swearing in of the new ministers, had attended an official dinner...

Technically nobody forced her to participate in so many events. Her mother had told her that sometimes saying no was fine, but doing so would go against her own desire to please her and exceed her expectations, wouldn't it? Therefore, there were no options, and no one to blame but herself if she felt overwhelmed. And William's private lessons, who everyday instructed her to submit for discussion a personal analysis of the five most important news of the Galactic Community, together with the ten most significant news in the planet, which stole at least four valuable hours. That was certainly not enough time, because the old man was impossible to please. He always disagreed about the prevalence of an event with respect to another, challenged her views, and demanded more passion when they discussed. To make matters worse, he questioned whether she had given it her best effort, or if she was aware of the commitment demanded by her position.

What she feared most was a negative evaluation from him; not meeting his high standards was an indirect way to fail her parents. Or did her mentor expect her to infer that she needed an assistant?

So she had run to her parents' door, ignoring Bertaliz's pleas to look presentable first. Just seeing them would make a big difference in her mood. If they also gave her some advice, her day would be splendid. They were the foundation of her perseverance, the remedy to the void left behind by the departure of her family. She did everything for them, they were her inspiration; without them, her world would collapse.

Captain Jasson Foster appeared withdrawn and rather gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in weeks, or worse, as if he had recently lost a loved one. He checked the time on his wrist and then opened the door. Never before 9:00, that was the rule.

"Go ahead, Your Highness."

"Thank you."

Beyond the threshold of the carved doors, there was a wide, horn shaped entrance hall with two sofas at the center, and a sculpture of a winged warrior, sword in hand, standing on a table. It was a very bright room, surrounded by two arcs of columns.

"Welcome, Your Highness," the butler greeted her, inviting her to follow him.

"Hello, Hasim."

"I will announce you right away."

At that hour, the light fell between the columns leading to the dining room and library. The golden ribbon that circled their bases shone like a ring of fire. Bridget chose the opposite route, on her right; it took her twenty steps to get to the pillars. When she was younger, she got there in twenty-five, because she playfully skipped over the edges between the floor tiles.