The 87-Day Consort: From a Nan Farmhouse to a Prison Cell

I. Nan

Rain in Nan lasts.

Under the eaves of her house stood seven plastic sandals, largest to smallest. Hers sat in the middle. A strap had broken once, mended with metal heated over fire. The scar stayed. Her parents left before dawn for the fields and came back with mud on their cuffs. Dinner was sticky rice and salted fish. One fish, cut into pieces, one for each person. She ate fast, wiped the bowl with her fingers, licked it, then lit the kerosene lamp. The wick was short. The flame jumped. She did homework under it, letters small and crowded.

Girls from the village finished middle school and went to Bangkok. They came back with red nails and plastic bags of old clothes. They talked about heat, overtime, bosses who shouted. She listened. Then she folded the admissions brochure into four and put it inside her textbook. Thai Royal Army Nursing College. The cover showed a student in white, standing straight, a helicopter behind her. She looked at it for a long time. That night she slept with the brochure under her pillow.

II. The Academy

On the first day, an instructor cut off her long hair. It fell to the ground and mixed with everyone else’s. She did not cry. The training ground was mud to the knee. She ran with a medical bag on her back. The rifle strap cut into her shoulder. At night they jumped. The cabin door opened. Wind poured in. The person ahead of her jumped. She jumped. In the air she saw only black. She landed, rolled once, mouth full of mud. She stood, gathered the parachute, and walked back. No one praised her. She did not need praise.

Later she learned to shoot. She took a pistol apart, laid the parts on a cloth, and put it back together with her eyes closed. She got a private pilot’s license. The instructor said, “Your hands are steady.” She wrote that sentence on the last page of her notebook and did not write her name. She sent a photo home in uniform. Her mother placed it beside the Buddhist altar, next to her father’s ashtray.

III. The Hospital

In 2008 she entered the army hospital. Day shifts and night shifts rotated. She changed bandages, recorded temperatures, pushed a cart down the corridor. One day she was called into a meeting. Men in black suits waited with a royal emblem. They needed nurses for Prince Dipangkorn. The boy had learning difficulties. His moods shifted without warning. He needed someone constant.

She was chosen. The first time she met him, he turned in circles and would not speak. She crouched to his eye level and took out a card. It showed a cup. He glanced at it and did not take it. She took out another card. It showed a bed. He stopped. She put the card on the floor and stepped back. He picked it up and held it. After that, she brought cards every day. When he lost his temper, she covered the sharp corners of the room with cloth. When he slept, she sat by the door and listened to his breathing.

Princess Srirasmi came several times. She wore light-colored suits and knelt to hug the prince. She looked at Sineenat and said, “Thank you for your hard work.” Sineenat lowered her head and said, “It is my duty.” Srirasmi did not know that this woman with her head lowered would later stand beside Maha.

IV. The Back Door

Maha was still crown prince. He came to the hospital in sportswear, guards behind him. He asked about Dipangkorn. Sineenat answered briefly and accurately. He looked at her for a few seconds. Later he told her to ride with the prince. She changed into sportswear and rode beside the boy. Maha rode ahead, turned his head, and said, “Keep up.” She kept up.

Then came the order. She was transferred to the Royal Guard. Officially she was a bodyguard. She moved into a small side room in the palace. The room was not big. The window faced a wall. At night someone knocked. She opened the door. It was Maha. He came in and did not speak. She closed the door. From that day on, she became his secret lover. No title. No photographs. No walking side by side. She used the side door. She rode in cars without markings. She waited in rooms. Her phone could not store photos. She deleted her own military photos. She called home and said work was busy, she could not come back. Her mother asked when she would marry. She said, “Wait a little longer.”

V. Rank

Royal Guard training was harder than the academy. She practiced shooting, parachuting, flying. She rose from second lieutenant to major, to colonel, to major general. Insignia sat on her shoulders. Her photo appeared in the royal gazette. She attended events in uniform, standing behind Maha. Sometimes he looked at her. Sometimes he did not. She kept her posture.

In 2019 Maha was crowned. Suthida was made queen. Sineenat was made consort. When the decree was read, she stood below. Suthida stood on Maha’s left. She stood on his right. The difference was half a step. After the ceremony she went back to her room. A jewelry box arrived. Inside were a few pieces. She opened it and closed it. The key was in the palace office. She did not have the key.

VI. Half a Step

At public events she wore formal dresses. Suthida wore the same color family. Staff checked their watches and adjusted positions. Sineenat stepped forward half a step. A staff member looked at her. She stopped. The camera turned. She lifted her head. Suthida looked straight ahead and did not look at her. After the event she got into the car. She was alone. She took out her phone. No new messages.

She began to fight for the camera. At official photos she stood a little closer to Maha. Suthida stood on the other side. Officials knelt. She received their respects. Suthida received more. She wore similar dresses and similar jewels. Newspapers wrote “two queens.” The palace did not respond. She thought this was momentum. She did not know that the military stood behind Suthida. Behind her was only Maha’s favor. Favor changed. It did not ask her.

VII. Eighty-Seven Days

In October 2019 the decree came. Her titles were stripped. Her military rank was stripped. She was taken away. The charges: disrespect to the queen, ambition beyond her station, false orders. She wore a prison uniform. A number was pinned to her chest. The cell had no clock. She did not know the time. The light stayed on. She sat on the iron bed and listened to the person next door cough. She remembered the mud at the academy. She remembered Dipangkorn’s cards. She remembered the car at the side door. She did not cry. She put her hands on her knees and waited.

Outside, rumors said she was dead. The palace said nothing. Maha said nothing. Suthida said nothing. She stayed in prison for a length of time she could not measure. One day the door opened. Someone came to take her out. Her hair had grown. Her clothes had been changed. The car drove through another gate.

VIII. Return

In 2020 her titles were restored. Medals were pinned on again. She wore her old uniform. The shoulder insignia was a little loose. She stood before Maha and lowered her head. Maha said, “You are back.” She said, “Yes.” There was no embrace. She went back to her room. The room had changed. The window faced a garden. She opened the wardrobe. New formal dresses hung inside. She did not wear them. She went first to see Dipangkorn. The prince had grown taller. She took out a card. It showed a dog. He smiled. She put the card in his hand.

Then photos leaked. More than 1,400. Her face, her room, her phone screen. Overseas media published them. The palace was silent. She did not go out. Her phone rang. A reporter. She turned it off. The palace did not investigate. She did not ask. Later she was sent to Germany. Her luggage was not much. The task: care for Dipangkorn.

IX. Germany

The house in Germany was large. The heating worked well. Dipangkorn went to school. She waited in the car. When he finished, she handed him water. When he did homework, she sat beside him. She taught him with cards, colors, short sentences. When his mood was bad, she took him for a walk. Snow lay on the road. She wore a down jacket and pulled her hat low. No one knelt. No one took photos. She called her mother and said it was cold here. Her mother asked when she would come back. She said she did not know.

She no longer fought for the camera. At royal events she stood behind. Suthida stood in front. She lowered her head. When the queen mother died, she wore black and stood in a corner. After the ceremony she got into the car. Back to Germany. Dipangkorn was waiting. She tied his shoelace. It had come loose. She tied it tight.

X. Cards

In her room there was a box. Old cards lay inside. Drawings of a cup, a bed, a dog, an apple. The corners were worn round. Sometimes she took them out and looked. When she did not look, she put them at the back of the drawer. No unread messages on her phone. Snow fell on the car roof outside. She got up and went to the kitchen to cook noodles. Water boiled. She put in the noodles. They softened. She turned off the heat. Dipangkorn called from the living room. She answered. Her voice was not loud.