Page 144 of Hawthorne

And it’s only when I finally look down at him that I notice Vincent’s body flinching. His once-golden-tanned skin is paler, making him look ill. The deep, dark bags underneath his eyes add at least ten years to his young frame. And the frown that seems to have been sewn onto the area between his eyebrows makes him look like a man who is constantly worry or concerned.

This man looks miserable.

And instead of being glad, of feeling triumphant, it only pains me more.

In his weak attempt at doing whatever it is that he was meant to do, he lost everything.

Vincent lost me—even if I doubt he ever wanted me in the first place. But he lost his treasured Crown,and he lost it to me.

“Can we—” I cut him off abruptly by standing up from the chair—or throne—as everyone else says. I hate calling it that. It makes me feel like I’ve travelled back to the Middle Ages.

Finally, I look forward, not giving him one second more of my attention. He doesn’t deserve it. Understanding my unwillingness to talk to him more than necessary, he rises to his feet and joins the crowd.

“My dear guests, thank you for your presence and support. We can officially start the best part of the night—the Ball. The buffet will open in a few minutes, and the orchestra will start its performance. Please enjoy.”

Everyone bows in unison and gradually starts to scatter. A few start dancing, and others head for drinks. Not having all the attention on me allows my shoulders to slump in relief and my lungs to exhale.

“Damn,” Edgar’s taunting voice sounds right beside me.

Throughout the last couple of weeks, the Guard has gotten used to him. It was hard at first, especially with his sassy antics and stupid jokes. Now and then, he still gets his arms twisted behind his back and is often retrieved from many places for unfitting behaviour. But mostly, they let him roam freely, especially when I am present to “put” him in place.

“That was the highlight of the night,” he mutters so no one else listens to our talk. “You could hear the flies buzzing around with how quiet this event was.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I brush his words off.

“Are you joking? The previous heir, the one the entire country expected to rule for quite a while, was thrown out of the race by a girl and forced to pledge his loyalty to her. It was epic!”

“He did look miserable,” I mumble. “But I am not taking any joy in this. You know this is not something I aimed for, but it’s not like I am trying to rub it inhisface.”

“Oh, really?”

Edgar side glances at me, smirking, and I give in, admitting, “Only your mother.”

He chuckles for a moment before his expression goes back to serious when his eyes land on his brother. “He is miserable,” he says. “But not for the reasons you may be thinking.”

The silence stretches between us as I take him in from afar. His back is turned to us as he stands in front of one of the many French doors that open to an outside balcony, overlooking the immense gardens. He is tense, probably looking outside, lost inside his head, even though he still looks stunning in his formal attire.

The white button-up is barely visible with all the layers and decorations on his attire. The black silky tie over it is tucked into the dark red vest, and the black dress pants match the tailcoat suit. It has the Order of the Garter’s broach on its lapel. To finalise the outfit, there’s a chain attached to one of his buttons, sliding down and slipping into one of the coat’s pockets, probably a pocket watch.

“Well, you reap what you sow,” I finally answer.

“Your Majesty,” Edgar calls me. “Will you save your last valse for me?”

I roll my eyes. “Who else would I save it for?”

“Well.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Please sign my card, just in case you change your mind.”

He hands me his tiny dance card and a pen. Another obsolete tradition that the court seems to be fond of, even if most of these so-called blue bloods are not as blue as they claim. But some habits are hard to get rid of, I guess…

The card is small and simple, with his surname at the top. With a snicker, I write Queen Camilla on the last line of his card and give it back to him, earning another chuckle from him. He leans in as if to kiss me on the cheek, but then thinks better ofit and winks at me before bowing and disappearing through the crowd.

With Edgar’s absence, the two royal guards, who oversee my safety, tighten their proximity and protection as three different couples approach me at the same time for small talk. Joshua had warned me about it, how everyone would be seeking the smallest opportunity to greet me and try to get to know me the best they can.

According to him, everyone either wants to be in their ruler’s good graces or to try to find their weaknesses.

I entertain most of them. They don’t even try to hide how thirsty they all are to get a piece of information that isn’t yet public knowledge.

Hours pass before Joshua comes to my rescue. My legs feel like jelly from walking around in these awful heels for the entire day, and my stomach grumbles for the thousandth time today. He carefully takes me away from the ball, down the long corridor to a small room where a small banquet of food was set just for me.

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