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Corrine Myers was an inquisitive child. Nothing unusual about that, most children go through an inquisitive phase. She was an only child. The two people she called mum and dad, raised her with only one thought in their mind. With the help and guidance of two sets of grandparents, her life was full of love, guidance, and education. Not in the normal Australian education system but both home schooling and a special school. She learnt about the old Europe, the Royal houses, how the different courts were managed and why they were managed the way they were. She spent a lot of her preschool years listening to music played by her grandparents on their stereo system. The music etched itself into her mind, from the Beatles, to opera, from the swing bands of the 1930s, she laughed and played. She listened to her parents talking to her grandparents. They sat her on their laps and included her, they told her about herself. That she was a princess. Everything that parents and grandparents told their first ‘granddaughter’, this time it was a truism, known only to these six people and a seventh person who started visiting every week.
When this stranger came into her home, her parents and grandparents were always there. They started talking all funny, the toddler who was Corrine didn’t understand them at that time, but they taught her the dead language.
Latin.
It didn’t surprise any of them that she picked up the language within two years. At the same time, she was taught French with one set of grandparents and Italian with the others. With young children teaching them a language is easy; you just speak it around them all the time. So, it was for the first five years of Corrine’s life she was listening and learning in 4 languages, English with her parents and French with one set of grandparents, Italian with the other and Latin with Monsignor Cardinalli.
When it was time to go to school in her sixth year, it was a specially selected school, of all girls, strict with only selective pupils, no more than thirty girls all around the same age. It wasn’t a religious school even though upon seeing it one could surmise it may have been.
The simple name of ‘The Kings School founded in Canterbury 597 AD’, as explained on the understated bronze plaque displayed discreetly at the entrance. The building was historic, it was a single building, three stories high set on a large estate well hidden from any roads. Visitors were not welcomed.
While at school, the small class sizes help ensure that everybody was well educated. Only certain languages were spoken on specific days. By the time the students were ten years of age, they were all fluent in all four languages. Corrine also excelled in Mathematics, the sciences and strangely botany. She loved school and the friends she made there, although none became too friendly with her. The teachers made certain that Corrine was treated a little differently than the others. It was so subtle that no one noticed it, not even the girls.
She was disciplined along with everyone else, at times when another girl was punished for misbehaving, she found herself enjoying the scene. Someone bent over in front of the class getting their backside caned for some indiscretion, did bring a smile to her lips and a certain feeling deep inside her belly.
She was encouraged to take up selfdefensive past times so by her 8th birthday she started both Karate and Taekwondo. She did also learn to fence and box but neither of those sports excited her, she carried on with them but without her normal passion. It was the close contact that the Asian martial arts that brought something out in her. It was noticed by everyone watching her, when she put her mind and body into it, she could achieve great things.
Corrine didn’t feel privileged, she wasn’t surrounded by great wealth, but she wanted for nothing.
On the weekends she spent a lot of time with her father in the garden, she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. She and her father spoke Latin and were happiest testing each other out on the botanical names of the plants in the garden.
It was during these times she was told more about her family, where her grandparents came from and that her dad was selfeducated man, born in France, and raised in Italy, their family heritage went back over 600 years. Corrine was stunned to hear such things. She thought about the lessons she had at school; the Royal families of Europe went back further than 600 years. She was confused. Questions were forming.
She had never given any thoughts about her parent’s life before she was born, and hearing snippets now made her more curious. She asked about how he met her mum and what her poppa thought of him when first they met. He fobbed her off by changing the subject but knew the time was coming when more had to be revealed to her.
How were they going to tell her about her real name and what lay ahead for her. That his name was Phillippe Valois, and their future was mapped out for them. How could all of her Australian childhood be explained to her? How long should they wait before disclosing everything to her?
His ‘Australian parents’ along with her own were here to protect her, groom her and see that she is raised to be Queen.
The House of Bourbon, distant royals to the French throne would have preferred to have kept their prince and his family in Europe. Their plan was yet to be revealed to them, but the old aristocratic families were waiting to turn France and the whole of Europe back into constitutional monarchies. Everything was set, the timeline carefully laid out and the people and some governments were put into place to ensure certain victory.
Her time growing up was happy, her extrovert personality meant she was well liked at school, amongst the teachers and her classmates. It never occurred to her that her lifestyle was different. She always went shopping with her mum and grand ma’s. She helped in the kitchen, and doing household cleaning. She had a foot in two worlds. Yet she didn’t know it.
By the time she had reached her teenage years she was beginning to show signs of a rebellious nature. Her studies began to slip and the more her parents kept reminding her that she needed to do well at school the more she dug her heels in. There was a small clique of girls who seemed to always be together during their break periods at school, it was one of them that brought the cigarettes into the school and at every opportunity the girls found time and space to go off and be by themselves. The smell of smoke on their breaths gave them away and the standard punishment duly metered out. The 6 strokes of the cane marked her backside, it marked all their backsides. No one cried, and no one sniggered. Everyone knew that to do so would only bring forth more punishment.
