Crescendo

The scent of water filled the air. A symphony of heavy droplets batted at the caravan. The world held its breath for the orchestra's performance.

“Ugh,” she said. She listened to the heaviness with disdain, rocking along with the wooden wheels atop the rough dirt road. Boredom rushed through her veins. “Speak.”

“…”

She began to bloom. “I said, speak.”

“…um…”

“Are you deaf? Mute, perhaps? Or simply stupid?”

“…”

“I ordered you to speak. Do so.”

“I do not know what to say, Your Highness.”

“Say anything. Give me proper conversation, I am unentertained.” Her quick words penetrated the air with exasperation.

“…yes, Your Highness…”

“Ugh, you’re useless”

“…you are far too impatient,” he stated in piano.

“What?”

“I said, ‘you are far too impatient,’ Your Highness," he repeated in mezzo forte.

“How dare you speak in such a manner! I’ll have you know-”

“You asked me to speak…”

“What? How dare you interrupt me?”

“I said, ‘you asked me to speak.'" She fell silent.

“…do it again.”

“Your Highness?”

“Have you become stupid so quickly? I said, ‘do it again.’”

“…you are far too impatient; you are pompous; you haven’t a clue as to the work that goes into what you are given allowance to do; and every small thing that gets in the way, even something as beautiful as this,” he said, gesturing to the falling rain, “…gives you ire.”

“…continue.”

“You have no regard for human life other than your own; you are a fool if you believe anyone in the world worships the ground you walk on with the miserable laws you imparted; the farmers have little ability to sell their crops; taxes are too high because of your command; citizens struggle to feed their families, and you do not bat an eye; and none would utter a single positive word in your direction if you asked their opinion of Your Highness.” She felt the drop of a clear, salty liquid on her clenched hands. She sat in confusion amongst the symphonic downpour.

“How…how dare you…”

“You ask me to speak and cannot yet handle the truth of my words; you sit there, upset at the world when so many around you sit in misery due to your action, or rather, inaction.” Though his voice continued in mezzo piano, the underlying force rang in her ears.

“I have had enough…”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The symphony continued.

"..."

"..."

“…the ball was a success, at least,” she said finally.

“Indeed, Your Highness.”

“Many people arrived.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And they complimented my gown.”

“It was quite lovely, Your Highness.”

“You are just telling me what I want to hear, now.”

“…”

“Well?”

“Shall I continue to insult you, Your Highness?"

“No, but it would be nice to hear honesty out of someone that isn’t negative.”

“Was the ball not a charity event, Your Highness?”

“What?”

“The ball. It was a charity event for the local orphanage.”

“The local…?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Where guardianless children go to live until someone decides to adopt them or they die.”

“T-they…”

“Are you aware of how much money the charity raised?”

“N-No…”

“Less than what it cost to create your gown, Your Highness.”

“Was my gown so expensive?”

“Due to the jewels and exquisite fabric, indeed. You are aware of the status and funds of your friends, are you not?”

“Y-yes, but-”

“Yet you know nothing of the financial status or plight of your own countrymen, Your Highness.”

“…”

“…”

“...am I really so high in the instep…so blind? Have I abandoned my country?”

“…”

“You may continue to speak freely,” she said, just barely above piano.

“You are literate as so many are not, yet you never take the pleasure of reading.”

“I-I will read…”

“You never explore the country unless called to a ball or party among the rich citizens.”

“I can visit the towns. There are festivals, of that I am aware.”

“Your staff are not paid enough.”

“Is it not enough…?”

“Taxes are too high.”

“I can lower them, I believe.”

“The orphanages are full.”

“We can make more…”

“They cannot feed the children”

“I can…fix that…”

“The buildings are crumbling.”

“I c-can repair…”

“The country is unhappy, Your Highness.”

“I…I can…change that…”

“…”

“I can,” she sobbed. “I can change that…”

“…” She continued for a while, drowning out the symphony.

“…was there…anything else?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“…”

“…”

“I have failed my country…”

“All is not lost, Your Highness. If you would listen to the citizens-”

“Whatever for,” she cried into the darkness. "They hate me."

“For their opinions. As you have done mine.”

“…”

“All the citizens should be happy. Only then will Your Highness deserve and receive true happiness.”

“How is that possible?”

“I believe true happiness comes from giving others joy.”

“…is that to say…you are unhappy now?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The symphony continued its crescendo.

“…what would make you happy?”

“Helping distribute the wealth back to the people; giving farmers more land to plant along the river for irrigation; paying the workers enough to feed their families.”

“…”

“…”

“…do you have a family?”

“No, Your Highness. I do not.” Their voices in quiet piano were just barely audible.

“Would you like to have one?”

“I am unsure. I do know I would not willingly create one now, not as long as the country is in its current state.”

“How…how do I change it?”

“Change the laws that were created to increase the wealth of Your Highness through higher taxes among those who work to provide for their country and their families.”

“I am aware, but how?”

“Make a declaration in writing. That is the only way to begin permanent change. All laws are written in the largest scroll kept in the royal archives.”

“Where…where is that?”

“I shall show you when we return, Your Highness.”

"...thank you."

"Yes, Your Highness."

“…you said the rain was beautiful?"

“Indeed, Your Highness. Just as the stars twinkle in the sky, the downpour creates a symphony so beautiful that it cannot be set to score.”

Silence fell between them. The orchestra had finished its symphony.