Chapter 15 – Marcella
MARCELLA
Truthfully, this isn’t quite what I expected when the queen mentioned a summer festival. I’ve never been to Tourin, and I’ve never been to a festival, but I expected something more along the lines of period costumes and people dancing to folk music or something.
This is not that.
This is sensory overload with flashing lights, the roar of fast rides, the screams of excited children, and the pervasive pinging of games.
There are dozens of rides ranging from roller coasters to things that go up and down and side to side.
Food trucks and vendors divide the games area from the rides, the air thick with the scent of fried food and sweets.
It’s hot today in Tourin, nearing thirty degrees Celsius, but the children don’t seem to care a whit.
The queen, on the other hand, is already feeling it, and I give her a lot of credit for coming here and smiling a happy, excited smile, which I don’t even think is put on, for the children who adoringly call her Mommy.
I didn’t expect that, and it seems to be a common thread for my time in the palace.
It’s so easy to like Bellamy, it’s almost infuriating.
The moment we step into the festival, all eyes are on us.
You can almost hear the murmurs in the air, the whispers, the questions.
The queen takes it all in stride, smiling and holding Sabrina’s and Zayer’s hands, pointing out fun things she thinks they’ll like and nodding hellos and sweet greetings to everyone who curtsies and makes eye contact.
“I swear, no matter how long I live, I will never get used to people treating me this way. A year ago, I was a schoolteacher here, caring for my father with no life to speak of. Now I’m a stepmother to three and soon to be a mother to another two, and people curtsy for me and call me Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty, while I understand it’s a bit strange for you, your people are very happy to have you as their queen. They love seeing the children and the king happy again, and they’re excited about the twins.”
All of that is true and has been bitched about and lamented by Antonia and the Signoria more than once. The horrible things they called her, I wouldn’t ever repeat.
She offers me a warm smile. “Thank you. That helps.”
I return her smile, but my gaze slips past her and lands straight on Rowan, who is observing me with an indecipherable expression.
“I want to go on the pirate ship!” Phaedra cries, tugging on Rowan’s hand and thankfully drawing his attention away from me.
Sabrina jumps up and down. “Me too, me too!”
“All right, my darlings. Let’s go.” But before he takes a step, he stops and checks in with Bellamy. “Are you good with Zayer?”
Bellamy laughs and waves him away. “I’m great with Zayer. Right, little man?”
He nods up at her, sucking on his fourth and fifth fingers.
Rowan doesn’t look so sure.
“We’ll be fine. I have Marcella here to help if I need it at all.”
Rowan’s lips dip down into an uncharacteristic frown, eyeing me once again. He steps into me, his mouth coming to my ear.
“Take care of them with your life.”
The fierce way he growls that automatically has me saying, “I promise.”
Only I can’t promise that, can I? Not really. Not to any extent beyond this festival. Now I’m the one frowning. I don’t like how that thought makes my insides squirm.
His lips and nose drag along my cheek, and he takes a deep inhale as he does. My breath hitches, and my body tenses. Holy hell, what is he doing? But just as quickly, he’s gone, taking the girls and talking animatedly about the rides they want to go on as if none of that happened.
I can’t get a read on him. The man I met at the wedding is different from this one.
He was so quick to trust that night, whereas now he doesn’t trust me at all.
Despite the background check and assurance from Emily and Javier.
That night, he didn’t even know my last name or where I came from, and yet he brought me up to his room.
Here I’m Marcella Russo, a poor country girl.
I don’t know what to make of it.
I have to keep reminding myself that if he knew who I was, I’d be in jail.
I’d never be allowed near the queen or the children.
Maybe he was simply drunk and looking for a quick and easy fuck and figured the wedding was the safest place for it.
I don’t know. All I know is that I wish he weren’t so pervasive in my thoughts.
I wish I didn’t go to bed every night thinking of him, touching myself to memories, and wondering if there’s any possible way this doesn’t end with me either being killed or arrested.
“Should we go play some games?” Bellamy asks Zayer, who is already tugging her toward that area. “He’s a bit too small for the rides,” she tells me. “I think there are some he can go on, but I can’t take him.”
“I can if that’s what he’d like.”
