[Lauchenoiria]

The Robinson founder of Kerlile had been a member of the Zongongian Royal Family. Part of her decision in leaving Zongongia, renouncing her titles, and giving up on the security and stability her nobility had granted her was that she fell in love with a foreigner, an immigrant who happened to be Black in white-majority Zongongia. Her love – and the resulting mixed-race children – meant she had fallen far, far out of favour with her family. Hence the desire for a new start.

Now, when racial tensions were calmer, Kerlile was an established power, and the King of Zongongia somewhat feared a Kerlian invasion, the two branches of the family had reconnected, despite the distance between them. This meant that when the King received a message from his “cousin” Councillor Robinson asking him to allow her daughters to stay with them and live in Zongongia, he was perfectly happy to oblige.

Natasha Robinson, who had grown up in multi-ethnic Kerlile where sexism was encouraged but racism was rare, felt exceptionally conscious about the colour of her skin upon arrival in majority-white Zongongia. In the Royal Palace especially, the only people who looked remotely like her were servants. It freaked her out. She’d studied the history of patriarchy and gender-relations but race relations weren’t a subject she’d needed to bother with in the Matriarchy, but now felt rather pertinent.

“Excuse me, my lady,” a servant said, tapping Natasha on the shoulder. She blinked a few times before she realised the address was to her.

“Um…” she didn’t know what to say to that. In Kerlile, the word “lady” was taboo, but she knew from watching foreign movies that it was an address to nobility in the past. She hadn’t expected to hear it in 2021 and didn’t know how to respond. Fortunately, the servant ignored her awkward confusion and continued.

“Prince Kristofer would like to invite you to attend this evening’s dinner in the Sunflower Room at seven o’clock,” the servant informed her and then walked away.

Prince Kristofer was the King’s grandson, he was a year older than Natasha and would one day inherit the Zongongian throne. Natasha had no idea why her distant, distant cousin would want to invite her to dinner but she supposed he was being kind. She had no friends here in Zongongia, especially because she tended to misunderstand things. The royal family in Zongongia had little political power, the nobility were more figureheads, but she had been thrust in the middle of their social games anyway and she didn’t know what to do about it.

Natasha understood politics. If this had been an absolute monarchy, she would probably have got her head around things in a few days. As it was, however, elected politicians made the decisions and the nobility played pointless games trying to one-up each other while everyone else mostly ignored that they existed, except for during religious celebrations. Natasha didn’t really see the point in their existence, but she had kept silent about that.

She sighed, checking her watch. It was 3pm. Four hours before dinner, and she had no idea what to do with that time. Some of the other girls she’d seen about would probably spend the whole time dressing up, but such a concept was anathema to her Kerlian sensibilities. So, she found herself drawn, once more, to the Gardens of the Zongong.

The Gardens were a place for religious contemplation in the palace. They were where members of the Royal Family and their guests went to pray outside formal services. They were calm and beautiful, and despite Natasha’s atheism, she loved them. On her first day when she was being given a tour, she’d been told she could visit whenever she liked. Zongongists didn’t object to non-believers being present in their religious spaces. They wanted to welcome everyone.

Natasha came here when she felt stressed or missed home. Imogen had quickly made friends with other children, little fourth sons and daughters of Zongongian nobility who liked to run around the palace getting shouted at for touching the statues. There were less teenagers, most of whom were too old to accompany their parents, and too young to want to come of their own will. The only other girls her age was a cluster of heavily made-up nobles who wanted Kristofer’s attentions.

They hated her, and she hated them. They thought she was competition – she was, in a way, Kerlian nobility which made her eligible to marry into the Royal Family, and she was a distant enough cousin to counter any genuine allegations of incest. She thought they were a mob of racist creeps who practically walked around with a sign reading “Anti-Matriarchal Activity”. She’d been an advocate of scrapping the AMA laws but seeing this gaggle, she was beginning to change her mind.

Natasha Robinson had never experienced sexism or racism. Until the first day she moved to Zongongia, when suddenly she was accosted with both. Even her fellow women seemed to view her as some kind of object, a future wife to challenge their positions, an attachment to a future man. And they mocked her for her skin colour. They liked to make comments about her great-great-grandmother, as if the woman hadn’t died long before Natasha was born. She found it offensive, confusing and frightening, in that order.

Natasha picked up a rock. “I want to go home,” she whispered to it. “I don’t really know how to do this. Zongongists pray to rocks, right? Well, if you’re real, gods of Zongongism, please grant me this prayer. Please get me away from here. The palace is nice and I love your gardens but I can’t stand being called ‘my lady’ or having people ask me what my plans for marriage are. I didn’t really understand Kerlile until now. I understand it now, I really, really do.”

“We don’t pray to rocks, Kerlian,” scoffed a voice behind her. Natasha froze. She recognised that voice. Renee, or Regina… no, Renetta. “We channel the energy through rocks, the stable foundation of creation to contact the gods. But I’m sure you prefer chopping off a male’s finger to give to your warmonger goddess.”

Natasha slowly turned. Renetta was one of Kristofer’s would-be suitors, and she despised Natasha with a burning passion. She was pale as a sheet, wore her blonde hair in long, flowing locks and didn’t own any clothing that wasn’t pink. She genuinely looked like one of the examples of internalised misogyny on her exam papers for Culture class. When Natasha had looked in the banned books section of the Council library (as was her right, as an heir) she’d seen foreign princesses in fairy tales dressed like Renetta. Never in her wildest dreams could she have expected to meet someone like that in real life.

“Thank you for the correction,” Natasha replied, trying to keep her voice civil. “I still have much to learn about your country. These gardens are beautiful.”

“Yes, they are, so don’t touch anything,” Renetta sneered. “I know how dirty you Kerlians can be. Don’t you only wash every other week due to water shortages? I can practically smell the stench coming off you from the other side of the palace.”

Natasha stiffened. Did she smell? She’d tried hard to shower every day here, maybe she wasn’t doing it right. Renetta’s allegations were false, but it was true that you didn’t need to shower every day to be considered acceptable in Kerlian society. Two or three times a week was deemed sufficient. Not for conservation reasons, more because it was patriarchal cultures that obsessed with preening and appearances.

“I apologise if you dislike my perfume,” Natasha replied stiffly. She wasn’t wearing any, a fact that was very clear to both girls.

“Maybe you should go back to Kerlile and buy another… oh wait, you can’t because nobody will sell anything to Kerlile. What’s it like living on gruel and dirty water? You’re probably going to be sick tonight at the dinner because you’re not used to eating proper food. And you certainly can’t go dressed like that.”

Natasha looked down. She was wearing her favourite jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt that had a picture of a rocket on it. Okay, it wasn’t the most formal, but it didn’t warrant the sheer disgust with which Renetta had said the words. “What’s wrong with my outfit?” she asked, challenging the other girl.

“You look like a boy,” she sneered. “A dirty little boy.”

Natasha snapped. She stepped forward before Renetta could react and shoved her, hard, into a water fountain behind them. As Renetta fell in the water with a splash and a shocked scream, Natasha stooped, scooped up an entire armful of dirt and soil from a nearby flower bed, and dumped them on Renetta’s head. Then, she leapt into the fountain herself and shoved Renetta’s head under, mixing up the mud into her hair. Renetta thrashed and struggled, and Natasha let up, leaping back out and running far, far away.