Page 60 of Royally Drawn

Keir returned, putting an entire tin of biscuits down on the coffee table.

“Put them further away, then!” Duncan protested.

“You ate them all. You can walk,” Keir said.

“What about us?” Duncan asked. “You’re drawing us?”

I smiled. “I’m drawing you, yes. Uh, both of you are similar. It’s uncanny how much you all look alike.”

“I disagree,” Keir said. “My father looked very little like his other siblings. He took after his mother. And I take after him. Mamma says we all came out carbon copies—all but Win, who takes after her.”

“Why Win?” I asked. “Why not Edwin?”

“My father is Edwin–that’s his namesake,” Duncan answered. “Everyone calls him Ed, so that was out.”

“Our father said Eddie sounded odd. Win just stuck. I dunno,” I said.

“I suppose names are limited in our families. Ah, the joy of royalty!” I snickered. “It’s like Leah. I always wondered how she got to Leah from Natalie.”

“Mummy is Nat or Natalie. Uncle Georgie and Uncle Pat just always called Leah that. How did you become Ingy? Does that annoy you?”

I worked on Keir’s hair. “I don’t know. We all have pet names–Alex, Asti, Odie, and Ingy. It doesn’t bother me. You all look similar–even Cici bears a resemblance. I did a sketch of Cecilia ages ago—something so ridiculous and dramatic. She was lying on her side on this couch, but I had her staring off. So, she has this beautiful profile.”

I flipped through my sketchpad and handed it to Keir.

“She looks gorgeous. You just did this for fun?” Keir asked.

“Yeah. I used to bring my sketchpad with me everywhere. It was how I made it through bad days. I’d mostly sit in this beautiful walled garden we had. I’d paint sometimes, too. I painted a lot of squirrels on the garden wall.”

“That is odd,” Duncan said, walking over to observe the picture of Cecilia. “She looks prettier than in real life.”

“Hard disagree. She’s fucking beautiful,” I said. “And given how attractive her parents are, it seems impossible that wouldn’t be the case.”

Cecilia had her father’s height, legs up to her neck, and her mother’s megawatt smile. I wished I looked more like Cici. I figured everyone probably did. The grass was always greener.

“Why squirrels?” Keir asked.

“Squirrels got to leave. They would climb the wall and disappear,” I said. “I longed to be free.”

Duncan and Keir both made the same face of genuine sympathy.

“See, there it is!” I declared. “You both make that sad puppy face when you hear something sad.”

My reaction was genuine—I delighted in pointing this out—but it also allowed me to deflect. Opening up about childhood trauma proved difficult. I didn’t know Keir or Duncan well enough to gauge their reactions ahead of time. I couldn’t predict how they might perceive me.

“I dispute this,” Duncan said. “We really don’t.”

I flipped back to my current sketch, Cici, and back. “You all do. Very much.”

“Can we not say the same about you and your sisters?” Duncan asked.

“Well, first of all, we aresisters,not cousins. Second, not really. We’re all several shades of blonde. Astrid and Alexandra look alike. Odette and I also bear a resemblance. But she’s more womanly andslightly taller. We’re split. Alexandra and Astrid take after our father. Odette and I take after our mother.”

“How much?” Keir wondered, pulling out his phone.

“I honestly only know what people tell me and what I see in paintings and photographs of my parents. My mother died the day of my birth, and my father passed shortly after her from a broken heart,” I said.

Keir scrolled and pulled up a photo of Mamma—a portrait of her painted when she was about Alexandra’s age. She wore the tiara. Alexandra occasionally broke out for state occasions. It was extravagant and heavy. I always wished it was mine. I relished any time I got to wear a tiara. Mamma looked happy, peaceful, and at ease in the painting. She had this small but elegant smile. Her blue eyes were bright, her lips full, and her cheeks rosy.

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