She waves me away. “Thank you. Maybe later. He likes the games.” She glances down at him. “Let’s go win some prizes. We can show Papa later and tell him about all the fun we had.”
She glances up at me. “It’s good for Sebastian to hear that. I understand his worry, believe me, I do, but the children have to be children. They can’t live in a bottled-up existence. It’s stifling."
That hits me hard, and I release a shaky breath.
“You’re an incredible mother to them,” I say before I can stop it, but she is, and she should know it.
A pang hits the center of my chest. What would I have been like if I had a mother like her?
Someone who cared that way. What would Jaqueline have been?
For the next hour and a half, I stand back and watch the queen play game after game with Zayer.
He throws balls and rings, fishes for ducks, and shoots water at clown faces.
It doesn’t take long before I get wrapped up in it too, cheering and clapping for his accomplishments and offering hugs and good tries at his failures.
He’s adorable and so sweet despite the fact that he looks so much like the king, unlike the girls who look like Nora. It makes me wonder. With all their blonde hair, if they are actually Sebastian’s or if they’re Samil’s, and the king simply doesn’t know it.
Was he aware his wife, the former queen, was having an affair?
An affair that lasted for years, through the birth of all three children?
“Mommy, I’m hungry.”
The queen laughs. “Little man, you’re always hungry. Probably because you’re growing like a weed and will one day be as big and strong as Papa. But I’m hungry too so let’s go find us something yummy to eat.” She glances up at me. “Are you good with that?”
My eyebrows lift. This is the second time in a week someone from the royal family has asked my opinion on something.
It’s a first in my life. Not even my father or Samil ever asked for my opinions or thoughts.
I was simply there to do the only thing I could do.
Learn, fight, kill, and survive. And occasionally be a silent set of ears to listen.
“Sounds lovely.”
“Zayer has a big sweet tooth, and so do I, but I think first we need some lunch. Something with some protein.”
She searches around before she stops on something. “Oh, they have calzones.”
I follow the direction of her gaze and see the vendor selling traditional calzones. “I can go get them for you, Your Majesty. That way, you and Prince Zayer can find a place to sit, and you can get off your feet.”
She touches my forearm, pulling me back to her.
“That would be amazing, but please call me Bellamy. I understand it’s not your norm or custom, but you’re only a year older than I am.
You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but we live in the same palace, and truth be told, I’ve never had a girlfriend my age. ”
“Neither have I,” slips out.
She nods in understanding, and something hot and liquid pools in my chest, making it difficult to take in a breath.
She laughs. “The only friend I ever really had was Charlotte, and she was a decade older than me and tried to kill me, so I don’t have the best track record with that sort of thing. But I’d really like to start getting past that and trust someone again.”
Guilt slams me once again, churning acid in my gut. It’s becoming an all-too-familiar feeling lately. “I understand,” is all I can say.
“I’m glad. If you wouldn’t mind grabbing us three calzones, and possibly some waters, Zayer and I will go find the perfect place for us to eat them.”
“I’d be happy to, Bellamy.”
I get another smile, something she gives out easily and freely, and a squeeze to my forearm before she takes Zayer on their mission.
She talks with him, asking him questions and pointing out things for them to look at and explore.
And I realize I want everything she said.
I want to be her friend. I want to be someone she can trust.
Sadness sits square on my shoulders, heavy and dragging, but I press through it.
I purchased the calzones using the money that was given to me before we set off this morning, though the owner of the stand tried more than once to give them to me for free since they’re for the queen and prince.
By the time I return, both of them look exhausted. Zayer climbs off Bellamy, walks around the table, and straight up into my lap. Just like that. It’s…adorable.
I unwrap his calzone for him, and he wastes no time digging in, not caring in the slightest if he’s covered in meat, cheese, or sauce.
“God, I’m starving.” Bellamy unwraps hers, and for a few minutes, we eat in comfortable silence.
Well, comfortable for them. Tense for me.
I can’t take my eyes off it. “You can ask,” she says, startling me with her directness.
I hadn’t realized I was that obvious. Clearly, I keep fucking things up left, right, and center.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare, and I hope you don’t take it as rude. I’m simply curious about it, is all.”
“It’s fine. Really. You can ask.”