Welcome to the Jungle

By Lauren Billups

Those who dishonor the royals

May face execution

Or be exiled.

Those who jeopardize the reputation of the legacy

May be exiled.

Those who bring dishonor to our country

May be exiled.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Body. Books. Brains.
• Release date: Oct 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986866802

Book preview

Chapter One

THE BOY (PRINCE) SCOUTS

Do you know why I believe men like you deserve less?

Silence had never been so deafening.

Do you know why I . . . Venus took two balanced steps forward as her heels clicked against the contemporary coconut-white marble floor. From the atrium of the massive hallway echoed the sound of a divine femme fatale. Venus was no model, but her catwalk, anchored in slow strides, could prove otherwise. Believe men like you . . . Her tongue oozed with lethal venom. Her head snapped in his direction with a spicy attitude. The knotless black braids from the root of her crown rippled waterfalls and crashed to a stop past her butt. Deserve . . . less?

Venus rested her hand on her hip. From the hall windows, the sunlight seeped through to melt over her syrup-brown complexion, like pretty pennies and bronze foreign coins. Venus always got compliments on her skin, even down to its supple, soft texture.

As she posed, Venus’s sculptured, empress-like body filled out her petite frame. Her curvaceous, athletic brown thighs peeked through the slit of her long sapphire gown. A Cleopatra cape lined with expensive ermine angled on her shoulders. It dragged behind her whenever she walked. Her petite sides cut sharp corners above her hips, and her small waist and perky breasts fit perfectly in the dress.

With him too busy admiring her, Venus’s patience started to wane. She asked the young man a question. It was a hypothetical question, really—not one to answer. And if he did, he would be one of the dumbest prime minister’s sons she’d ever laid her eyes upon. But then again, his smart mouth might open.

Venus eyed his apple-shaped figure. His Afro hair strands coiled tightly at the ends as gravity held them high to the heavens. Mother’s words danced in her mind, because she used to say, like her hair, all its glory belongs to everything above in celestial honor. So, when Venus would break hairbands and tug at wild hair that never tamed, Mother would remind her: You have hair that is never cursed, just rightfully blessed. Of course, there was magic in the ’fro, as it shaped his big forehead and chubby face. His full moon eyes were anything but amicable—just newborn-baby wide and frozen, gawking at the beautiful princess of Omicron.

She was indeed a firecracker. Never a force to be reckoned with. Some days, she needed no reminder of her power, while others meant keeping that flame burning when she wasn’t feeling her best. The people of her country couldn’t deny the beauty of their princess. Yet there were a few flaws that couldn’t be overlooked, like Venus’s vicious mouth that couldn’t be tamed.

Her stiletto eyes pierced his ego. Every ounce of fear and terror in his face only gave her more energy. Why did she believe little boys like him deserved less?

Venus was giving him too much credit. It was a question, no doubt—not one that his little pea-size brain could answer anyway. Of all the people, the millions and billions of people in the world, her parents were so hyper-fixated and fascinated by this guy. Yes, he was the prime minister’s son, Darryl Buckingham. People would say he was the one and only, but Venus would beg to differ. In her eyes, he was one of many.

He was the child of the head council, Abraham Buckingham, chief of the cabinet office and leader of the Hierophants. It was no coincidence that the close ties Abraham and his son had to Venus’s family could cause wavering doubt. The prime minister had the authority to lead all the executive duties the king of Omicron, her father, couldn’t carry out. As chief, he coordinated his duties by making decisions on political advances and calculating chess moves. Abraham could allocate political responsibilities dealing with foreign relations and communications to Hierophants—a council of ministers under his rule—as long as he remained in office. As for his son, well, there wasn’t much to go off of when he had daddy’s money. He’d simply bumped shoulders with important figures to enroll in prestigious private schools since the age of five. It was easy for him to be a guest at celebrity after-parties and snag VIP seats to fashion shows without an introduction.

Venus knew she didn’t have room to critique either. Behind those ancient, enlarged, red double doors were a royal, affluent power couple—her parents—awaiting their future son-in-law, while behind the scenes, Venus interrogated Darryl after his royal proposal in hopes he would shit himself and never return.

It used to be an annual ceremony that originated from the oldest monarchy in 1777 when the kingdom finally gained its independence after the country’s annexation, causing a war outbreak. Her mother always told her as a child very bad people wanted to conquer what was not theirs for greed.

Let’s say you have dolls, and Princess Haley has dolls too, and together as BFFs, you put all the clothes in the center because you love to share everything with her, the Queen explained to six-year-old Venus in her playroom one day. But one day, during your trade, Princess Haley might try to take everything, even the dolls. Strip them naked and take them when you are not looking.

