Page 163 of Hawthorne

“Well, if you were a man, they would,” Edgar tuts.

“Thank you for your honesty,” I grumble.

“I vowed for nothing less, Your Majesty.” His cocky smirk makes an appearance before he bows. “You look stunning, by the way.”

“Of course,” I mutter.

Trying to soften the blow with a compliment, very Edgar-like.

“Lead the way,” I request.

Experiencing a similar event to the night the duke’s mother attempted to murder me is unsettling. In theory, security has been reinforced and tightened. It should make me feel safe because I know that this time around, everyone is to be trusted. Still, sweat gathers on my forehead, and my hands tremble slightly.

Last time, Vincent risked his life for me. And I inherently felt safer with him present. Now, I just feel lost and alone, even if surrounded by dozens of people.

Rachel is somewhere here. I saw her once as soon as I entered the room, and she waved eagerly. While I wasn’t allowed to approach her just yet due to the formalities of the event, the night won’t end without it. She was finally able to visit the palace after Vincent’s mother was incarcerated. But after getting engaged to Charlie, she became too busy to come often. We have mostly been surviving off of texts and calls.

I miss her.

Looking around, I notice the decorations, way simpler than the coronation one but still similar. Is it obvious I told the staff to recycle? Of course. This isn’t—in any way—an important ceremony or event. This is a tantrum that the House of Commons and my office decided was imperative and urgent.

Honestly? I can’t believe these are still done...There’s no memory of seeing Mrs Elisabeth invited to one in all my years working and helping my mother out. Nor do I have the memory of watching them on TV. Quite surely, these stopped being organised in the late eighteenth hundreds.

Not to mention how ridiculous this is. Being paraded around this room, like a peahen to be fought over and chosen by the several peacocks sauntering around like they're the last biscuit in the pack. For fuck's sake.

Have I reached the bottom?Surely.

“I can’t see my brother,” Edgar tuts, breaking my inner monologue. Though the repetition of the same subject repeatedly irks me tremendously.

Why does he have to keep bringing him up?

“Because he’s not coming,” I hiss an answer.

“Didn’t you invite him?”

“All bachelors in the realm are fair game, according to Joshua,” I grit. “Even if I didn’t want to, I had to invite him. I invited you, didn’t I? I surely won’t marryyou.”

“Pfff, I am a great catch,” he snarks back.

“Right,” I agree sarcastically.

Leave it to Edgar to remind me of my broken heart. He’s an amazing friend, a pure heart underneath that funny, womaniser façade. Those who get to meet the real him will know this is not the kind of person you allow to walk away from your life.

If only I had realised that sooner with his brother as well.

“He’ll show up,” he mutters.

“Shut up,” I growl. “And stop giving me hope. He won’t care. Not after everything.”

And it’s my fault.

I couldn’t forgive him when he so quickly did. Ultimately, we both were wrong, even if it was to protect the other.

I miss him.So bloody much.And even with everything going great and that old witch locked up for good, there is a hole in my heart. And that’s because I can’t seem to get over him, no matter what I try or how long it is.

His spot is still here, waiting for him.

“How does this work?” Edgar whispers in my ear. “Should I keep my distance as a possible suitor?”

---