Respectfully, Your Cousin

My dear Benjamin,

There will come a time in your life when you realize rebellions don’t stop power; they simply transfer it.

There are few I would trust with what I am about to write. Fewer still who would understand it. You are, I think, the only one who might be both.

As the closest friend of Raymond Duxley, I am a reliable source of all information concerning him, the man who led a rebellion which overturned three countries. No one knows I am writing to you, of all people. I trust you will keep our correspondence a secret.

I will be the first to admit that I am responsible for bringing Ray to where he is now. He must be stopped before it is too late.

I wish I could tell you all, Benjamin, but my plan must remain unspoken until it is carried out. If I fail, it may fall to you to decide what becomes of the truth.

Respectfully,

Your Cousin.

My dear Benjamin,

I trust that your response - or the lack thereof - is only your effort to keep our correspondence secret.

Unless I explain myself, I fear I will lose your respect, and perhaps yours is the only one I cannot afford to lose.

Ray was only seventeen when he stormed into my office declaring tyranny was at our doorstep - and that I would help him stop it.

I hardly knew anything about him, except that I was ten years his senior, and that he mucked out my stables.

“Sir,” he said, “help me. With your influence in English politics, I am certain we could make a difference.”

I told him I would not lay a sixpence on his idea unless he returned with a list that he could name as tyranny.

A week passed. I thought I was rid of him. I returned to my work; I assumed he returned to his farm. But he returned on the seventh day with a list in hand.

I read it through. “It is all reasonable. But how is this to be done? Ten men and a list of grievances will lead us nowhere.”

“I was hoping you might have an idea,” Ray admitted, twisting his hat in his hands. “I cannot stand by while men are taken for debts they cannot pay. Children in the mills, and-”

“You are a good man,” I said gently. “But goodness does not move governments. This would take more than speeches. It would take a rebellion on a massive scale.”

“Then a rebellion it must be.”

I pushed the paper away. “I cannot take part in such a thing, Ray. It gives reckless men a banner.”

He snatched the list back. “Maybe they are reckless. But our nation deserves everything we can give her.”

“And who will stand with you? Be reasonable.”

“You think I could not find even ten men?”

I laughed. “It is not ten men I fear. It is a hundred.”

“If I find a hundred, will you help me?”

I smiled. “If you find a hundred, I will help you.”

But the determined Ray found them. And I found myself part of a rebellion I never intended to join.

I must go now. I am out of ink, and thanks to Ray, we are in a shortage of all materials.

Respectfully,

Your Cousin.

My dear Benjamin,

Ray is in a better mood since we’ve received a new shipment of supplies. He is throwing another of those irrational parties, though he refuses to allow any but the upper circle to attend. It seems his idea of unity has narrowed considerably.

I do not quite remember where I left off in telling you my story, seeing as that letter was sent some weeks ago.

I suppose I will start from when we’d gathered near two thousand men in our rebellion.

Since our banishment from the cities, Ray had done much to hold us together.

He was neither stubborn nor blind, yet had a peculiar way of seeing the world I could not imitate: he studied maps upside down, claiming it let him “see the battle from a place the enemy cannot imagine.” The men trusted him not just for what he said, but for the logic of his unusual mind and the quiet humanity beneath it.

That night, we prepared for a battle tomorrow in London. We would make the King give up the crown - or die trying. We set up fires to ward off the cold as we rested.

I sat by one fire when Ray approached, holding a map and talking with a captain. The captain thanked him, then left. Ray smiled and sat beside me, warming his hands. He was strikingly handsome, yes, but more than that, there was something in him that felt deliberately out of place, as if God Himself planted a little mischief and purpose in his eyes at birth.

“Friend, how are you holding up?”

“Fine, thank you, Master Ray,” I replied.

“Again,” he laughed lightly. “I am not Master to you. If I lead the rebellion, you were the one who brought me here.” He fiddled with the chain at his neck.

“Thinking about your family?” I asked, trying to soften my voice.

He stared into the fire. “I often do. My mother gave this chain to me when my family still thought highly of me. I wish they still did.”

“They’re fools if they don’t,” I said.

