Chapter 8 : Lack of Progress

*Rowan*

"Alright, let's get this over with. I've got Chef Michael working on a roast that I'm rather excited to sample." My father leaned back in his seat, dragging a pudgy finger across the conference table.

I hated these meetings. They were a waste of time because my parents never seemed to care about actually doing anything about the plight of our economy. The budget meetings lasted forever, and did nothing but lead to more discontent. I worried that the court would get sick of my parents' apathy before too long. The consequences of that could be deadly.

"It seems that our GDP has dropped again, for the tenth consecutive year," the financial minister announced.

He clicked to start a PowerPoint on the large screen at the front of the room. It pulled up a screen with a graph, clearly showing a sharp decline as every year progressed.

The conference room was quiet as everyone stared at the information. It wasn't a surprise. It was just confirmation of years of continual failure. No one was doing anything to fix it. There was a time when the citizens believed it was just an economic downturn, the sort of ebb and flow that happened naturally. It was possible it had started out that way. However, the rest of the world seemed to get along just fine, as we continued to waste away.

The financial minister looked over to the minister of the treasury. They exchanged grim glances before turning back to my parents.

The head of our military was seated next to the minister of the treasury. His mouth followed the shape of his gray mustache in a firm downward turn. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared at the numbers on the screen.

My parents could barely be bothered to listen to the presentation as the financial minister continued.

I could feel the pit in my stomach yawning open, making me uncomfortable in my seat. I needed to do something to fix this, to feel like I could help someone, but that would mean standing up to my parents. I was too much of a coward to be able to do that.

The woman who was the minister of agriculture was taking busy notes, her dark hair streaked with gray and hanging in her face as she scribbled away. I prayed maybe she would have a suggestion that might appease my parents, or at least garner some interest from them.

"It seems that things are looking rather … abysmal. I'm afraid we'll have to start tapping into some of our reserve accounts to keep paying for things the way things are going right now," the financial minister continued.

"No. We'll just have to find money elsewhere," my mother interrupted.

"I'm afraid there's nowhere else to get money from," the minister of the treasury corrected.

"Then we'll raise taxes. That will bring us plenty more money." My father shrugged.

"I doubt they have much money left to pay more taxes. We've nearly exhausted their resources as well. We're running out of options. We could sell some of the assets that you've collected over time. Surely there are a few things you could stand to part with," the minister of finance carefully suggested.

"I'll consider it," my father answered, looking none too impressed.

This was a discussion that had been had before. They had begged my father to sell some of the cars he no longer used or some of the electronics he had grown tired of. He had acted like he liked the idea and then let the items sit in storage until they had almost no value. They were still there today.

I watched the discussion devolve, the way the ministers exchanged exhausted glances across the table. I cringed internally at the frivolousness of my parents, at their childish disdain for being at the meeting at all. I hated their lack of interest.

"We could start investing in tourism. The wedding would be a great place to start," I said abruptly, interrupting the current conversation.

Several sets of eyes turned to stare at me. My parents glowered at me from the opposite end of the table.

"How would the wedding generate tourism?" the minister of agriculture asked.

"We could invite royals and other people of interest from other countries. Show them how nice our country is. We can make sure we get lots of good press, maybe see if some of them post on social media. Other people could see it, be curious, and come to see for themselves. Or, we could even open the wedding to the masses. People love royal weddings. They come for the wedding, and discover two beautiful new countries to vacation in," I suggested.

There was a grumble from around the table. I couldn't decide if they liked the idea or hated it. My parents clearly hated it.

"That's stupid. The king of Reyna had a similar idea. It's foolishness and a waste of resources. We're not ready for that sort of influx of tourists. By the time we invest in the infrastructure enough to be ready for the tourists, the wedding will be over, and no one will want to come back. That gamble is no better than any of the other stupid ideas that have been shared," my father dismissed.

I could feel the anger heating up inside of me, boiling in my gut, shooting fire along my spine. I was tired of being shoved aside and dismissed. But this was why I had developed the persona that I presented to the world.

My parents hated that I wanted to do something other than spend the country's money. I had a feeling that I made them feel guilty, that somewhere deep inside of themselves they knew they were wrong for what they were doing. They had made my late teen years and early twenties miserable, from the first time I brought up any sort of concern for our subjects.

