Page 142 of Hawthorne

“You are stunning, Your Majes–” Jane cuts herself off. “Camilla.”

Somehow, her tone was reassuring, and the fact she just called me by my first name also settled some of the nerves inside.

“Thank you, Jane. Alright,” I say, determination present in my voice. “Let’s do this.”

“I am surprised they haven’t found you yet,” Edgar’s voice whispers from behind me, annoying me more than ever before.

We’re hiding. Well,Iam hiding. He is just here, taunting me and trying to get me out there, which I know I’ll have to...eventually. A lady is knocking on the door every ten seconds, asking me if I am ready because everything and everyone is ready for the coronation.

Usually, this event would happen about a year after the death of the previous ruler, but Charles left it clear that he wanted me to have absolute recognition as soon as possible.

“I don’t think I can do this.” The trembling voice coming out of my mouth is barely recognisable.

“Camilla, look at me.” He tugs my hand, forcing me to face him. When my gaze refuses to meet his, his hands cup my cheeks, warming them and forcing me to look into his browneyes. There’s a slight frown between his brows, showing me the concern underneath his relaxed stance. “You may not have been updated on the latest gossip…but newsflash, you are the queen.” He chuckles. “You can have anyone beheaded for treason; all they need to do is look at you wrong.”

I scoff.

First, because everyone knows I would never do such a thing. Second, before our founding queen, Clara, made the first constitutional monarchy in the world when founding Monera in 1415. As the first realm with that kind of politics, the death penalty was the first one to be abolished, as well as any kind of slavery.

I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Still, I can’t help the small smile that finds its way to my lips. Edgar does know how to deflect stress. Or, at least, how to hype someone up.

“You deserve this, and you’ll be a better queen than anyone else ever could.” His words make me smile. They’re more consequential than they sound, and that’s because I know the hidden meaning in them.

I am so thankful to all the company and advice he has given me during this. Without him, I wouldn’t be able to go through this transition.

More than that, it’s a tradition for the whole nobility to bend the knee, and I am not ready to face any of them. More accurately, I am not ready to faceoneof them.

“I just want it to get over and done with. I don’t want to face all those people,” I mumble.

“They’ll only be able to approach you after you’re crowned anyway when they come to you to pay their respects and loyalty. And it’s a heavily controlled interaction…” His lips stretch in a devious smirk, and his eyes glint with a mischievous glow. “I can’t wait until it’s my brother’s turn to bow before you.”

“I honestly wish it could be you instead of him,” I admit.

“You know,” he singsongs. “I wouldn’t need a coronation ceremony to be on my knees for you—ouch!”

“Shut up,” I scold after smacking the back of his head, trying not to smile. “You and your dirty mouth can get out and meet everyone else in the chapel.”

Thankfully, he does as I order, not before smiling deviously at me. When I am finally by myself, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I can do this.

Knock. Knock.

The same lady knocks the thousandth time on the door, and this time around, I straighten my spine and square my shoulders, getting ready for what’s to come.

Exiting the small room, I head out and walk one of the long corridors into the private chapel of Livia’s Palace, where all the guests of honour await to witness my coronation.

Before I can get ready for the big moment, the wide wooden doors are pushed open, and the slight murmuring ceases completely. The side aisles are filled with people, sitting down on the benches, but I avoid looking around me. I focus on the main altar at the opposite end of the building.

Up there lies the gilded throne, with the red velvet upholstering, waiting for me. By its side is a pillowed table, where the Sovereign’s Orb and Sceptre are carefully placed, as well as St Anne’s Crown. My slow and hesitant steps are the only things that can be heard, echoing through this holy building.

This abbey has been here, witnessing rulers in and out of their duty since the thirteenth century. It has been part of our history—had had an integrated role in it—for longer than everyone sitting down inside it. It shows how fleeting human life is, and how short and insignificant it is compared to the legacies left behind.

Focusing on the stone-carved dome above me, I ignore everything else as I walk closer to the altar. It is beautifully sculpted in this flamboyant gothic, making it look like it was embroidered instead, and yet, such beauty is not enough to ease my nerves.

When I reach the steps, I stop for a second, watching the prime minister and all the people follow him into view. Once he stops, strategically positioned close to the throne, I slowly climb the steps—one by one—until I reach the front of the throne, standing still until the next step.

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