I am the True Heiress to the Dutch Throne

The Dutch side of my family—comprising the royal and noble houses—never went as far as to disown me. Instead, they sympathized with me, my little brother, and my mother. At first, I believed it was out of genuine empathy. But as I grew older, I realized it was out of shame. They were embarrassed by the dissolution of my parents' marriage, ashamed that a Dutch princess had divorced an African elite, and that he, along with his family, had turned his back on his own children he had with her.

I watched in silence as Maeve basked in the glory and adoration that I felt should have been mine. As time passed, I immersed myself in theology, and one day, I stumbled upon a disturbing realization: the world will be deceived by the Antichrist, the false Messiah, who will gather followers, leading them astray.

In my eyes, my situation mirrors this. I was meant to be the true heiress to the Dutch throne. Maeve, on the other hand, is the false heir. Yet the world chose her over me, just as it would choose the Antichrist over Christ.

I remember a conversation I had with Maeve and our other nieces one sunny July day when I was about fourteen. We sat in the royal garden, and one of them spoke up.

"You know," she began, "I've always wondered why Eleanor looks so exotic compared to the rest of us. Even her first name, 'Adanna,' sounds so unusual."

In the Netherlands, most people call me by my Dutch name, Eleanor, while the Badilites refer to me as Adanna. But I prefer introducing myself as Adanna.

"I've wondered the same thing for years..." I replied, unsure of how to respond.

Should I tell them the truth? My father and his family had become a forbidden topic in the Dutch Royal House. No one dared bring it up.

"I always thought your father was Surinamese," one of the nieces mused, "but I heard he was actually African."

"My father... was indeed African," I answered, my voice steady despite the weight of the lie. "But I don't know much about his background." I could see their curiosity growing, but I chose not to reveal any more.

"That's odd, though," Maeve said, her voice laced with an unsettling certainty. "There's no way a Dutch princess would marry just any man. Your father must have been someone important. A Badilite prince, perhaps?"

My heart skipped a beat. "M-Maybe..." I stammered. How had she figured that out so easily? She must have overheard her parents talking about it—about him, about us.

Why does Maeve always make me feel so... pressured? Her presence is overwhelming, as if it demands respect, attention, and reverence from everyone around her. There's something about her that feels almost... otherworldly, as though she isn't fully human.