Pretend Princess Bride

Chapter 1 - Cedrick

The nurse appears in the doorway, out of breath from running.

“Dr. Vanecourt! You’re needed to operate on a trauma patient…”

I give a nod. I’ve seen ten patients in the last few hours for conditions ranging from childbirth to gallstones. Usually this part of the day is a lull, but not today.

The patient on the bed is just waking up from anesthesia. She looks around, seemingly unsure of where she is.

“Your surgery went beautifully, Mrs. Harb.” I’m washing my hands, preparing to get to the operating theater as quickly as possible but trying to give her individual attention as she regains awareness.

She looks around, eying the IV drip and machines in the small village hospital, recognition dawning on her face. “Oh, good. Thank you, Doctor. Am I ready to go home?”

She looks down at her stomach and touches the bandage.

“Not yet, but the nurse will give you instructions for treating the incision. Make sure you come in two weeks to follow up, and call if you need anything.”

“Thank you again, Doctor.”

“Doctor?” The nurse’s face grows more insistent, and I follow her out into the dimly lit hallway. Electricity is scarce in this part of Yemen, and we need to conserve it.

“Tell me about the patient.” I walk briskly, although it’s such a small hospital, it’s only a few meters distance.

“A bomb went off this morning, and a little boy suffered severe shrapnel wounds. He’s seven. We’re controlling blood loss, but there’s a chance his vital organs have been hit. He’s bleeding from the head, too, but we’re not sure how deep the wound is.”

I put on gloves, a cap, and a surgical mask in seconds. The patient on the table is hooked to machines and prepped for surgery.

“What’s the patient’s name?” I ask the anesthesiologist.

“Issa Ali. He has damage to his liver, the back of the skull, and his legs.”

I ask for instruments as the nursing staff holds the skin in place. I can see the metal splinters glinting in the bright lights of the operating area. Based on the blood internally, I know there’s a larger piece to carefully remove from behind.

I suture the organ after extracting the metal carefully, then move to the other, less critical wounds.

An hour later, the patient is sewn up, with twisted fragments of metal in a sterilized tray serving as evidence of the trauma he suffered. He’s stable.

“Are his parents here, Virginie?” I ask the nurse who summoned me. Her hazel eyes bear a new sadness.

“His mother is. She’s out in the waiting room.” She pauses and shakes her head. “The father didn’t make it out of the bombing.”

I nod grimly. “I’ll go speak to her.”

I take off my gloves, mask, and surgical gown, wash my hands, and head to see the child’s mother.

On the face of every child who comes in needing life saving care, I see a small reflection of my best friend Henry in the final moments of his life. I held his hand as he took his last breath when we were kids. From that moment on, I knew I had to devote my life to healing people.

I’ve been a doctor for five years, and I’ve worked in the medical field for more than a decade, since I was fifteen, but it’s impossible to get used to the heart-wrenching sight of a child on the dividing line between life and death.

The agony on the face of their parents is just as bad. I’m just glad that I can comfort some of them. But not all.

“Mrs. Ali, I’m Dr. Vanecourt.”

A small woman with bloodshot eyes and dark hair starts to rise, and I motion for her to sit.

“How is Issa?” Her hand is clutched to her heart, and her eyes start welling.

“The surgery went well.”

 She stands up and raises her arms, looking upward. “Oh, praise God. Can I see him?”

“Soon. The minute he’s in the recovery suite, a nurse will come get you, I’ll make sure of it.”

She wraps me in her arms, and I can feel her tears on my scrubs. “I don’t know how to thank you, Doctor. Especially with his father… my husband. It happened yesterday. After losing the love of my life, I can’t…” 

She can barely get the words out. I can feel her shake as I hug her.

“I can tell how much you love them both.”

“I do. I do. You don’t know the love of a mother.” She smiles sadly. “Although you may know the love of a wife, if you’re so lucky.”

“No, not yet.”

“I hope you will be blessed with the kind of love I had for so long. Your mother must be very proud of you, like I am of my son.”

“I’m sure she is. And I’m sure Issa is just as proud of you. I wish you the best, Mrs. Ali.” 

I feel a pang of mourning, wishing my mother could be proud of me here and not from above. I can hear her voice calling me Ricky. But only the people who were close to me as a kid called me that. That name died when they did, and I prefer to keep it that way. Detached. Clean. 

So marriage especially is something I have no interest in. It’s hard to imagine loving someone like that. I don’t know if I’d want to, as pained as the widows I’ve seen look.

“I wish you the best, as well, Doctor.”

I go back to clean myself up and see some other patients until my shift is over, but I can’t get the faces of Issa and his mother out of my mind even when my shift ends. They’re why I founded World Clinic and why I work so hard to build more outposts in all parts of the world that need care. But I know there are so many more who don’t have access.

I feel guilty leaving the hospital, even though I’m leaving an hour after my scheduled time.