Princess Haley from Pruaya had never taken her dolls, or the clothes, of course. They always shared and traded things. Sharing was caring. It made no sense. So young Venus just tilted her braided pigtails and nodded. But as her mother’s words haunted and confused her, little Venus never took the clothes off her dolls around Princess Haley again.

The family never spoke much about the history. Sometimes it would make her father too heartbroken to finish. All Venus knew was after a tragic win by Omicron natives, the country itself eventually bloomed with artists of untapped potential who created aesthetically pleasing paintings, colorful renovated houses, and streets named after great leaders and activists who marked their freedom. A new era was born, which birthed a new monarchy that indeed, required rules.

As a royal of Omicron, between the ages of fourteen to sixteen, the princess must marry another royal and was not allowed to marry outside royalty or their royal titles would be revoked. The firstborn male princes had no obligation in this manner, since at birth, they were already crowned by blood to carry the ancestral line. In short, they could be with whomever they wanted. What a blessing.

It was easier for the men, but not so much for princesses like Venus. With Venus almost twenty-two years old and an only child, her parents had planned to enforce marriage as quickly as possible after her eighteenth birthday. Still with no wedding ring on her finger, they had to take the matter into their own hands. The hope of marriage decayed more and more each year and made the Queen and King wearier by the second.

Due to their conservative viewpoints, Venus could sense their urgency when they periodically had these ceremonies. They were passively hinting at wanting a son-in-law at the kitchen table soon before picking out their caskets.

This wasn’t just any ole marriage to the King and Queen of Omicron. Her parents both expected different purposes for this divinely orchestrated union. For the Queen, she would get to see her grandbabies. The King would get to continue his legacy until the next successor’s offspring accepted the throne and gained loyalties with other colonies and countries.

It was bigger than love. Bigger than a matrimony of mutual affection and sacred devotion binding two individuals who shared a journey of deep friendship, healthy communication, emotional connection, and happiness. It was beyond the act of learning and growing, not to define it for the sake of what society says love is, but solely through the act of figuring it out for themselves—a valentine’s journey with no end. It was nowhere near the way love in a D’Angelo song or a ’90s tune that alleviated heartache had hopeless romantics still fantasizing about the one. It was a love that had couples cooking salmon with lime and white rice together and sometimes sitting in silence while the world was loud.

Where laughs were a weakness to the soul and cured hearts were made of chrome from heartbreak behind hidden smiles. Business was business, and there was no room for the love in question. This determined Venus’s fate and destiny for the country. She was just one tiny entity that continued the bloodline for the next generation. And that was a train she could not just hop on. She simply did not just want any ole dude who could waltz in with his old money dressed in a suit and tie, winging it just because he was the son of a respected authority figure with absolutely no brains or body.

Body not even built. Where are the muscles? At least a two-pack of abs? The stamina? The endurance? She thought.

Venus talked a lot of smack but could back it up with her relentless training. She worked out almost every day, doing gymnastics, Tai Chi, and Pilates. At the age of eight, she slipped into ballerina shoes to practice grace and balance, becoming the first Black Swan in her ballet academy for her Christmas recital.

Venus needed to have some say in the decision making, even if it meant going behind her parents’ back to make sure their dream guy, their future son-in-law, didn’t come back because he couldn’t face or conquer the wrath of their beloved daughter.

Venus reminisced over the horrible speech Darryl gave. No, actually it wasn’t horrible. It was actually good that she could vomit how he was selling everything he wasn’t with grace, high dignity, and lies.

Venus’s sharp whisper sent daggers through every word, and she meant it. You can respectfully take your pathetic, no good, raggedy soul off our property. I hope it rots in the deep crevices of hell and burns. You are no longer welcome here.

She took slow strides towards his short frame. Each foot crossed in front of the other. Blessed with her mother’s ballerina legs, Venus stood tall and striking as a beacon of light, emitting magnetic, irresistible energy that was always inside her. Her long, graceful arms of green ivy jabbed a perfect fingernail at his chest. "Because if I ever see you again, thinking you ever had a chance in hell to ever get with me? Me?" Her voice raised a few octaves and trickled into a nasty fit of giggles that was anything but humorous. You’d have to be the dumbest motherfucker I ever laid my eyes upon. And definitely not the first.

Venus pivoted around and didn’t care to look back to wait for his pathetic reaction. It wasn’t worth it.

She’d said what she said.

Sorry not sorry.

Too bad.

