My Lady Liege

I am sitting in my carriage, watching the palace get smaller and smaller as we travel down the road, away from the life I once had the privilege of having, and I feel angry. Angry at the situation, angry at her, but most of all, angry at myself. Six months ago, my lady took the throne. I had heard about her my whole life, knowing that one day she would be the most powerful woman (arguably person) in all of England. Despite this, I believed that if I were close in power to her, I might, as a strong man, influence her decisions.

As a young man I saw the need for economic growth. I would see, riding in a carriage not unlike the one I am in now, misery. Half torn-down buildings with children barefoot, playing with broken cartwheels and scraps of newspaper left by the gentry to decompose by the side of the road, were not an uncommon sight in London. I knew, even then, that the only chance of survival for our economy was through transportation. I reasoned that if were to be rid of many of the homeless and the scavengers on whom so much of our money was wasted, we could renew England's place over the America's as the richest economy in the world, and allow our citizens to thrive again.

There already had been several fleets to Australia, and with the information from my many contacts, I pieced together a plan. This plan was one of which that allowed me to arrange, together with the future Queen, the mass transportation of the lower class. As a well-known member of society, I found it easy to make my way into the court. I lived in the palace for many years, waiting for the day that the King would die and my lady would take the throne.

When the day finally arrived, I took my chance. I arranged an audience with the Queen and explained to her my idea. She listened, yes, but all the while I noticed her lips getting thinner and thinner and her corseted back becoming somehow even straighter than before. I did not understand our young Queen. I thought that, because she was a woman, she might listen to a man's advice, but she dismissed me from the room without so much as an explanation. I went to bed in deep confusion that night, for I could not see the flaw in my plan. There was so much poverty in England that we could hardly see to it all.

The following weeks I listened, and I watched. I got to know the Queen and learned of her values. She believed in equality, something on which very few saw with her eye to eye. She also believed in our country, its beauty and its history that she thought needed every single one of its citizens. A few months later I took her away again, hoping that if I appealed to her better interests then she would do what I bid. Again she rejected my proposal. Only when my palm touched her face did I realized what I had done, but by then it was too late. The guards were on me, pulling me away and pushing me to the ground. I had packed my bags by the morning.

I cannot tell what my future holds for me. I have committed a crime worthy of hanging and only my previous reputation has saved me, but now I am a disgraced man. I abused my position as part of the Queen's court by trying to manipulate her to do my bidding, though I stand by the fact that I was only doing it for the greater good. All I wanted was the wealth of my nation and the ability to do my part for England. I could have achieved it with power, a power that, being so close to the Queen, I could easily have had. I fell under the temptation of that power, which I am sure many men will succumb to, but fail to grasp, for the rest of our Queen's reign. Only now, as I leave the palace, I can see what I have done. I underestimated her, a woman, a Queen.

Note on the text:

This is short piece I wrote for English at school based on the film 'Young Victoria', as I had quite fallen in love with it. The man in the story is mostly an OC, but he is inspired by Sir John Conroy.

This is my first fic so any reviews would be greatly appreciated! And if you have even gotten far enough to read this, thank you so much!