When she got home, she didn’t say anything to her parents and went straight into her bedroom. There standing in front of the mirror she raised her skirt and pulled her panties down to see the six red welts still burning on the cheeks of her backside. She wet a finger and traced along one of the red lines. It sent a strange sensation through her. Both painful and pleasure.
Her family were notified of the necessary disciplinary action and approved of it. Nothing was ever said to Corrine, they all waited for her to tell them. It took several weeks before she raised it as a joke one night over their evening meal. Her parents just looked at each other, not saying a word. They could see the little girl they had raised was fast becoming a young woman, way before her time.
Deep inside, the talks she had with her dad, had troubled her, thinking about the long history that was her family tree. She kept asking questions of her parents and her grandparents, wanting more information. None was forth coming. She was told be patient. Tell a teenager, especially a strongwilled teenager to be patient, was like talking to a brick wall. She had never had to be disciplined at home, the occasional harsh word here and there from everyone, was about all she received. She, now at the age of 15 started to push the boundaries. Her rebellious streak began to show itself. She threw tantrums and slammed doors, she cursed and her pentup frustration about everything led her life to become one of a sad lonely girl.
Even though she excelled in academia, topping her classes in both English and Math’s, and excelling in the sciences, nothing seemed to satisfy her, there was something gnawing away at her, on the inside, some frustrations. She didn’t understand it all.
She was an outdoors type of person but not overly sporty. She became obsessed with inner peace and developed a social conscience. She became sullen, quiet and the small group of friends she had unconsciously gathered around her became closer than maybe what they should have. The teachers and school staff were mindful and kept a close watch on them. The girls saw them being watched. Which made them even more rebellious and disruptive. Corrine was undoubtedly the ringleader.
When this development is reported, not everyone was displeased with her behaviour.
Her family ate together every Sunday lunchtime. They had been consulted and told that before her next birthday it she should learn the truth about her past and her future. It was decided that the age of 16 she was the right age that she should learn the whole truth.
In the English county of Es, things were happening as six members of the aristocracy families, known only as the 6, sat down for a casual midweek meal and plan out how and who was going to tell Adelie Sixtine Loelia Valois the truth. The plan was that only those in Australia would know the identity of the new Queen of all Europe. Meanwhile in Australia, her parents and grandparents waited for their instructions.
Two worlds were about to collide.
The well sort out plan to overturn the democratic governments of Europe had started back in 1990 when the then USSR started to break down. It was at that time that certain documents that were never meant to be seen by the EU or NATO countries, came to light. Quite by accident.
So elaborate were the plans that at first it was thought to be a hoax. Something, some people had planted to be mischievous. Interpol was handed the case to investigate. They began to ask questions, discreetly of course. Slowly answers were found which led to more questions. It was a web so intricate and full of dead ends, but all were recorded and what was thought to be a hoax or some kind of mischievous prank by some people soon took on a sinister tone.
At first an accident while one of the investigating officers was on holiday, his sudden demise was thought to be just an accident, but within 6 months his partner fell ill and passed. A healthy 34yearold mother, taken ill and died of a heart attack. Two investigating Interpol officers dying within such a short space of time of each other didn’t go unnoticed.
What brought it to the attention of the British SIS or MI6, the French DGSE the American USSS or better known as the Secret Service and the very cooperative Russian FSB was a thread that linked everything together in one report. Four names, four countries one common link, a missing presumed dead child. Adelie Sixtine Loelia Valois. French by birth.
The final report was being finished by the second agent, ready to be presented to the Regional Commissioner. The report went missing after her death before it could be presented, instead a simple memo allegedly sent from her before she became ill saying to her boss that it was misinformation sent from a group of Germany based anarchists. The Regional Commissioner passed the memo on to the government agencies who were showing an interest. None ever got the finished report.
The report by Interpol took more than three years to compile and was in four volumes. A detailed documentation of a plan put together by the families of the old European aristocracy. It was well hidden in plain sight, but once it was found and a simple thread was pulled it started to be deciphered and it became plain to see. But that was never sent to those who had to see it. It was put into the archives as a case that was resolved.
At the same time in Russia.
Sometimes fortune favours the brave.
A low level achieves officer of the Russian FSB was doing some repentance in their old basement archives. She was filing away boxes of old reports from the mid1990s after the fall of the old USSR. She found an odd memo tapped on top, of a halffilled box labelled Царисты [Czarists]. It was handwritten on an English and French worded memo. It caught her attention, she started reading. She shouldn’t have!
She mumbled to herself ‘Я должен научиться держать свой большой рот на замке’ (I have to learn to keep my big mouth shut)
Sitting in a cold, small room out of the way and out of her boss’s mind. She settled in to read what was in this box. It read like a good novel she thought. It started in the year 1909 and ended August 1918. It had recorded the much publicize execution of the Tsar Nicholas, and his family on the night of July 16th 17th 1918. The Bolshevik Revolutionaries under the orders of Yakov Yurovsky and with written orders from the Ural Regional Soviets in Yekaterinburg were said to have brutally executed the whole of the Tsar’s immediate family and much of the Romanov family. She knew all this, but when she turned to the next page she froze as she read down through the undisclosed information.
Their bodies were never meant to have been discovered. On a simple letter was an order to take them to the Gulag in Irkutsk. It was signed by Ioseb Berarionis dze Jughashvili [Josef Stalin] of the CPSU.