He went quiet. “This rebellion cost me everything, Sam. You were right; it is no little matter,” he whispered. “Sometimes I wish I never started it at all.”

“If you lost that family,” I said quietly, “you have a new one here.”

He smiled. “And you take the place of brother and friend better than anyone ever could.”

Benjamin, I write this not just to recount what happened, but because I cannot tell you everything aloud. You must understand that the world shifts in ways even I do not fully control. One day, what I share with you may be the only proof that we tried, truly tried, to do right.

Ray calls me now. I must go.

Respectfully,

Your Cousin.

My dear Benjamin,

I am three days from carrying out the plan I told you of before. Ray must be stopped.

After we overturned the King’s rule, we believed every problem had fallen with it. We lost and gained many men. Across England - and even in Denmark and Norway - rebellion stirred in imitation of ours.

It was then things began to turn.

Ray had often spoken, in quieter moments, of his childhood: a father given to drink, a mother lost to endless gatherings, a brother who gambled away the family’s fortune. I have wondered since whether his hunger for order was ever political - or simply the memory of a house that had none.

He did not take well to what followed victory. Once tyranny ends, something must replace it. Ray did not know what that something should be.

London had no direction. England had no ruler. And at the center stood an eighteen-year-old boy expected to become both.

Ray came to me one night unannounced. He stood in the doorway some time before speaking, as though unsure whether he had come with a purpose or only the need not to be alone.

“Sam,” he said at last, “if I were to ask something of you... would you do it?”

I remember I laughed. “That depends entirely on what you ask.”

He smiled faintly and crossed the room, then stopped, his hand already at the chain around his neck. “If it came to it,” he whispered, “if you saw that I had gone too far… that I could not be turned back-" He hesitated. “I would trust you to stop me.”

I frowned. “And how would you have me do that?”

For a moment, he did not answer. His gaze shifted, not away, but past me, as though looking toward something neither of us could yet see. Then he gave a small, almost tired breath. “I think,” he said, “you would know what to do.”

The room felt colder after that, though the fire had not gone out. I told him he was tired. That he spoke out of strain and sleeplessness. He nodded without argument.

I did not think of it again.

I think of it now.

Civilians came to the palace doors in crowds, demanding answers. He gave them none, and ordered guards to keep them out.

“You must speak to them,” I told him over breakfast.

“And tell them what?” he asked. “I wanted you to be my advisor, Sam.”

“I told you long ago: I am no advisor.”

“You knew politics-”

“Knowing them is not the same as leading a rebellion.”

“I wanted you to be my advisor, not my friend,” he said.

I said nothing. If I had understood him then, perhaps this might have ended differently.

“I will speak to them,” he went on. “Tell them we are deciding our next course-"

“They want answers, not promises.”

“Then give me answers.”

“I cannot.”

His fist tightened. “Why won’t you let me see them? Why change your mind now?”

“They will not receive you as you think. There will be no gratitude. It has been three weeks without a ruler.”

“I am their ruler,” he said quietly.

“Do they know that?”

He smiled then, faint and strange. “What are you afraid of, Sam?”

“If you go out there without a plan,” I said, “they will kill you.”

“They will not.”

“They will.”

“They love me.”

“They loved change.”

He hesitated—just a moment—then left without another word.

I have just received confirmation that a component of my plan has arrived. I wish you well, Benjamin.

Respectfully,

Your Cousin.

My dear Benjamin,

I have not heard from you, and I am beginning to become concerned.

Tomorrow, I act on my plan. My heart is troubled—but it is unavoidable.

Word came soon after Ray locked down the palace that Denmark and Norway had overturned their governments. Those opposed to rebellion blamed Ray. As for him, he declared that, for stability, civilians must pay a ‘Freedom Tax’.

He did not tell me.

Rumors of rebellion against him followed soon after.

I went to him that evening. He was alone, papers scattered across his desk, maps pinned along the walls as though he meant to hold England together with ink and nail.

His hand was at his neck, turning that small chain between his fingers.

“You did not tell me,” I said.

He flinched, looking up suddenly. “There are many things I have not told you.”

