I didn’t exactly keep a low profile after marrying into power.
My new husband was a tribal leader in a remote part of Africa–well into his fifties, bloated with wealth, and utterly besotted with me. I was young, pretty, and knew exactly how to act sweet.
I knew exactly how to please him.
At parties, I’d lounge across his lap, murmuring sweet nonsense while he drank. In bed, my performances were more convincing than an award–winning actress.
Every so often, I’d lean in and say, “Your Majesty, if you spoil me with a few more diamonds tonight, I might just give you my whole heart.”
And he’d laugh and fall for it–every time.
A necklace here, a gold bangle there. I had him under my heel.
It didn’t take long before I was pregnant. After that, he doted on me even more.
“You’re a goddess sent to me by the heavens,” he’d say. “I’ll do whatever you say.”
And that–that–was what I’d been waiting for.
I began whispering new ambitions into his ear.
“Don’t you think it’s a waste for you to rule just one tribe?”
“You have the bearing of a true emperor–you should unite all of Africa and make the whole world look up to you.”
“Let’s conquer the nations that refuse to bow to you, shall we?”
“Let’s build a kingdom of our own.”
Just like that, that fool was stirred with excitement.
Originally, he was just a local ruler who inherited power from his family. No one had ever made him feel like he could be more.
He believed every word I said.
So began the madness.
We armed the borders, invaded two neighbouring countries with barely a functioning economy between them. There were fires, mass evacuations, and tens of thousands of people forced from their homes.
I sat at the centre of it all, clad in military green, perched like some fashion icon at a war desk, watching towns bleed and crumble on the monitors.
And all the while, I thought to myself, ‘I’m going to be queen! I’m going to live a life better than that bitch ever will!‘
But damn it. The world wasn’t some fantasy.
Our little coup drew the attention of the international community fast.
11:15 Tue, 20 May G
林金 94%會
The United Nations issued a formal condemnation. Global news networks published photo after photo–dead children, refugee camps, and villages being massacred.
Davina’s POV
Cleo’s smiling face was plastered beside one blood–soaked headline after another.
[Princess Cleo Sparks War, Draws Global Outrage]
It was over before they even realised the scale of what they’d started.
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A multinational coalition launched a military response, and within three days, they dismantled the delusional army she helped build.
When they stormed the palace, the Chief was still half–asleep, wrapped in golden robes, completely unaware of the chaos that had swallowed his world.
He stood trial before a military court. The verdict: death.
And to his last breath, he never knew what had happened to the woman who whispered war into his ears and disappeared when the fire started.
No one knew how she slipped through.
Some said she’d been captured. Others claimed she was blown to pieces in an airstrike.
But then, on the third day, a grainy, undercover photo exposed the truth online.
She was almost unrecognisable. No makeup, Head shaved. Eyes vacant. Sitting in the back of a refugee truck, clutching a swaddled baby.
If she had died, the world would have buried her in shame and spat on her grave.
But alive–she became one of the most wanted criminals on the planet.
Her face was plastered beneath international alerts with the bold red headline.
[Cleo Penrose: Impersonated Royalty. Instigated War. Responsible for Thousands of Civilian Deaths. Catalyst for Global Refugee Crisis. Class A International Fugitive]
I watched it all unfold from the safety of my own quiet flat
I couldn’t help but let out a long heavy sigh–not for her, but for the innocents caught in her
madness.
And I
Damigelt that darkness settle over me.
Then, gently, I touched my bulging belly.
‘My baby… You’re almost here.‘
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