Ciara buried her face in her pillow, willing the tears not to come. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. She would be brave.

It was unbearable. The girl let out a gut-wrenching sob and allowed the tears to flow. Her life would never be the same and she knew it. Her days of running barefoot through the open valleys surrounding the city without a care in the world were long gone. For now she, a girl of only ten, was to rule a kingdom.

“I shan’t do it!” She exclaimed to herself tearfully. “No matter what they say to me!” But she knew it wasn’t true and before the hour was up she would be standing on a stage in front of all ten kingdoms, having a crown placed upon her head.

The girl ran her fingers along the smooth satin dress, crisp and sleeveless, far to mature for her. She inspected her appearance in the mirror, trying to wipe away the tear stains. Layer upon layer of makeup had been painted onto her face. She looked like she could of been thirty.

“Queen Ciara Rosalind!” A stern voice called from the elegantly carved door of her chambers. The door swung open and Ciara’s mother stepped in. “Oh what have you done, Ciara? I leave you alone for one second and you’ve smudged your pretty little face.” The woman began delicately dabbing away the tears, then presented a pile of dainty pink flowers.

“Hold still, girl, so I can weave these into your hair.” She clutched the child’s golden braids, each pinned into a loop around her ears, and began putting in the flowers. Ciara groaned, but her mother only pulled harder.

“Mother, why must I go out on the stage? Can’t someone else be Queen?” Her mother sighed, yanking her hair more vigorously. “You know, Ciara, that a child must rule. It is not up to us. But we have worked very hard to get you this position, and you must take it seriously.”

“But I can’t rule! I can’t lead a kingdom! I don’t want to!”

“Hush Ciara! Quit your whining, your about to be crowned Queen and they won’t handle your tantrums. You don’t have to worry about ruling, your father and I will make all the big decisions for you. You just have to look pretty and say what we tell you.”

It was at that moment that Ciara knew, that children really weren’t the ones ruling. It was their parents. That she was just to be a symbol, a distraction, a decoy, from who was really pulling the strings. A puppet, that’s what they wanted her to be, and being a stubborn little girl, she wasn’t putting up with that.

She turned and smiled sweetly at her mother. “Yes ma’am. That seems easy enough.” Her mother raised her eyebrows, surprised at this change in attitude. “Alright, Ciara. We’re going to go over what you will say…”

Only thirty minutes later, Ciara stepped up on stage, flowers in her hair, dress flowing behind her, defiant glare on her face. She caught her mother’s eye for a brief moment and saw her mouth, “smile!”, but ignored her. She walked along the shimmering golden carpet onto the stage where nine other children, ages ranging from eight to fifteen, sat looking at her, expressions blank.

They began the vows, which were easy enough, and Ciara simply nodded and said “I do.” Then came time for her part. Ciara through down her cards, tilted her chin up in defiance, and began the speech.