Twenty-two years ago

Eleven-year-old Willem de Konigh’s backside stung painfully. He had a humiliatingly childish urge to cry, but he struggled to deny it. He fought hard to keep his gaze steady, his face expressionless.

Behind him, his father grunted, and Willem stiffened in preparation.

But it still took him by surprise.

It always did, the feel of the buckle of his father’s belt slamming hard, latching onto his skin, and his fists clenched tightly against his side.

It lasted for another seven minutes – he had counted it by the second to distract himself from the pain – before Willem heard his father sigh in satisfaction.

It was over.

But he remained still on his feet, knowing that it could be a trick. The one time he had tried to leave right away, thinking the silence meant his father had succumbed to a drunken stupor, Edgar had beaten him to an inch of his life, and Willem had to ask for a week’s absence from school.

He had made sure not to repeat the mistake after that.

The seconds ticked by. Willem dimly thought that his backside might be bleeding. If it were, then he would have to wash the stains off his pants himself. Edgar would be furious if any of the staff found out about his beatings.

A full minute passed.

Edgar started to snore.

Fear clenched inside him, but Willem forced himself to take a step. But his foot had barely landed on the floor when he heard his father start to laugh. “You stupid boy. You thought it would be over just like that?”

A kick landed on Willem’s back, and as he fell down, he felt it---

His father stepping on the end of his spine, grinding his shoe down on Willem’s body like he wanted to crush his son.

A cry escaped Willem.

His father laughed harder.

And the beating started again.

By the time Edgar passed out, it was nearly dawn, and Willem was forced to half-crawl, half-stumble towards his father’s desk in his pain. Now was his chance, he thought dizzily. While his father and the whole house were sleeping, none of the adults on his father’s payroll would be able to know what he was doing. No one would be able to stop him until it was too late.

When Willem reached his father’s desk, he gripped the edges tightly and used it to pull himself up. Tears stung his eyes at the pain every little movement caused, but he ignored it, not wanting to waste a second.

He dialed a number he had risked life and death to find out, and when the call connected, he said with hoarse determination, “My name is Willem de Konigh, grandson to the Queen of Contini. My life and my siblings’ are in danger, and it is important we speak to her immediately.”

* * *

Wilhemina wanted to weep at the photos of her grandson’s injuries. A dark rainbow of colors had been imprinted on his back, all the way down to his legs, and she couldn’t imagine the strength it had taken for the eleven-year-old boy to withstand all the beatings and not ask for help…until now.

“I wonder what I’ve done in my past life,” she said bitterly to her adviser, “to be cursed with children who are either spineless or conscienceless.”

Egbert wisely said nothing. The Queen of Contini, while a devoted mother, had also been harsh and strict in the way she had reared her children. Instead of instilling love, she had inspired fear and resentment in them, and these feelings had only festered as they grew up.

The queen’s hands shook as she finally lowered the photos back to the desk. “Where are Edgar and his wife?”

“They have been requested to remain in their residence while this matter is sought out.”

Her lip curled. “You mean, he tried to leave and you had to use security?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Wilhemina massaged her temples. “You’ve questioned him, yes?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And everything the boy said was true?”

“It took considerable time and certain manipulation to have him speak the truth, but yes, Your Majesty, every word of Master Willem’s story is, sadly, true.”

The queen’s face became rigid at the confirmation. “I see.” Her eyes took on a faraway look as Wilhemina tried to put herself in her grandson’s shoes.

It had started when Edgar suspected his wife of cheating and of their youngest, Nicolaas, a bastard and fathered by one of his wife’s lovers. He had gotten drunk every night afterward, and his alcoholic stupors would often send him into a mad fury. He had wanted to beat someone, and Willem had been the most convenient punching bag.

Willem had done his best to tolerate the beatings because he knew that if he spoke out, Edgar could send him to boarding school and then his younger siblings would be forced to bear the brunt of their father’s anger. But lately, Edgar had become moodier and unreasonable, and last night when Willem had to forcibly bar his father from entering the young Nic’s room, Willem had known it would never stop. He had needed to ask for help, and so he had called his grandmother.

But he shouldn’t even have had to ask, Wilhemina thought in despair. Guilt rested heavily on her shoulders, a burden she knew she would carry to the grave. She should have known. Dear Lord, she should have known. But she had been too blind, too busy – oh Lord, it was the same cycle all over again. She had ignored her children’s needs for the sake of the kingdom, and look where they were now. And she was doing it again with these innocent children!

She closed her eyes, feeling much older than her fifty-eight years. How was it that running the kingdom had always been a black-and-white issue to her, something she had been able to instinctively master.

And yet with her family, with those born of her blood, she remained clueless as a newborn babe.

Even though she felt it was too late to change her ways, there was still time left for her grandson.

Squaring her shoulders, she asked, “Where is Willem now?”

“St. Anne’s, Your Majesty. His identity has been kept private, and security is posted outside his room round the clock.”

“He’s conscious?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” Coming to her feet, she started pacing her office, a tool that had long proven effective in helping her think. And right now, she had many, many decisions to make, choices that – once made official – would have irrevocable effects.

“I want you, Egbert, to fly to Amsterdam and personally deliver a message for me.” Too many tongues would wag if she made a personal visit to Willem, and she didn’t think her rather reserved grandson would appreciate such interest.

“Tell Willem that from this day forward, he has my official protection and his parents will be duly informed about this. He and his younger siblings will never have anything to fear again.” When the royal adviser only continued looking at her expectantly, the queen lifted a brow. “You may go now.”

Egbert was surprised. “T-that’s it, Your Majesty?” Unspoken was his confusion as to why the queen, who was one of the most powerful women on earth, did not offer to take the children in.

The queen shook her head, saying softly “It’s a surprise to me how, after all these years of working for me, you are able to remain naïve and kindhearted.” Sighing heavily, she continued, “If it suits your conscience, you may ask him if he and his siblings would like to join me at the palace. You may even command him, but I will tell you now, my dear adviser, that boy will refuse.”

“He’d be crazy to,” Egbert argued.

“Not crazy, no, just raised differently. He knows that him and the other children coming to the palace would create a scandal, and he doesn’t want that. He knows where his duties lie.” Wilhemina’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s what makes him a true de Konigh, but I’m afraid it also makes him too much like me. Someone who does not – and will not – love too easily.”