a crown heavy with unspoken fears
“Sometimes the only thing more persistent than ambition is regret.”
A crash shattered the silence, jerking me awake before the sky even considered softening. Fists hammered at the door. My chest tightened.
Trouble. Always before dawn.
Outside, the desert wind wailed, dragging sand across the palace walls like nails on stone. The air felt charged, unsettled.
I swung my legs off the bed, caught between grogginess and dread.
I reached for the small mirror on my bedside table, letting torchlight fall across its uneven silver. A single fracture cut through my reflection, slicing my face in two. Long ago, it was my most prized possession, a symbol of unshaken confidence. Now, it felt like a window into the doubts I tried so hard to hide.
The pounding grew louder.
“Your Majesty!”
The voice strained, words tripping over urgency.
“There’s been a breach! An intruder was apprehended!”
I rose, swallowing the dryness in my throat.
“I’ll come at once,” I said, though my heart still pounded.
When I set the mirror aside, the fracture caught the lamplight, and for a moment I thought I saw the shadow of my younger self staring back—unburdened and sure of her place in the world.
A memory, maybe. Or a taunt. I wasn’t quite sure.
I wear the crown,
but tremble beneath its weight—
caught between the roar
of my own pride
and a whisper of truth
cracking open my heart.
As I crossed the corridor, two voices gathered in my mind like old companions stepping into the torchlit hall. Ego spoke first, sharp and unyielding:
“Keep your poise. You are Cleopatra—Queen of the Nile. Show no sign of hesitation. The palace must remain under your command.”
It steadied me, that voice. Familiar, commanding. A relic of the days when power dripped from my every gesture, every word. Back when I didn’t have to question who I was.
But then Shadow slithered through my thoughts with a softer, almost mocking tone:
“Power doesn’t soothe the emptiness inside, does it? You’ve created cunning alliances, yet each compromise pulls you further from the girl who once believed in her own light.”
An old ache stirred in my chest. I ignored it—at least, I tried to.
The footsteps of my guards filled the corridor as we passed thick pillars carved with symbols of gods and harvests. I remembered how I used to run my fingers along those carvings as a child, marveling at their detail. That was before I learned how easily trust could be broken in palace intrigues.
The courtyard blazed with firelight, though hints of indigo sky were showing overhead. At the center, guards circled a man bound at the wrists. His breath came in ragged gulps as he huddled on the cold flagstones.
When I arrived, the hush was heavy. I took a measured step forward.
“Who are you?”
My voice rang against the stone pillars.
“What business did you have sneaking into these walls?”
The prisoner stuttered half-words, clearly terrified. A few guards shifted as they waited for me to pass judgment.
Ego said in clipped tones…
“Don’t waver. Deliver swift punishment. One weak command can topple your rule.”
Shadow countered with an edge…
“Punishment? He’s shaking like a leaf. When did you decide a show of terror was the only language you speak?”
I drew in a breath that smelled of hot limestone and old incense. In the torchlight, the prisoner’s sweat glistened, and his eyes darted from guard to guard, seeking mercy.
I closed my fist at my side, uncertain which path to take.
My thoughts slid back to childhood.
Standing just behind my father as he greeted Roman envoys in a vaulted reception hall. Thick pillars framed our guests, the aroma of burning incense coiling through the air.
My father wore a proud smile and a robe embroidered with fine threads, but in the hush of a late night, I had seen how worry lined his brow.
He once confided that the weight of power pressed its claws into him. It left him weary of the endless negotiations and half-kept promises.
Once, in one of those rare, unguarded moments, he told me…
“True authority is not rooted in fear alone—it requires both wisdom and compassion.”
His voice held the faint raspy warmth of someone who had wrestled with many doubts but chose to cling to hope. Back then, I believed with full conviction that a ruler could inspire both respect and devotion in equal measure.
I recall the faint clink of goblets, the polished marble cool beneath my feet, and the way my father’s hand would rest gently on my shoulder as he spoke.
An unspoken vow that I, too, could be more than a mere figurehead of strength.
Back in the present, the prisoner lifted his gaze, a glimmer of hope sparking in his fearful eyes. My father’s words seemed to swirl across the sand by my feet.
But what would mercy cost me here?
Ego chimed in again, almost barking…
“This is no time for sentiment. You’ll lose face if you don’t act decisively.”
Shadow interjected, voice thick with feeling…
“How many times have you bowed to Ego’s script? Compassion hasn’t made you a lesser queen before. Why stop now?”
Ego snapped…
“You mistake softness for strength. This is about maintaining order—our neighbors are hungry to see us falter.”
They bickered as if I wasn’t there.
I flinched, the tension knotting my muscles. The crackle of torchfire seemed to match the chaos in my mind. At last, I thrust a hand forward.
“Bring him inside.”
I commanded evenly.
“He’s not to be harmed until I decide on his fate.”
A guard hesitated, then saluted.
They led the man away, and he cast me a fleeting look of relief.
Neseret, my longtime caretaker, stepped out of the shadows. Her soft footsteps and the gentle rustle of her robes brought me a hint of comfort.
She bowed her head respectfully.
“My Queen, I’ve heard rumors that a Roman envoy arrived. Will you meet with him?”
I exhaled, the desert wind cooling my sweat-slicked brow.
“I suppose I must.”
Ego said under its breath…
“Yes, handle it. Keep your priorities clear.”
Shadow spoke up with caution…
“Remember, each alliance comes with a cost. Haven’t you sacrificed enough pieces of yourself?”
I gripped the folds of my robe. Neseret caught the tension in my face but remained silent, a steady presence by my side.
We traversed halls where the air smelled of burning resin and ancient dust. Sculpted reliefs of old victories looked down on us from either side. Their carved eyes seem to whisper silent judgments.