The playboy attitude had become my shield.

It wasn't all an act, I did love beautiful women, and they seemed to love me. Being with women without having to commit to one in a relationship was a salve. I enjoyed the company but I never had to let anyone too close. It became an addiction.

There'd been a time when I partied a lot too and drank more than my share of expensive whiskey, but that had been a fleeting phase. It wasn't nearly as sustainable. Women seemed to understand wanting company without commitment, or at least the women I found myself with. More and more frequently though, it was getting more difficult to find that sort of woman. As I aged, and the women I spent my time with aged, they started to want to settle down.

That was part of why I'd agreed to the marriage. It was time for me to settle down too. I still struggled, and I still found women just often enough to keep me from getting lonely, but I knew those days were coming to an end. A marriage was a way to always have company.

If Aurora could find it in her heart to care for me, then it was possible that I wouldn't ever have to know loneliness. That was an appealing idea and one that sealed the deal in my agreement to the wedding. My parents hadn't cared one way or another, but the ministers and the court had pushed hard in favor of the idea. I couldn't tell if they were ready for me to take the throne, or if they just wanted anyone other than my parents on the throne, but either way, they had been very supportive of it.

My parents had decided to agree to it when they realized they could throw yet another lavish, expensive party. They knew that there would be some degree of international press coverage, and liked the idea of being able to impress the rest of the world with our luxurious way of living, even if they were the only ones living that way.

Their rejection in this meeting was just another reminder that I was more of a burden than a blessing to them. There were times they celebrated me, but for the most part, I was a trophy, one that they wished spoke his mind much less.

So, that was what I would do until it was finally my turn to rule. I sat back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest.

"I just thought it might be nice to attract a new stream of people to the island, give us a few more options when it comes to finding company," I chuckled, pasting a cocky smile on my face.

The grumbling from the ministers returned, this time clearly displeased.

My father grunted, and my mother rolled her eyes. Whether they believed my charade or not, it didn't matter. They were no longer paying attention to me, which was for the best.

"Well, it seems like my use here is done. I've contributed all I care to." I stood and planted my hands on the dark wood table.

"Then, by all means, son, excuse yourself. We wouldn't want to keep you from all the important things you have on your schedule for the day," my father dismissed, shooting me a glare.

He was one to talk. This meeting fell squarely in the middle of his mid-morning nap. He was just cranky because he was missing it. I was sure he would guarantee the meeting ended in time for him to enjoy his early afternoon nap. It would probably last all the way until dinner this evening after his exhausting morning of sitting in one single meeting and contributing absolutely nothing.

I nodded and left the room, strolling casually out into the hall. As soon as I heard the door close, I stormed to my room, letting the door slam closed behind me.

It was sickening to have to sit and witness his carelessness. I was so tired of waiting for my turn to make a difference, especially while everyone around me seemed to squander any chance of improving the country we lived in. Our island was falling apart under our feet and no one cared to stop it. The ministers were so resigned to my parents' indifference that they did nothing more than note the passing dissolution of things. The court couldn't be forced to care if they were ordered to. No one was doing anything.

By the time I got the chance to take over, I'd have to dig miles to dig us out of this pit. My time was finally coming though, an end finally in sight. I dug through my drawers to find some gym clothes, changing hastily out of my pressed shirt and navy slacks and into a more comfortable white t-shirt and black gym shorts.

I headed down to the gym, wrapping my fists in tape. The punching bag hung in a dark corner of the gym. I stood in front of it, letting my rage filter through me like power from a battery. I imagined my father's face, dead center of the bag. I let my fist fly, landing firmly against the bag. The chains rattled overhead.

I closed my eyes, thinking of everyone who had ever doubted and dismissed me. I cycled through punches until I couldn't feel my arms, listening to the bag swing. My knuckles were sore but I didn't care, I just kept swinging. Eventually, the tape on my hands wore through, and blood seeped from my raw knuckles. I just kept swinging, going and going and going until I couldn't feel anything anymore.

Finally, when I was sated, I stretched out on the floor and laid flat on my back. Sweat seeped through my shirt, leaving me laying in a puddle of my own sweat. As I lay there contemplating every choice I'd ever made in my life, I found myself wishing that Genevieve were here with me.