It was there that the documentation ended. When Elena looked back and carefully reread the last pages of the file, it became obvious to her that the file was incomplete. There was no official ending. She started looking through other boxes, other files.
All she found was a leathersatchel, locked with two padlocks! All it said was 1946. She put it to one side.
She put the box on the floor to one side. Thinking what had to be done next. Her brief was short and simple. File the documents in room Z45A246. If she went back upstairs and reported it to her boss, she would be laughed at. There was nothing of any proof just an unfinished report about the Russian royal family, the one that had been ‘executed’ in 1918, but this report says different. Surely not!
She sat there shivering in the cold. She thought to herself as a drip ran from her nose ‘Завтра наденьте чтото потеплее.’ (Tomorrow wear something warmer.)
She knew she was sent down here not to find anything but to punish her for speaking back to her supervisor, her boss lady. She stopped and thought for a few minutes, if I go and talk to Lydia, she will double my punishment for certain. But this needs to be seen by someone. Her bosses boss Anton is no better he is probably her how else could she keep her job, she was hopeless at it, she thought again.
She started going up the chain of command and at each section head she found a reason to say nothing. She thought about going to the top, the big boss, head of the whole department. Katerina Abramovich had just been appointed to the head position of the FSB archive services. Their job wasn’t so much to record things but to make certain, some reports and files never came to light. Bury them was a term used to make certain that those documents could not be located.
She stopped and thought again, what if this was a job that wasn’t meant to be found? What was so important about the Romanov’s now even if they were sent to Irkutsk, they would all be dead now.
The dates were all recent, no more than ten years old. Her brain was racing. Could they have been ‘buried’ down here for some other reason? But what reason could that be?
Had she had come across something that somebody didn’t want found. She looked down at the box on the floor and using her foot she slid it under the desk and out of sight. She shivered, not from the cold but from fear.
She lived in a single bedroom apartment on the 12th floor. By the time she got home it was becoming dark and the apartment was cold. Her phone buzzed as she took off her jacket. Her unofficial fiancée Sofia was catching up as she always did.
“Hi Sofia, how are you?” She answered.
“Elena, what happened at work? I rang and they said you were transferred or something?” She asked immediately.
“Not even a Hi, how are you sweetheart,” She said laughing. “Nothing really, I told Lydia what I was thinking, so I am sorting out files in the basement,” She told her girlfriend. “You’re coming over tonight? I’ll cook for you,”
“You can’t cook so you should come over here, stay the night and I’ll get something in,” She was told. Elena liked it when Sofia started acting all protective.
“Sounds like you want me?” She said teasing her.
“Then it sounded right, so I’ll see you in ten minutes,” It was more pleading than demanding.
The short car trip took less than the ten minutes. Fortunately, Sofia had a ground floor apartment, so parking her car in the first available spot as close to the apartment as was possible meant that she was searching her handbag for the key when the front door opened right on the tenminute mark. When she looked up, Sofia was standing there in just a sheer negligee, her red one, the one Elena had bought her for their first anniversary. It was the one she wore when she was in the mood, and she was in the mood. Elena stood there, taking in this exotic woman from Kazakhstan.
Her golden skin, her dark eyes, her slim body, and her breasts that stood out welcoming her lover, her nipples proud, erect and inviting. Elena looked intensely into her eyes, not moving. She looked up and down the corridor and seeing no one, she lifted her skirt and removed her thong. She threw them at Sofia, who caught them in her left hand and then brought them to her nose. She let her tongue run along her lips, then she curled it upwards in a sign language that said she was going to use it to tease her soon to be wife.
“Are you coming in or are you going to stand there all night?” She asked with a smile on her face and wickedness in her eyes. Elena stepped forward and took her in her arms, using a foot to close the door with a loud bang. Their kiss was hard, passionate and their hands wandered over each other. Elena felt the firm nipples and swooned at their touch. She felt Sofia’s fingers caress her almost smooth wet mound, a threeday growth was starting to get prickly.
“You need to shave Ellie,” She was told as a finger started to prise open her womanhood and Sofia’s thumb circled her throbbing pearl.
Elena opened her legs a little wider as her lover inserted a finger into her. “Let’s get more comfortable baby,” She wanted both, to get comfortable and not to let go of her lover. Sofia had other intentions, as she held onto Elena, or her Ellie.
“In a moment baby, let me feel your warmth on my hand, give it to me,” She said in a more demanding tone. Elena knew that they weren’t going anywhere until she had given up her first climax. She also knew that tonight was going to be a love feast. They hadn’t shared such a night for many months, they both needed this release.
Elena raised her leg and tried to hook it around Sofia’s waist, but as flexible as she was, she couldn’t hold on for much longer. She felt the growing tide within her body. She moaned slowly as the tide started to race along her inner channels, her hips moved in sync with Sofia’s fingers and thumb and then suddenly an orgasmic ending, suddenly and violently. She shook as the involuntary contractions within her vagina made her hold on to Sofia for dear life. Her panting gave way to laughter, as she felt her fluids escape and run down her thighs.
ero