Venus had waited too long for those words to leave her chest, knowing the taste of victory was priceless. But she had a sense his little tantrums and hissy fits were going to come back sooner or later to make her the bad guy. He would call her names and spread rumors about her on campus. She didn’t care anymore about that either. This was who she was. Who’d she come to be. And Venus would be damned if he tried to fill a spot he couldn’t keep up with, much less control. Wildfires were known to flare up in the forest for a reason. And not many could handle the heat.

Venus strutted past the Chinese blue mandala design that was illustrated in the center of the marble tiles. One of the janitors bowed his head as he mopped when they crossed paths, and she smiled with a respectful nod.

Good morning, Your Royal Highness.

Morning, Louis.

Her phone buzzed in the secret pocket of her dress, and she whipped it out to type:

You don’t think I was on the swim team? So, you just take me for a hooper? Wow.

Venus tucked her smile away and ascended the steps, her feet sinking into the groomed azure-blue Persian carpet that was the size of a football field and stretched into other chambers. She passed the life-size frames of all her ancestors that traced back to times when photography was limited and painting portraits took artists days to complete. There was even a room specifically for tour guides and visitors to view sculptural statues of her lineage as well, but Venus had the privilege to access and see her ancestors every day. Her roots. Where she resided and belonged.

All the portraits and art were posted in their glory to remind their countrymen and foreigners of the strength, dignity, and power that resonate through their veins at their first and very last breaths. Their war suits fit cleanly and precisely for the men, and the women were decked out in puffy regal gowns and elegant dresses. Their eyes each held stories that could never be repeated by the tongue. None of the pictures left a wink or smile to break composure. Mona Lisa vibes.

The bodyguards by the double doors pushed them open to reveal her parents and a few Hierophants awaiting her arrival as the next guest in the ceremony. Their faces were iron-set with nothing but aggravation.

It took you long enough. You have us waiting in vain when our schedules are nothing but tight, the King scolded her as Venus entered the premises.

The sound of her heels now embarrassed her as everyone watched and no one spoke. The Hierophants watched her take a seat beside the Queen of Omicron at the horizontal table made for twelve disciples.

Apologies are mine, Venus chanted.

And getting rid of shitty leftovers that should’ve been trashed years ago are gone too.

She hated thinking like that, but there was a formal rule of etiquette in place for princesses to speak with eloquence, class, and in the manner she was raised.

The Queen took notice of her daughter in her seat. She raised an eyebrow at her slouched back. Venus straightened her spine and sat at the edge of her seat. She fluffed the gown tucked underneath her.

The Queen gave a solid head nod to one of the Hierophants. Let’s proceed with this adjourned meeting.

The bodyguards pushed open the corridors, and a civil group paraded to the center of the floor. The bodyguards dispatched from the union to their respective sides, and the two Hierophants behind them took their seats, making way for the next set of royals and their offerings.

The prince took the spotlight full and center. His sandy-brown bedroom hair fell over his forehead. He appeared disheveled as a first impression. He didn’t really dress the part. His brightly colored beach shorts and summertime button-up shirt didn’t help his case either. Venus knew that would irritate her parents. It even annoyed her—not taking public occasions or women seriously as per usual of men in this generation.

Came all this way for a holiday break, Prince of Eurealis? The King asked, his eyes hovering above the bridge of his reading glasses. His neutral glare left a flat grimace on his mouth. His pen got to work scribbling, taking down notes on important documents.

Venus had notes of her own. One of the Hierophants passed her some background information on the princes she specifically asked for. She was doing a little investigation without the Queen and King’s knowledge. She just needed an investigator to get down to the nitty-gritty that her parents skipped over. No biggie.

Venus was fairly familiar with the bachelors, but she wasn’t too keen on what they did or their backgrounds. She kept her own biases and personal opinions about them to herself, making her own judgment calls. The rest of the information came from resources and top articles, and boy did they tell her all the things she needed to know.

Her eyes scanned over the tabloid titles:

Isaias! Prince of Eurealis! Fight Night! The Prince Fighting at a Nightclub with Paparazzi While Bar-Hopping at Two A.M.!

Three’s a Crowd? Or Just Enough? Prince Isaias was spotted making out with an unfamiliar young woman in public while his on-and-off girlfriend of six years flew out to Calabasas for the holidays. The royal prince has allegedly been with five different girls in the past month alone.

Life Might Just Be a Beach. Prince Isaias Passed Out Drunk and Butt Naked on a West Coast Boardwalk After Huge Million-Dollar Startup Business Deal Closure.

The fault is . . . umm, mine. I flew all this way with lost luggage, jet lag, and no rest.

