Q: Queen’s Quandry

This is a continuation of K: King’s Choices. You may want to read that first if you haven’t already. 

Q: Queen’s Quandry

April 20, a long time ago

Dear Mother,

I’ve heard all of the stories about my older brother’s birth. How grandfather lied to father, how father demanded you to spin straw into gold, how some strange little man, whose name I can’t remember, something like Uncle Pimpleskin, did the spinning for you then demanded that you give my oldest brother to him on my brother’s birth unless you guessed the little man’s name, which you did. Not that I believe any of it. It’s just a story grandfather must have made up. If it’s true, whatever happened to all this golden straw, that greedy father made you spin? Years from now no one will even remember the story. 

My problem is how you dote on my brother using that story. He was saved from evil. He was blessed by a messenger of God giving you the name of the little man. It was my brother’s birth that saved your marriage. And your doting has not changed. He gets to marry the pick of the princesses. You’ll just throw a Ball in his honor and let him choose. I hope he gets stuck with a poor, ragged, house cleaner. 

Of course, then I came along; your second son. Did you have any stories about my birth? No. Do you even remember my name? No, you don’t, because you never named me. I believe my name might be, “younger brother”, after all, that is what you always refer to me to your precious firstborn. “Go get your younger brother.” or “Tell your brother it’s time for supper.” “I wish your younger brother would be more like you.”

I’ve been doing a lot of reading and research on princes. I’ve noticed that a lot of stories about them only refer to them by title, not name. Is that where you got the idea? Add to that they are always handsome and win the hand of some beautiful princess that they either rescue, uncover hiding under their noses, or complete some impossible task and get them as a prize.

Let me remind you that looks aren’t everything. And that princesses are not prizes to give away. Nor are princes, who you can just throw into a Ball full of single women, who only want to marry them for the fame and power, and tell them to pick one. See how that works out with my brother. We may not be the prettiest bachelors in the bunch, but some of us have brains. Has my brother ever read a book? 

Women should have the right to choose who they would like to marry, based on the person’s qualities as a human, not because someone says, “You’re mine.” Game over.

And princes are humans too. It’s okay to have galas to meet other people, but don’t set up any expectations ahead of time. In my case, not that you ever thought of throwing a Ball for me, maybe I want to marry a peasant, or another prince, or not get married at all. Maybe I don’t want to grow up to be a king, though I’m sure you’ve already slated my brother for that. Maybe I want to just settle down on a nice farm and raise and rescue stray animals. I’d like to hear you make up a story about that!

So there you have it, mother. It’s time for you to get real. Think of this letter as a warning sign from one of your fervent advisors. It’s time for you to recognize ME. Either you allow me to go out on my own and seek out my future, or this clever lad will start up a story about you, just like grandfather did. Only in this story you and my brother may not come out as well. I don’t think father will be too pleased with that.

Your other son,

Younger Brother

This story will continue in S: Seeking Out.