“The tax. This is not what we fought for.”

He set down his pen. “What we fought for no longer exists, Sam. We have something far more fragile now.”

“You are tightening your grip. You are becoming—”

“Becoming what?” His voice strained—almost pleading.

I did not answer.

“They cannot govern themselves,” he said more quietly. “You have seen it. The unrest. The waiting. If I let go, even for a moment, it will fall apart.”

“At the cost of their freedom?”

He gave a tired laugh. “Freedom is what left my family with nothing. It lets men ruin themselves while no one stops them.” He turned back to the maps. “I will not allow that here.”

“We raised the rebellion to stop this power.”

“We did,” he answered. “But it did not disappear. It is still here, Sam. In this room.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I am trying to help them. I am not wicked. I simply need time—and I do not have it.”

“I know you are not wicked,” I said. “I am with you, Ray.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

“And the rebels?” I asked.

“They have been dealt with.”

“How?”

“They are being held. For questioning.”

Something in his tone set me on edge. “Who?”

“A number of them.” He paused. “Captain Ellery, among others.”

The room stilled. “Ellery? That is impossible. I have known him for years.”

“Then you know how easily men may change.”

“Or how easily they may be suspected.”

His fingers turned the chain again. “You think me unjust,” he said at last.

“I think you are afraid.”

His gaze flickered, not away, but inward, as though he had heard something he did not wish to recognize. “If I am,” he muttered, “it is with good reason.”

“Fear is a poor foundation for judgment.”

“And inaction is worse,” he replied.

I looked at him then–truly looked. I did not find the boy I had once admired. “How many?” I asked quietly.

Ray did not answer at once. “Enough,” he said.

It was then that I understood.

Not that he was cruel, but that he was afraid.

And that fear had taken the shape of a crown.

It is time for my plan to be carried out.

Respectfully,

Your Cousin.

My dear Benjamin,

Do not be alarmed if this is the last letter you receive from me. After what I’ve done, I must leave the country so no one can trace me.

Ray has been oppressed by a sudden quietude lately, yet I still see the officers patrolling the streets, the civilians starving.

I found him where I expected—at his desk, though there was little left upon it. Fewer papers now. Fewer maps. As though the world he once tried to hold together had begun, at last, to slip beyond his reach.

“You’ve come early,” he said.

“I could not sleep.”

“Nor I.”

There was a pause then. Not an uncomfortable one, but a tired sort of silence, like that between men who have said too much to one another already.

“I have been thinking,” he said at last, “about how it began.”

I did not speak.

“I thought if I could just set things in order,” he went on, his hand resting lightly on the desk, “if I could make it all… steady… then people would be safe. I still believe that,” he added.

“I know,” I said.

He looked at me then, and for a moment I saw not the ruler, nor the figure the people whispered of, but the young man who had once stood before me with nothing but a list and a stubborn sort of hope.

“You have always understood me.”

“I try to,” I answered.

He studied my face searchingly. “You think I have gone too far.” I did not answer. He let out a quiet breath. “Perhaps I have.”

That, more than anything, unsettled me.

For a moment, I thought—foolishly—that he might yet turn back.

But then he straightened, and whatever doubt had touched him seemed to dissipate. “There is no use in half-measures now,” he said. “If I loosen my hold, even a little, it will all come undone.”

“I know,” I said again.

He nodded, satisfied, and turned slightly away, reaching for something on the desk. It was then that I stepped forward.

I will not trouble you with the particulars, Benjamin. There are some actions that do not grow clearer in the telling.

It was quick. He looked at me once—only once—with something like surprise, though not, I think, betrayal. And then it was over.

I stood there for some time after, though I could not tell you how long. The room felt smaller without him in it, though nothing had changed.

I had thought I would feel relief. Instead, there was only a quiet sort of emptiness, as though something had been set down that could never be taken up again.

They will say many things of him, I expect. Some will call him a tyrant. Others will remember him as a savior.

I know only that he was afraid.

I leave tonight. Ray is still at his desk.

Whatever becomes of this country now will do so without either of us.

Respectfully,

Your Cousin.