When I get to my apartment, I realize how famished I am. I heat up some leftover rice and chicken. All I want is to sit on the sofa and do nothing before I fall asleep.

While I’m sitting down to dinner, the phone rings. Shit, I should have turned this thing off. If someone really needs me for a medical emergency, there’s a pager. Anything else can wait.

I contemplate ignoring it, but I catch sight of the name of the caller. ‘Royal Palace, Solvaria.’

“Fuck.”

Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up. I’m too tired to deal with anything related to my father right now. But the sense of duty overrides my exhaustion.

“Hello?” I answer. Cedrick, you idiot.

“Cedrick, it’s good to hear your voice.” The air of authority, strength, and entitlement is unmistakable, but my father’s voice has an unsettling edge to it.

“And always good to hear yours, Father.”

“Mmm. I appreciate your saying so.” I can feel the icy subtext. Since his stroke, he’s had a single-minded obsession with marrying us off, and it hasn’t exactly endeared him to us.

“What’s going on? Did you call just to catch up?”

“No, unfortunately. There’s been an emergency.”

I gasp. “Are you okay? Not another stroke?”

“No, no, it’s not me,” he answers with a smile in his voice. “It’s your niece. She’s very ill, with appendicitis. I’d like you to come back and take a look at her.”

“My niece? I know I’ve been off the grid for a few months, but this is news to me…”

“There’s not enough time to explain. I just want you to come. It’s Ishmael’s daughter, Isha. She’s seven.”

Isha. So similar to Issa. I can’t in good conscience leave families who need me so badly to attend to a princess in Solvaria for an issue that any intern can solve.

“I hope she’s okay. But I don’t think I can arrange the transportation…”

“I’ve sent a plane already. It should be there in a half hour.”

“But, Dad, I have work…”

“You can go right back to work in a day or two, but it’s important for family to be together right now.”

I see Issa and his mother’s faces again, and I think of the unique comfort that only they could provide to each other. And I admit I’m curious about this new relative. My father has been strong-arming us all into settling down since he had his stroke last year, so things can change in a matter of weeks.

Still, this comes as a surprise. Ishmael? Really? A kid? Who’s the mother?

“Persuasive as always.” I hesitate before saying the words that I wish weren’t true. “I’ll be there tonight.”

“And come to the palace before you go to the hospital. There are a few things I want to discuss.”

Of course, there are. “Yes, Father. I’ll see you shortly.”

After a half-hour trip to the airfield, a two-hour flight to Solvaria, and a fifteen-minute drive from King Francis Airport, I feel my stomach churn as the guards welcome me into the vast palace.

I go up the grand marble staircase to my father’s quarters, expecting a delighted smile and open arms. Instead, he’s pacing and wearing a scowl.

Coming back makes me remember why I prefer Haiti and Ukraine to the cushy bubble of my childhood. Despite having everything, my father is never pleased.

“Hello, Father. How is the patient?”

“Hmm? Oh, I think she’s doing well. She’s at Ishmael’s estate.” He marches over to give me a perfunctory hug with a gruff sigh. “Sit, sit.”

I take a chair, and he continues to pace.

“So, clearly my niece isn’t why you called, apparently. I want to hear more about her. So, what’s really on your mind, Dad?”

“Have you given any more thought to what I asked before?”

I feign a look of ignorance. I should have known. 

“Before…? When are you thinking?”

“About settling down. Solidifying the royal line. Getting married for a chance at the crown.”

I slowly raise my eyebrows. “I thought the last conversation was the end of it. I said no. You know I’m not interested in the throne.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t marry. You may want to heal the world, but your duty is first and foremost to your Kingdom.”

I sigh, my temper beginning to flare. “You already have three sons who are married now, and I’m doing work that can help so many people who have nothing. You don’t know the things I’ve seen, the effects of hunger and war…”

“And I don’t need to.” He holds up his hand. “But don’t you want to continue to have the funding for your foundation? Because the funding from the Royal Trust isn’t guaranteed. Belt-tightening and all. I hear there are budget cuts this year.”

Judging by the gilded fixtures and his immaculate suits, I don’t think he’s short of cash. 

“You wouldn’t really stop funding this work, would you?” I cross my arms, hoping he’s joking.

He shrugs. “It’s a possibility. I was thinking of perhaps cutting it in half to support one of your new sisters-in-law… sister in laws… Anyway, their charitable interests. But if you were to get married…”

He pauses for dramatic effect, loving it.

“Maybe it could double, given that it would have two royals administering it.”

I rise out of my chair with a force that pushes it into his big oak desk with a loud bang, and he stops, arms folded.

“You’re unbelievable, Dad.” My cheeks and ears grow hotter, and I want to be anywhere but here. “Did you actually bring me here for my niece at all? Or just this again?”

Why is he so obsessed with my love life? Or my lack of one, which is how I prefer it.

I storm out without looking back, for my own safety more than anything else. The last thing I need is to spend a night in a Solvarian jail for punching His Royal Highness.

As much as I want to.