I tried to calm my racing thoughts.
But Ego and Shadow continued to trade barbs in my mind.
Ego chimed in…
“You’re Cleopatra, descendant of kings. Let the Roman know his place, and you’ll secure Egypt’s future.”
Shadow interrupted…
“Future on whose terms? Are you truly content playing a part in someone else’s ambitions?”
Ego pressed…
“Stop pandering to doubt. Your father had the wisdom to compromise when needed—”
Shadow spat…
“Yes, and he died under the weight of those compromises, remember?”
My stomach twisted as I recalled my father’s last days. We reached the throne room with heavy hearts, the torches there illuminating the vast space in wavering orange light.
A Roman officer stood at attention, polished chestplate reflecting the flicker of torches. He bowed stiffly. “My Queen, General Antony wishes to strengthen ties with Egypt,” he began. “He believes uniting will fend off threats seeking to overrun both lands.”
I kept my voice measured. “I see. And what does he propose in return for our cooperation?”
The officer laid out strategies, referencing mutual advantages. Words about campaigns and shared spoils flowed like rehearsed lines. Meanwhile, I felt that roiling undercurrent: Is this just another chain binding me to foreign ambitions?
Ego intervened sharply…
“This is an opportunity. Align with Rome, preserve your throne.”
Shadow spoke up, laced with bitterness…
“How many alliances do you need before you lose yourself entirely?”
I forced a slight smile, though my insides twisted.
“I will consider it,” I said. “Inform Antony I will send word soon.”
He bowed again, face unreadable, and departed.
When he was gone, I rubbed my temples. Neseret approached gently, her sandals scuffing against the marble. “You seemed unsettled by his offer.”
I watched the final flickers of torchlight along the walls. “I can’t be certain I trust him,” I stuttered. “Yet I can’t ignore the strength he represents.”
Ego chimed in with a note of triumph…
“Then you know what you have to do. So much is at stake.”
Shadow interjected, almost hissing…
“At stake, yes—but is that any reason to keep burying your true self?”
I pressed my palms to my eyes. “Please,” I pleed, “I just want a moment’s peace.”
Neseret placed a hand on my shoulder. The warmth of her skin against mine was a small comfort. Bringing me back to the days of my father comforting me in the same way.
I found myself remembering a morning on the Nile.
I was ten, perched at the edge of my father’s boat, dipping my toes in the cool water. The sky spread above me in a wash of orange and pink. My father laughed as I swayed with the current, telling me I was brave for trusting the river’s flow.
That memory clung to me as I turned away from the throne room. This palace, these alliances, the constant vigilance—where was the brave girl who once believed she could walk forward without fear?
Shadow…
“She’s still inside you, longing to be seen.”
Ego…
“She’s a child. You’re a queen now. Grow up.”
Shadow…
“Grow up into what? A puppet for Roman demands?”
I halted abruptly, nearly causing Neseret to stumble.
I needed air. Or space. Or something I couldn’t name.
I stepped into a secluded colonnade. The earliest glow of dawn washed across the courtyard, turning the sandstone walls a muted rose. The night’s chill still lingered, mixing with the desert heat gathering at the horizon.
Ego said under a calm veneer…
“You’re doing what’s necessary. A queen cannot afford softness.”
Shadow spoke up with unguarded emotion…
“She isn’t made of stone. If she loses all compassion, what remains?”
My heart clenched.
I thought of the prisoner awaiting his fate somewhere inside these walls, thought of the Roman’s proposal, thought of my father’s last words urging me to rule wisely but never to lock my heart away.
I closed my eyes, catching the scent of morning dew on desert blooms from a nearby garden. The distant call of a palace guard drifted over the courtyard.
In that fragile moment, I questioned whether I would chain myself to more alliances bound by secrets, or break the pattern and rule with some measure of empathy. Despite Ego’s insistence that mercy equals weakness.
I stood there, uncertain, breathing in the faint floral note that cut through the dusty air. When I opened my eyes, the sky had brightened to a gold hue, painting the columns with a soft glow.
I glanced down at my clenched hands, remembering the cracked mirror on my table. Perhaps that fracture reflected the one inside my soul—half dutiful monarch, half a woman yearning for honesty.
Ego chimed in, attempting reassurance…
“Fear not. You’ve faced worse decisions and come out stronger.”
Shadow answered in a bare whisper…
“But how much of yourself have you lost along the way?”
I stepped into the courtyard.
The sun clawed its way above the horizon, its heat brushing my face. The warmth against my skin felt strangely comforting. Almost grounding. Almost.
Neseret watched from a short distance, arms crossed. Her face gave nothing away, though her eyes betrayed her—a flicker of hope wrapped in concern.
She was waiting.
Everyone was waiting.
Rome’s proposition. The prisoner in custody.
My throne’s fragile reputation.
And somewhere beneath all of it, the battered fragments of my own heart.
The mirror’s fractured image stayed with me. Two halves of my face, each side questioning the other. Perhaps I would be forced to choose between them.
Or maybe—just maybe—I could learn to hold both.
My strength and my doubt.
My authority and my humanity.
In that moment, a breeze stirred my hair, and I thought of the little girl who once believed in the river’s endless promise.
I walked on, Ego and Shadow still pressing their arguments. Ego shouted, insisting power was the only answer. Shadow whispered, mocking the cracks I tried to hide.
Neither had a solution.
Not one I trusted. But still, I moved forward.
Though I had no immediate answers, I carried a lingering hope that power and compassion need not live apart. If I could hold the fragments of my own reflection together, maybe I’d find a way to rule without losing the heart that first glimpsed the golden light on the Nile that day.
—Ryan Puusaari
P.S. “True strength is never just about victories—it’s also about how you choose to stand after the damage.”
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