The Royal Stones of Eden (Royal Secrecies Book 1) by Rae T. Alexander Page A

illness, all that I knew was that she suffered from an unknown disease that was incredibly difficult to pronounce.
    My school was my diversion over losing my mother and once my great passion. Before my serious studies in college, I attended a preparatory school for boys, near the River Thames. I obsessed about graduating and studying archaeology. It was a school that required little commitment—except actual and physical presence—if you were wealthy. Some students called it dreadful, and hard work but these were the students who were there without title or heritage. It was a school that had a reputation for providing an education that was stimulating, but not stuffy. I merely thought it a great bore and nuisance.
    I just wanted to leave my home in London one day. I wanted to explore the world. That was my goal. I never considered London my home because of a forced reclusive life that I had outside my mandatory schooling. I lived in a mansion with eighteen bedrooms, on what my father used to call, “old Queen’s Road,” and what my schoolmates used to call, “bloody Kensington Palace Gardens.”
    Part of my anger with my father was that he forced me one day to mingle with the regular locals in London, at an early age of thirteen. It was, according to my father, to “better myself and acquaint myself with other persons my age.” I thought that he was trying to infuse me with some commoner blood or attitude when he sent me to school. I was appalled and resentful until I realized that I could make it an outlet for an unknown oppression and prison. It was a cage that I had lived in since birth, and I was completely unaware of its absolute hold on me.
    One does not know their prison that they make for themselves in this life. We all do it, some rather well I think. Some do not do it well at all. One of my prisons was an elitist attitude. My father thought my outlet of school would be a complete escape from it. In fact, that mentality never entirely left me. I always thought of myself as more superior.
    The fact that new schools meant new friends in London meant nothing to me, and mere acquaintances did not remove my feelings of superiority. It only reinforced my arrogance to know people whom I thought I could control or have power over by virtue of my perceived position. I wanted to have friends who could see the world as I did. I vowed that one day I would make friends that lived on pedestals of intellectual or some other kind of superiority.
    My mum was above, or rather below, or even outside of this attitude. She was truly what my father called “fair.” She was a contented soul. She would have survived in any culture, and in any place, time, or position. She seldom differed or argued. When she would disagree, she would usually reply with an, “as you wish,” or, “as you say.” Her smile was more commanding than any bark from a soldier. She was a compliment to my father and me.
    Maybe I inherited my arrogance from my father. Money was his obsession—and keeping it. I did not know precisely how my father had attained his wealth or maintained it. I do not remember as a child ever developing a relationship with him to find out.
    My father was often ill, with chronic and frequent colds, as I remember. During his last days, I found him very disinterested in my life, more so than usual. He did not care about what I truly wanted out of life. I was detached and clung to my dreams of exploring the world and working in archaeology. I wanted life to be an adventure. I cared not for my demanding father who always seemed to be preoccupied, distant, or sick.
    On the day that he announced that I would first attend a school with commoners, after reaching the age of thirteen, I found out some of the reasons for his unattached feelings. He called me into his bedroom, and I saw him buried under several quilts. His white beard was draped over the covers. It made him look ancient. He had a scarf around his neck, and it was unusually