Amelia #2
“It… it breaks my heart. I… I didn’t want to cry,” I sniffle and gently pull away from her arms to look at her. Her eyes gaze at me so warmly that I almost want to start crying again, but I push the tears back with all my might.
“Darling, it’s perfectly fine that you’re crying after everything you’ve been through.
Never be ashamed of your feelings in my presence, Amelia.
I may be a queen, and yes, officially this country is still in the Middle Ages.
But not behind these palace walls. Here you can always be who you really are.
Never forget that.” Mary’s words cut deep into my heart, burrowing under my skin.
Who am I? Who am I?
I don't know anymore, not after all these years of self-denial. My parents and my brother made sure of that. And yet, it strikes me like a punch to the gut to hear the very words I’ve needed for years, now coming from the queen.
“It’s not that easy. I don’t know who I really am anymore,” I murmur, embarrassed, but of course, Mary hears it.
“Darling, you too will find your way. I’m sure you’ll soon figure out who you are and what you want.
And then, little Amelia, the world will kneel before you.
It will lie at your feet.” She says it with conviction and gently brushes a stray lock of hair from my face.
I look at her, shaken. I look at my old and new future mother-in-law and wonder how she can believe such a thing.
How she can be so certain. About me. Because I’m not.
I look at her with wide eyes, and she smiles as her eyes glisten with tears.
“Trust me, darling, I can feel it. And now I need you for the hardest task I’ve ever had.” She swallows hard, and suddenly I know why she called me. And the deep wound inside me is ripped open even further.
“You… you want to sort out his things… don’t you?” I can barely get the words out, and her gaze loses its warmth and shine. Instead, grief and pain take their place.
“Yes. I have to do it. At least for Nic. He wouldn’t bear being constantly reminded of Philipp.” My hands automatically ball into fists, and my expression hardens. Unyielding, as dark anger bubbles up in my blood at the mention of my future.
“Ha. Don’t make me laugh. Nic has no right to that.
He has no right to mourn or not be able to bear it.
He didn’t give a damn about Phil,” I burst out uncontrollably and angrily.
He, who was never there, who is never there.
Who never cared about anything or anyone but himself.
How many times did Phil need him? How often did he not show up, leaving Phil disappointed and alone?
Just the thought sends anger coursing through my veins like poison, demanding retribution.
He has no right to not bear it.
Mary’s gaze grows colder with my words, and only then do I realize to whom I’ve just spoken. A wave of intense shame and regret washes over me, and I press my hand to my mouth, horrified by my own actions.
“It… Oh God… I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to…” I try to apologize, but the queen simply shakes her head, a sad and distant look in her eyes.
My stomach tightens even further.
“Don’t apologize for words you truly meant, Amelia.
Because you did, and I understand. My son is…
difficult. Special. And he has given you every reason to think that way about him.
But not everything is as it seems at first glance.
” She stares at me intensely, and I have to swallow hard, feeling as though she can peer into the very depths of my soul.
“Listen to your heart. But most importantly, give Nicolas a chance.” She smiles sadly and gestures for me to go ahead. The topic is clearly closed.
With a lump in my throat, I walk ahead, my thoughts a jumbled mess, and it doesn’t get any better. The next few hours, I drown in bittersweet and sorrowful memories as I join the queen in sorting out Phil’s personal belongings.
Metal grinds and the smell of gasoline fills my nose. My body is pressed into the seat, and a sharp jolt goes through me. My head slams into something hard, and a sharp pain shoots through my skull before everything goes dark.
“Why didn’t you save me? Why are you letting me bleed out?” Phil’s voice echoes accusingly in my ear, and I blink my eyes open. I recoil, a hoarse scream on my lips.
Phil looks at me with dead, empty eyes, covered in blood. A huge hole gapes in his stomach.
“Why? Why? Why? Why?”
His voice echoes in my head, and I jerk awake, gasping for air.
In. Out.
Dammit.
I clutch my chest where my heart is racing and try to get my breathing under control.
Dream. It was just a dream.
Yet my shirt sticks to my cold, sweat-drenched skin. The images cling to me, refusing to let go of their horror, sticking to me like an oily film, and only now do I realize where I am.
I must have fallen asleep, and Mary must have let me, because a blanket is spread over me.
“You don’t look very well-rested, Goldilocks. Bad dreams?” a dark voice whispers, and I flinch in surprise. Because in the chair next to Phil’s couch sits Nicolas, piercing me with his dark gray eyes.
Dammit.