Do you always introduce yourself first with excuses? the King of Omicron challenged.

No, Your Majesty—sir—just unwarranted circumstances.

Very well.

Venus eyeballed the young prince as he placed his hands behind his back. His posture seemed frozen and stiff. Venus couldn’t lie—she was checking out his toned muscles in his flexed arms a little. Well, he wasn’t giving repulsive, dying frog so that was good. It was a bonus for her to find someone who worked out as much as she did. She figured she should make a con list due to his carelessness and recklessness according to her papers, though.

Eurealis, The Queen interrupted, the name of the country hitting the roof of her mouth pleasantly. Been out there for vacation a couple of times. She shared a caring smile with the King, who was concerned with important matters in front of him. Small country. Absolutely beautiful landscape. The people respect the nature of their land very much, and it shows. Mother meant it with the nurturing sweetness that shimmered from her irises.

Small country, perhaps, but we offer big deals and have big businesses. Nothing we can’t handle, of course, Isaias stated with triumph.

When the Queen and King glanced down at their papers, the prince winked at Venus, examining her body as his eyes traveled up and down.

Is he—did this man-whore just wink at me? Venus grunted and shuffled through her papers as she went through all the scandals and rumors the tabloids had to say about him again.

The Queen cleared her throat and held stern eye contact with Isaias. The next few words rang crucial. Before we proceed further with the offerings and negotiations, we recite to all our highly selected potential reigns of sovereignty that when endowed, not only will you legalize a courtship to our daughter, but you’ll also follow the royal regulations that we abide by as a royal and as a citizen of Omicron.

She pulled out the Omicron Manifesto, which were issued commandments that were made public to the people.

Those who dishonor the royals

May face execution

Or be exiled.

Those who jeopardize the reputation of the legacy

May be exiled.

Those who bring dishonor to our country

May be exiled.

When you are a royal—

When you are a citizen of Omicron,

You must not only show etiquette and

Carry yourself with class,

But also honor your family,

Honor your country,

Honor your people,

And most of all,

Honor your legacy.

The statement was an everyday one that Venus had to recite all the time, even after her prayers before bedtime. Yet these words brought a chill to her at that moment. There were times the rules had been broken, and those individuals were never heard of again. No one knows where they went. To even ask felt like a punishment. People would turn away, or others were too afraid to find the strength to give a proper answer.

Her thoughts were already clouding her judgment enough as the young prince spoke about what he would bring to the table—offerings the King and Queen of Omicron could not deny.

We establish great connections and revenue when it comes to foreign exportation with larger access to bigger markets and more competitive outputs. A larger nation is not going to do that for you. Isaias pressed his fingertips together. They are not going to be meticulous or efficient enough. Even with high production of shipments, that just makes low-quality goods cheap, not resourceful. That shows you have no respect for your production. Like they say, quality over quantity.

Quantity . . . the King interrupted, pondering Isaias’s speech, Brings access to new customers and clientele in bigger countries. The per capita costs of monetary goods are low. With increased productivity, we reach people worldwide.

But bigger countries, Isaias interjected in the same tone, obtain less control over production, let alone know what’s going on. Bigger countries like the Palace of Juvias have less room to experiment with resources, which allows us to step in and make innovative global production. They don’t have what we have. Our weather always produces the best foods and goods too. Our infrastructure is always improving, and even middle-class housing is implementing greenhouses and solar panels to save the environment. Tourism and wealth management is our specialty and keeps us booming. Keeps our streets clean and our grass green. Who else you know does it like us?

The royalty of Omicron nodded in silence, buying into his sales pitch.

Bottom line—when something needs to get handled, we do it.

They took more notes, and Venus could’ve been wrong, but it seemed it was her time to shine.

And what about these headlines? Gonna do anything about that? Venus chimed in. She held up an old newspaper and waved it in the air. It was one of the articles where she’d read about the blackout.

The Prince of Eurealis ignored her.

Wow. So, he only answers to authority, and authority doesn’t mean me—the person he wants to marry and be with for the rest of his life?

Drinking in broad daylight? Going to rehab for three days because you’re an . . . my bad, I don’t have my reading glasses today. Venus fake cackled. Where was I? Oh, here we are, yes. . . an alcoholic?

Could you please clarify what my daughter insists on disclosing at this time, Prince?

Venus could have handled it on her own. Even though Isaias was acting like he was suddenly deaf, she surely was bound to expose all his truths that needed to be broadcasted for everyone to hear. No matter how hard he wanted to give her the silent treatment, her parents had to know.

