Yania, 22 year old African tribal princess brought to the US under false pretense

"Mr. Pembleton, I hope you understand how much trust we are placing in you." Queen Ebele said.

It was only the three of them in the rich, wooden room: Queen Ebele, Richard Pembleton, and the Queen's daughter Princess Yania.

"Queen," the English-accented white gentleman replied, "I have known your family for many years, since you were a little girl. Please believe me when I say I would rather my own life come to a bloody end than have your daughter, the princess, harmed in any way."

Richard Pembleton was an older man, with thinning white hair, a grandfatherly mustache, and sincere blue eyes. A robust man in his late fifties, he was fit and used to navigating any area of the wide world in relative comfort, on horseback, camel, donkey or on foot.

Queen Ebele shook her head, her golden jewelry and clothing reflecting the dim light around the room. "It is not your loyalty or your courage I question, old friend. It is that of the Americans you know. I will not risk my daughter, no matter the cause. She must be secure."

The Queen looked every bit her part. Always in control of her bearing, always straight-backed, always beautiful, forceful, and charismatic, she wielded power in a place that rarely welcomed true female leadership. Though her tribe was small it was through her and her alone that they had gained prestige in their home country, and she governed her people with equal measures of grace and skill. There was talk of her becoming president of the whole country, probably not running in the next elections but perhaps in the ones after; and though more powerful and established male leaders of larger tribes stood in her way, her reputation for integrity, intelligence, and nobility of spirit made her a favorite among the people who knew her.

"I understand, my Queen. I would not even ask this of you or the princess were I not sure of her absolute safety. The contacts I will need in America are few in number, and I know and trust each of them completely. There are many in America that know what has happened there is beyond cruelty, that it is the sort of wrong that must be addressed. The people I know are these sorts. The princess will be safe by their hands and their secrecy, I am positive of it."

"It should be me, Mr. Pembleton," the African Queen replied, "I am the leader of the tribe, Yania is just a girl. My words would carry more weight, and my life has been in danger before. I cannot expose my daughter to the barbarity of the Americans."

"Mother," Yania said, speaking for the first time in this exchange, "I am not just a girl. I am Princess Yania, your daughter, and I will be respected. I will speak at the UN for the downtrodden, tortured people of America. I must be the voice that tells the countries of the world that America has trampled over human rights for too long, to give them courage to stand up to the evils of that nation. You are needed here, you are too important, and your leaving would not be missed. You know the CIA and other Americans would note your absence too quickly. There is too much at stake, here and in America. It must be me, Mother, and I promise I will make you proud."

"My daughter," the queen's beautiful regal eyes welled with tears that she would not allow to fall, "No mother could possibly be more proud of her daughter."