Page 145 of Hawthorne

My mouth waters, and I help myself after sitting down at the small round table.

“I reckoned Your Majesty would need a break and some food to endure the rest of the night,” Joshua comments.

“Thank you so much,” I answer. “How are you doing?”

“Huh?” he asks.

“How are you doing?” I repeat. “You may not tell me, but I noticed. This must be hard for you after serving him for so many years. How are you doing?”

“We...grew up together.” He swallows, glancing away. “I can’t deny it’s been hard.”

“It gets easier.” I smile sadly at him, trying to keep the memories of my mother and Mrs Hawthorne at bay. “Let me know if you need a few days off.”

He nods, acknowledging but denies my offer. “Working helps me keep my mind off of it.”

“And how is his wife?” I ask once my mouth is no longer full of food.

“The happiest she’s ever been,” he grumbles. “No kid to raise, free to do what she wants, settled for life back in her family home.”

“Look at the bright side,” I start, knowing by now she wasn’t liked at any of the staff members—not even by the king, it seems. “You don’t have to see her ever again.”

“True,” he agrees quickly.

“How’s Primrose?” I ask. I feel like a neglectful mother.

My baby girl has been spending more time with strangers than with myself, but with how crazy things have been, there’s no other solution. I can’t wait until the chaos slows down, and I can have her with me in my bedroom again, and go on daily walks in the palace’s gardens.

“Amazing,” he answers. “The staff loves her. There’s even fights over who is walking her outside next.” I nod but don’t answer, missing her too much. “Just a couple more days, and you’ll have her back, Your Majesty.”

“Yes,” I answer meekly. Then, Joshua looks at his watch and focuses back on me before adding, “Time’s up, Your Majesty. Ready to go back?”

“Will it matter if I say no?” He cracks a small smile.

Gulping down the last of the water, I nod, following him back to the torture waiting for me. It’s already late, close to one in the morning, but the ballroom is still overflowing with people reluctant to leave the premises.

And even though I don’t have to be the last one leaving, being the first one always looks terrible. Also, I still owe Edgar one dance. My feet reluctantly take me to the dancefloor, where many other couples dance to the current music.

No one dares ask me to dance, thankfully, as I search for my dance partner. He is nowhere to be seen and hope lights up in my chest as I think maybe he forgot, and I won’t have to dance anymore. But that crumbles to the ground the moment a soft voice calls for me.

I freeze, knowing right away who it is. And it’s not who I was looking for.

Turning around, I come face to face with a sheepish Vincent. My heart races in contrast to the fading music surrounding us. Everyone else stops dancing, and he bows in front of me, extending his hand. No.

“Will you allow me this last dance?”

“That was promised to your brother,” I answer in a clipped tone.

“Uhm...” he stammers. “That is not what my card says.”

What?

Sure enough, as he shows me his card, or what I thought to be Edgar’s card, my name is written on it in my calligraphy. Shady bastard. I will get him hanged for treasonsomeday.

“It’s alright,” he sighs, resigned. “I just hoped you–” He cuts himself off for a second. “You look stunning.”

His lips stretch in a tight, sad smile, twisting the knife deeper into my broken heart. Then he bows again quickly and turns around. My skin crawls while my heart yells for him not to go. My brain is the only one fighting against it, wanting to avoid hurt again, but it is futile against my yearning body.

“Wait,” I call, and Vincent freezes. “Onedance.”

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