Isaias chuckled and rubbed his face. Ugh, I didn’t want—I didn’t want for things to have to come to this, I— He shifted his hands in the air, as if he were weighing his justice scale of choices or just trying to come up with a bullshit lie, that is. I reflected over time that I am only a mirror. A reflection of my faulty ways.

Venus plopped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. Oh, God. What does he think this is? The Oscars? Tomato, tomato, tomato!

And what you encountered was me in celebration and not even thinking. Just not even considering how everyone around me would feel. You know, it’s really hard being . . . royal. All eyes are on you, and you have to be perfect. Perfection. We all make mistakes. You know, I’m no idol. I’m no role model. I’m no influencer. I’m just . . . a normal . . . human being who makes mistakes, too.

Is he serious? Is he going to thank the Pope too?

But I am not the error of my ways. I learned a valuable lesson and matured past those times. Hopefully, you all can find forgiveness in that.

The Queen nodded her encouragement. Thank you, Isaias. Those were very kind words, and it took a lot of courage to say that. Thank you.

Oh, please. Give me a fucking break, Venus mumbled. She was sure the Queen glared at her, but dismissed the comment.

Isaias is fairly young and entirely too immature to even comprehend his fucking faulty ways, thought Venus. He’s probably practiced that same speech with his public relations partner who is constantly fighting for his life in front of the paparazzi and public slander he receives to justify his actions on a daily basis. His PR team might need a pay raise or promotion.

Isaias’s knowledge and brains were ahead of time, no doubt, but Venus could sense there was still a child within him whom he couldn’t outgrow so fast. She hated to excuse it as a boy thing that society liked to sweep under the rug. But she felt he had a lot more to learn with his two different parallel personalities that weren’t aligning to meet his full potential. It would bite him in the butt sooner or later.

Isaias. Prince of Eurealis. The pleasure is ours to meet you in person and have you here. The King bowed his head at an angle.

They shook hands, but the deal was never settled, and that alone sat well in Venus’s heart. For now.

Please tell your parents hello for me. I hope to go to Eurealis again one day when I find the time.

Let us know when you drop by, and we will accommodate you. The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty.

As for ignoring her the entire time, Isaias finally took note of Venus. Venus held her hand out to shake his, but instead he cupped his fingers with hers. He brought her hand up and kissed the back of it, his lips touching her skin.

The pleasure will always be mine, Your Majesty.

Now she’d have to wash her hands after that.

Can we bring in the next guest? the Queen inquired.

Everyone’s impatience was running thin, even Venus’s. She wasn’t impressed at all with the options that were presented and grew tired of this forced narrative to do what was best for her. This wasn’t what was best for her. This was only best for them in the long run. What was even the point of having her attend if they solemnly were going to just base their decisions on whom they liked? She already had no say! It was pointless and irritating beyond end.

One of the Hierophants stepped up to speak, bowing his head. Your Highness, we regret to inform you that . . . the prince is not coming.

Not coming?

Not coming, indeed. He stated he would respectfully fly Venus to his land and have her flight and accommodations paid for.

The King and Queen pivoted their heads in sync to share a blank stare at each other.

This is . . . what I’m summoned with? Venus said. She hated that her parents couldn’t see what she was seeing. The prince was dead set on taking over Omicron and having Venus meet him and not the other way around! He wanted her to hop on a plane to no man’s land to see him.

Surely it’s a misunderstanding, as all our guests are welcome here, the Queen said. Women should not be flown out anywhere to meet a man. Regardless if he is paying for the five-star buffet or spa treatment, he should come here and present himself accordingly, not leave a last-minute memo to unprofessionally inform us in such a manner. It is only fair to everyone else who showed their faces here today.

Shock struck a nerve in Venus. He really wanted her to go out and see him? Venus didn’t even know what he looked like. First Darryl, with the audacity left in his right nut sack, showed up like he was worth something, and now this?

This is who we’ve become? These are your future kings? These are the men of the village? Venus shouted in outrage, her palms outstretched at the failures the Omicron royals had bestowed upon them.

Venus, that is enough! the King growled to silence her as he beat down his fist on the table.

Not right now, my child, the Queen hushed her.

You will not disrespect noble princes and kings in the making. They have paved the way for the nation and made a difference in this world. Their bloodline is to be respected and honored with grace for what they do for their people! her father criticized, his voice booming in the corridors past the ancient royal double doors.

Paved the way is fucking right—paved the way to being a disgrace. If her parents wanted her to suffer as these highly noble, valued men created pathways to disappointment, they could’ve just said how much they hated her. That would’ve been enough.

Venus’s phone lit up in her palms underneath the table. A sly smile crept onto her face as she read the text message.