Chapter Thirty-Eight
Camille
B eing back in Lorsica is weird.
I know how to speak countless languages, and that is still the only word I can come up with. Weird .
Everything still looks the same, but while it seems as though nothing’s changed, I have.
The last time I was here, I was scared, unsure of who I wanted to be. But now, I know who I am. I’m no longer afraid. I created a life in Colorado with friends and a man I love, and even got my dream job in the process.
Well, I was creating that life until I was forced back here.
Once I landed, I was rushed into the palace’s SUV, covered with bodyguards to avoid photos taken by paparazzi. Before I even made it to the palace, my father’s right-hand man informed me that I had scheduled appointments to “freshen up” before I could see my parents.
And so it began, the slow, unwanted shedding of who I really am. Gone were my ashy blonde hair, brightly-painted nails, and ripped jeans. They were replaced with dark brown hair, white nails, and a cream pantsuit .
They even took away my phone so I wouldn’t be able to get into contact with anyone.
My stomach twists as our car winds along the curved path toward the castle, and it sinks once that wrought iron gate is in front of us. The driver flashes his pass, and the silver gates leading to hell part before us.
My leg bounces incessantly as the lush garden catches my eye, leading us right to the back entrance of the gray-colored brick manor I used to call home.
“Princess,” one of my guards says and I flinch at the name, having grown accustomed to only hearing it from Ryker’s deep voice. “The king and queen are expecting you in the drawing room for tea.” The guard places a hand on my back and guides me inside .
I yank it off me, causing his eyes to widen as he takes a step back. The itch to run as soon as the door closes behind us becomes strong, especially when the high ceilings, pale blue walls, and white linoleum floors come into view.
Muscle memory is a wild thing because my legs take me exactly where I need to go, while my mind is barely able to take it all in.
“Princess Maribel,” the guard announces my presence as he opens the door, the name making my knees tremble.
I curtsy, then flick my eyes up to my parents for the first time in four years.
King and Queen De Beaumont.
They appear older than the last time I saw them. My father now has a beard that’s a mix of gray and brown, while my mother’s hair is the same mix. There are also worry lines I’ve never seen before, the sight making me wonder what’s been going on since I left.
I’m at a loss for words, my lips parting then closing. But my parents ignore my lack of greeting.
“Maribel!” my mother says in disbelief, a hand to her chest as she takes me in.
My father waves me over to the couch, motioning for me to sit across from them. “Daughter, come sit. We have much to talk about in so little time.”
There’s no wow, it’s nice to finally see you, how are you? Or what are you taking in school? What have you been up to in the last four years?
I’d say I’m shocked, but this is exactly why I left. It’s always business with them. Part of me wonders if they weren’t royalty, would things be different?
That’s not to say we have no good memories together, because we do, but they’re few and far between.
“What would you like to discuss?” I ask, noting how I sound different to myself.
My father takes a sip of tea, eyeing me like he’s happy with the transformation of my “American” appearance.
“You look amazing, dear.” My mother fills in the silence, always the one to avoid conflict with compliments.
“It’s not really my style, but thanks,” I tell her bluntly. If they thought I was coming back without a voice, they were so very wrong.
“It is how Jacques wants you. He likes the old Camille best, the sophisticated one who will be ready to become his wife and bear his children. Not the wild girl you were in America,” my father retaliates, making bile rise in my throat.
Bear his children ? There’s not a universe in which that man is touching me. I don’t care if I’m legally his wife. He can find a mistress for all I care. I’m just here to protect my country and my man.
“I don’t quite care what Jacques likes,” I mutter, earning a glare from my father.
“Oh, I am so happy my little girl is finally getting married. I’ve dreamed of planning your wedding since you were born.” My mother gleams, interrupting the tension as she sets her teacup on the table.
“The seamstress will be here in twenty minutes to alter the dress I’ve picked out for you. After that, you have meetings with our head of public relations to figure out how to announce your arrival to the country, and then you need a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow at eleven a.m. is the big day. The wedding will be here in the great hall. You should take a peek at it when you get the chance,” she prattles on, losing me with every word she says.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Tears want to burst from deep within me, but there’s no time for crying apparently.
“Where are my brothers?” I interrupt her because if I am home, that would be the one positive to all of this.
“Simon and Antoine are meeting with Jacques to make sure the wedding contract is all set. Mathéo is at a fundraiser event. You’ll see them all tomorrow at the wedding,” my father supplies. “I must go now. I have a meeting to attend to. Thank you for returning. Your country will thank you for it.” His words pull on my heartstrings, knowing exactly where to hit me the hardest.
“Now that he’s gone, let us talk, just ladies.” My mother scoots closer, leaning toward me over the table. “Do you know what happens between a lady and a man once they’re wedded?”
Is she serious right now?
A laugh bubbles out of my throat because of course my mother never gave me that talk growing up. I had the conversation with my maid. The staff here taught me more than either of my parents did.
“I’m not a virgin, Mother, don’t you worry.” And I’m not screwing Jacques either , I add mentally.
My mother coughs at my comment, dabbing her lips with a napkin as her cheeks pinken. “The dress I got you is lovely. It’s a traditional silk gown w—”
“I don’t care, Mother,” I shout, startling her. “I don’t want any of this. The dress, Jacques, or to look like this. I’m here for my country and to protect the person I love. Let’s get that settled right now.”
She straightens in her seat, the tucking of her bottom lip beneath her teeth telling me she’s not happy.
“I don’t know where we went wrong raising such an ungrateful child. You should be shouting from the rooftops about this. Jacques is a good man, far better than you deserve after what you’ve done to us.”
Her hateful words are like a slap across my face, stinging as they seep into me. Except they don’t fill me with sadness, rather anger. But I won’t give her that either. She doesn’t deserve any part of me.
Instead, I stand and smooth my blazer down. “It’s great to be home.” I give her my fakest smile and curtsy. “I’ll be in my room. Tell the seamstress to meet me there.”
I leave with that, not sparing her a second glance as I slam the door and run to my old room on the second floor.
My hand claps on the silver handle once I get there, pushing the double doors open. My old room comes into view. Pale gray walls, white porcelain floors, a four-poster bed with white sheets and white pillows. My white vanity and a shelf of classic books I’ve never touched in my life but my mother insisted needed to be there still stand in the corner.
I close the door behind me and walk to the shelf, pick up a book by Charlotte Bront?, and whip it against the wall. I do the same with another classic, throwing every single book at the wall until they lie in a heap on the ground.
I don’t realize I’m crying until a tear drips down my chin. My knees finally give out, and I slowly sink to the cold floor, curling up into a ball as sobs rack my body. With my eyes closed, I think of Ryker, but it only makes me cry harder. I wonder how he reacted… or maybe he didn’t even care? Maybe he’s glad I left, making our agreement that much easier to end.
I crawl my way to my bed and under the covers. I say a silent prayer to the universe that Idris finds a loophole, that something, anything will get me out of this mess. And if you’re not too busy, universe, I’d like my man back too.
That’s whose arms I pretend to be in, safe and content as I drift off to sleep. Only for my own blood-curdling scream to wake me up moments later. Except in this nightmare, it was my own parents locking me in a cage.