CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – HATTIE #2
The skirt is too full. The glittering embroidery that adorns the bodice and long lace sleeves is too sparkly. The necklace that hangs around my neck is too timeless, too priceless, too much for someone like me.
Because it all hides something.
The princess skirt hides my trembling legs, showing an air of confidence I don’t truly possess.
The necklace hides my bare skin, acting as an armour, something for unkindness to bounce off.
The lace sleeves hide my new scars, the small ones I gave myself, the ones that tell the story of my painful nightmare.
I am a fraud. A liar. A master of deception.
Because tonight, when I walk out there and I’m announced as Finn’s fiancée, everything will change.
Everyone will see the person I want them to see.
A bold, fearless woman infatuated with the crown prince.
Someone who loves and is loved. Someone strong enough to lead their country but humble enough to ask for help.
Someone brave enough to step forwards one day but hang back the next.
And they will believe me. The richest people in St Peters—in the entire country of Askurg—will see exactly who I want them to see.
The missing girl who found her way home.
The miracle the Queen has prayed for.
And they’ll eat it all up.
I already know. Since everything was set in motion, I’ve been schooled.
I’ve listened. I’ve learnt. I know I will become an overnight sensation.
The Sinclairs’ misfortune of a missing daughter that sent the wife to grief-stricken deathbed will be a story that’ll resurrect itself in mere hours, and the thought of that is what keeps me standing right now.
That my mother’s name will once again be mentioned.
That my father won’t be able to escape her.
And it’ll all be because of me. Because Lady Luck herself looked down on me that day in the park and led me to Finn—or him to me, however you think of it. Because I was bold enough to risk everything when I came to the palace.
The name William Sinclair tries so desperately to erase will haunt him, everywhere he goes. No matter where he eats, sleeps, or breathes, Francesca Sinclair will follow him and remind him of his sins.
Tonight, I will curse three lives.
Curse my father to remember my mother.
Curse his wife to remember who she really is.
Curse their daughter to remember her place.
Beneath me.
As it always should have been.
As it always will be from this day onwards.
I will curse them with the reminder of who I really am.
Harriet Sinclair. Daughter of Francesca Sinclair. The Queen’s choice for Crown Princess. The Crown Prince’s choice for his wife.
Not the scapegoat for their golden child. Not their dirty little secret who lives behind a fake name.
I won’t just curse them.
I will be their curse. Their nightmare. Their poison.
Something for which there is no cure, no antidote, no escape.
And this is only the beginning.
Three strong knocks sound at the doors. “Her Majesty the Queen and His Royal Highness The Prince Louis have arrived,” Rowan announces from the hallway.
I nod, and the young maid standing guard inside the doors opens one, bowing her head as the Queen sweeps into the room.
Her gown is a simple, navy A-line number. A light cape hangs over her shoulders, adding decoration to the otherwise plain dress, and the only sparkle she brings is that of her diamond tiara and necklace.
She stops when she sees me. “My goodness, Hattie. If only tradition didn’t dictate that you must wait until the wedding for a tiara, then you’d look every part a true princess.”
I raise my hand to the elaborate hair ornaments and lightly brush my fingers over the diamonds.
“These are more than enough for me, Your Majesty.” I dip into a small curtsey as tradition dictates—it’s my first time seeing her today, and even if she wants to tell me off for my formality, I know she won’t in front of the attendants.
If the way she purses her lips in mock annoyance is anything to go by, I’m correct.
“You look beautiful,” Prince Louis, Finn’s dad, says. “Red really is your colour.”
“Thank you.” My cheeks flush, so it’s a damn good thing red is my colour. I’m not used to these compliments.
Beatrix walks over to me and takes my hand. “You said you had something you wanted to discuss before we make our way to the ball. What is it?”
“Oh, yes.” I turn back to look at the attendants. “Would you all mind waiting outside for a moment, please?”
“Yes, Miss Harriet.” The leading attendant bobs into a small curtsey and ushers the others all out.
Rowan turns to go, but I squeak, and he stops, looking back at me with a questioning eyebrow raise.
“Sorry,” I say. “Could you stay?”
“Of course.” He inclines his head, then ensures the door is closed firmly behind the girls.
Beatrix helps me down off the small pedestal and fusses over my skirt. “Oh, Louis, can’t we just… This one time… Break tradition and get her a tiara?”
Louis smiles warmly at us both. “And be robbed of the sight of her in a tiara for the first time on her wedding day? Surely not, dear.”
She sighs. “You’re right. I just wish—”
“You cannot rush everyone to the vault for a last-minute tiara just to stick the knife into William Sinclair’s wife,” Louis says dryly, prompting me to bite back a laugh.
“I have no idea what you mean.” Beatrix coughs into her hand and turns to me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do you, darling?”
“None at all.” I press my lips together to hide my smile and go to my bag. Although my time with her has been limited, if I’ve learnt one thing about the Queen, it’s that she’s more of a mischief maker than I am.
No wonder she was so close to my mother, the biggest prankster I’ve ever met.
I pull a sealed envelope from my suitcase and carry it over. “If it’s possible, can you please keep this safe?”
Beatrix reaches for it. “What is it?”
“DNA results.”
All three of them stare at me.
I swallow. “When I returned, Rosalyn insisted on a DNA test between me and my father. It came back as a complete match, of course, but…”
“Do you mind?” Rowan asks, reaching to take them from the Queen.
I shake my head.
He relieves her of my documents and pulls them out of the envelope. He scans a few pages, then looks over at me. “These are the originals.”
“Yes. How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen these results many times.” He smiles wryly.
“People love to claim they’re a part of the royal family.
Most balk when you bring up the DNA test, but for the foolish few who go through with it…
” He shrugs. “You learn to recognise these things. And there’s an actual signature on the report, not a printed one. I know this doctor personally.”
Ah.
That’ll do it.
“Why have you brought them here?” Louis asks, stepping up beside Beatrix and touching her back.
“I don’t trust the Sinclairs,” I say quietly. “I knew where my father kept the results, so I swapped the envelopes, and replaced the real ones with something else. I don’t want to leave any room for anyone to dispute our relationship.”
Beatrix’s face tightens. “You think they’ll dispute your parentage?”
“Not right away.” I clasp my hands at my stomach to quell the swirling nausea inside it. “But I believe it’s a possibility at some point, yes.”
“It’s very smart of you to get ahead,” Louis says. “Perhaps you might consider officially granting Rowan permission to speak on your behalf, then we can contact the doctor responsible for signing this off and get his testimony. Just in case.”
“Whatever’s necessary,” I reply. “As long as it’s not too much work. I know you’re busy,” I add to Rowan.
“Not at all, Miss Harriet. Protecting the Royal Family is a part of my job.” He smiles. “And that is a family of which you are now a part. I would be more than happy to do this for you.”
I blush again. “Thank you.”
Beatrix takes my hands and squeezes. “Don’t worry so, my darling girl. You aren’t alone anymore.”
Ah.
I look down at where the hem of my dress glides against the floor, smiling slightly.
Not alone.
What a strange feeling… to not be alone, yet to be so lonely.