Chapter 2 – Bellamy #2
The ride isn’t all that long, half an hour at most, which I cut down to twenty minutes by going thirty over the speed limit.
Suddenly I’m pulling up to the ancient gates with tall, foreboding stone walls and high, thick, well-groomed hedges.
The palace itself is magnificent and massive, perfectly symmetrical with tall dormers on either side.
Despite its beauty, there is something about it that brings an involuntary shudder to my body.
The moment it came into view, it was as if everything surrounding it ceased, and now, I can’t seem to do anything other than stare at it.
What these people have gone through.
Perhaps that’s why something about it feels like home somehow.
Tragedy befalls us all regardless of wealth or station in life.
Maybe that, more than love, is our great unifier.
It’s the sadness in others we see reflected in ourselves.
I know loss and I know tragedy and I know despair and I know heartache.
Not the same as this family, but loss is loss and pain is pain for all of us, no matter the cause or form they come in.
Gravel crunches beneath my boots as I step out of the car, pulling up my app once again. My father is inside the palace. Fuck. Just fuck. “What the hell are you doing here, Dad?”
Nervously, I follow the path up to the exterior gate. Three guards are standing at attention.
“Palace is off-limits, mademoiselle,” one of them says to me in French, his expression stern and unyielding.
“Yes. I know. I…uh.” I blow out a breath. “Listen, I have reason to suspect that my father is inside. He’s unwell and I’m tracking him on an app.”
I flip my phone around so he can see it.
“One moment, please.” He presses a button on his earpiece and murmurs into it. “I’m sorry, but he’s been detained inside. He broke into the palace and tried to take something. He’s been combative.”
I practically collapse, my body trembling, my mind dizzy. “Please, you have to let me in to get him. He has early-onset dementia. He thought he was at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in the United States. He doesn’t know where he is or what he’s doing. He means no harm. I promise.”
His severe expression is unchanged. “I’m sorry. There isn’t anything we can do until we investigate further.”
“So he’s your prisoner? No,” I cry, my breath short and choppy, my hands clinging to the bars of the gate. “Please, I’m begging you. Just let me take him back to the facility he lives in. Isn’t that the easiest thing? He’s not well, but he knows me. I can help.”
He exchanges a look I can’t read with the guard beside him. “I’m really not allowed to let anyone in. The palace is forbidden to visitors. The king and his children are inside, and under no circumstances is anyone permitted near them.”
“I’m not interested in the royal family,” I counter. “Can’t you bring my father out to me?” The words come out strangled.
“I can’t do that either. If the king were to find out…” He trails off, but I can feel him starting to soften, and I go in for the kill.
“Please. Please.” My eyes beseech him, my throat thick as my eyes burn with unshed tears. My grip tightens on the bars. “He doesn’t belong in there. Let me take him home. Truly, I’m not here to cause a problem. I just want to take my dad home so I know he’s safe and cared for.”
After what feels like an eternity and another long, excruciatingly silent exchange with the guard next to him, he finally says, “Okay. Come with me.” The heavy gate opens, and I’m allowed in.
“Stay close. I’m breaking all the rules.
” His eyes meet mine, and his expression softens.
“My grandfather had dementia like that, so I understand.”
“Thank you.”
Gratefully, I follow the guard along the long gravel path that leads to the entrance of the palace.
Stepping over the threshold, I immediately get swept up in its history.
Tapestries and ancient-looking rugs and walls adorned with oil paintings in massive frames and tall marble statues and gilded furnishings are everywhere I look. I can’t help but take it all in.
“Wait here, and don’t move or touch anything,” he warns. “I have to go and speak with the guard who found him, but I can’t take you down there.”
“Okay. I understand. I won’t move,” I promise.
With a mollified nod, he walks off, and I find myself standing alone in a long, sweeping room. I have no clue what it’s used for. It’s the most formal space I’ve ever seen, almost like a museum.
An oil painting of the current king and his family including the queen before her death catches my attention from where it sits high up on a mantle over a large fireplace.
It’s of them in this very room, standing beside the Messalinian flag, their daughters tucked between them, Prince Zayer, a tiny baby in this, held in his mother’s arms.
The children are lovely, and the queen is gorgeous as I already knew, but there is something about the king that I can’t drag my eyes away from.
Where the rest of his family is smiling, even the baby, the king’s expression is stoic and stately.
Intimidating almost. As if he doesn’t have the luxury of time to waste on something as trivial as smiling for portraits.
Dark hair cropped closer on the sides and a bit longer on top, he’s all angled features with a sharp, square jaw, and his crystalline blue-gray eyes appear almost colorless in the painting.
There is no doubt that he’s intensely handsome, but there’s something else about him.
Something that I can’t quite put my finger on.
Maybe it’s that he’s faced more sorrow in his life than any person should ever face. What a heartache it must be to lose all that he’s lost and then lose his wife on top of that. They say he’s distant. Cruel and cold. He hardly ever makes public appearances now.
After all he’s endured and survived, I understand, even if I can’t relate.
Life has knocked me sideways and still, all I want is to go after it. I want adventure. I want love and passion and life to be what knocks me sideways next. I want to see and feel and explore all this world can offer.
But he’s a king, whereas I’m merely a woman. His responsibilities are to his family and his kingdom. Mine are simply to myself and my father.
A noise startles me, and my head whips about, only to discover that I’m still alone.
“Hello?” I call out tentatively, the sound hollow and cold in the vast, empty room.
A sweep of uneasiness slithers through me, making me tense and a little edgy.
I shouldn’t be here at all, and I wish the guard had left me outside instead of bringing me in here.
Reflexively, I take a step back and knock into a stand behind me. I feel it start to topple over, and I spin around, desperate to catch whatever it is before it crashes to the ground.
Only it’s not simply a stand. It’s a marble post holding a bust of a head on it. A heavy motherfucker made of stone that sways, rocking from side to side with the momentum of the teetering post before it all starts to tumble.
“Shit,” I screech, shooting out and practically diving for it.
I manage with one hand to stop the stand from going over, only I’m no match for the bust. It crashes to the ground with a loud, resonating bang that reverberates off the high ceilings and hard surfaces.
“Double shit. Oh my God.” Hysteria sweeps through me, and I fall to my knees, scooching inch by inch over to it, my heart thrashing in my chest and my hands clammy.
They’ll detain me, too.
I search left and right, and miraculously, I’m still alone. With any luck, I can pick this thing up and put it back without anyone being the wiser. Only the moment I lift it and twist the face around, I cringe and sag back onto my haunches as panic seizes me.
“Fuck.” This is bad. This is very, very bad.