I tried to tell someone. I told one guard. He stared at me and walked away. I told an old woman who sold food near the palace. She looked at me and said
“Be careful.”
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“Be careful.”
someone knocked on my door.
the queen announced a festival. She said the land was blessed. Drums played. People danced. No one spoke of the missing children.
but I knew I could not. The gates were locked at night.
the child was still.
but no sound came out.
” she said.
” the queen said. “Like the others.”
but she was not moving.
the head maid sent me to bring water to the inner room. This had never happened before. My hands shook as I walked there.
it was one child. A boy who used to sell oranges near the gate. People said he ran away. Then a girl from the river side. Then another boy. Always poor children. Always children with no strong family.
the room smelled bad. Like blood and smoke. There were bowls on the floor. Dark stains on the mat. The queen stood near the wall. She was washing her hands.
they laughed it off. “She has good blood
I heard crying. Not loud. Soft. Like someone trying not to be heard. It came from the inner room
I heard things.
in a small town in West Africa. We had a queen. She was not born a queen. She married the king when he was already old. When he died
at first.
She smiled while the child stopped breathing.
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