Dearly Beloved

6. CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

VERONICA

I’m heavily debating my life choices.

Going back after ten years might not be the best idea. I’m technically still banished from the palace, which isn’t ideal; but when have I ever based a decision on technicality? Never, that’s when.

“This is easily the worst idea you’ve managed to come up with in that wild little brain of yours,” Gareth murmurs from where he sits cross-legged on the horribly stained mattress, crumbs toppling out of his mouth from a half-eaten blueberry muffin.

A snort escapes and I roll my eyes as I continue to pack what little I own into a worn leather bag. I love him, truly – he’s my best friend, but holy hell is he a mess.

Mind you, I’m not any better. I’ve been a mess since the day I was born.

There isn’t anything left in the village for me, and while I love Gareth, it’s time for me to go back. If I turn down this opportunity, I will never forgive myself. Ten years is too long.

Sebastian Baros, son of Deacon and Sophia and the Prince of Hawthorn.

Everyone knows him as cold and calculated, just like his father, the king.

I know and remember him as the boy with caramel-coated fingers dragging through his chestnut hair, shy smiles that give me butterflies, and a constellation of moles dotting sun-kissed skin.

That is the version I remember, when things were different. Better.

Nothing is going to stop me from going back.

“I love you too, Gare.” My lips pull up into a grin.

“Seriously, Vee, you need to really think this through. Whatever you think is going to happen when you get there, won’t,” Gareth grumbles.

He shifts and I wince at the harsh creak of the mattress.

I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.

“He’s going to recognize you as soon as you march your happy ass in there. ”

“He won’t. You know as well as I do that he won’t,” I retort.

I’ve changed a lot since then.

My baby fat is long gone, and my hair goes past my earlobes, something I am more than grateful for.

The only thing that hasn’t changed about me is my ‘sparking personality’, as Gareth would say.

Apparently, I’m blunt, and most people aren’t too thrilled to be called out for their stupidity.

I’d like to think I’m doing them a service; my own personal charity work.

“Listen, I know this is insane,” I say as I stuff another dress into the bag.

“I can’t explain it any other way, Gareth.

You wouldn’t get it.” He wouldn’t, hard-headed and protective as he is.

“Right now I just need you to be the understanding best friend who sends me off with warm wishes and a positive outlook.”

“Jesus, you are the most dramatic human I have ever met. You’re not going to war.” Gareth shakes his head while he tosses the now crumbled wrapper into the trash. He misses, of course. “Well, maybe you are. Who even knows anymore.”

“Now who’s the dramatic one?” I wink.

He rolls his eyes, stretching his arms over his head until there is a soft pop of his shoulders. My nose scrunches at the sound. I zip my bag and toss the strap over my shoulder before turning toward him.

The sandy brown curls on top of his head need to be tamed; they fall into his blue eyes and over his ears. I’m giving him a month until he completely falls apart without me.

I slide one foot into the worn cream ballet flat, using my finger to aid it in place, “You need a haircut.” His attention flicks to me as I put on the other, and he squints.

“Whatever. Let’s go. We wouldn’t want you to be late for your very first day of catering to Sebastian Baros’ ass.” He muses in a sing-song tone. I glare at him.

There would be no catering to Sebby’s ass.

Probably.

Our quaint little village is filled with nothing but rabid mutts and dirty streets.

It lies on the far edge of the kingdom, with a population of roughly twenty-eight thousand.

Last year, a plague ran through us, taking thousands of people with it.

We don’t have medicine, unlike the townspeople, so it was pretty rough.

Gareth emerged as one of the few survivors , and I spent those weeks a nervous wreck.

Even though we scrape food and necessities together, the villagers are a tight-knit family.

We help each other; we don’t have much of a choice in the matter.

There isn’t much crime, and if there is, it’s squashed before anything turns out from it.

The palace guards tend to stay away, only passing through once a month for a ‘wellness check’.

It’s the only time we receive luxuries, like blueberry muffins and objects as trivial as soap.

Gareth hoards the muffins. He lives for wellness check day.

It’s not perfect here, but it’s what I’ve grown to rely on. We pass through the streets, waving at familiar faces as they wish me well on my newest journey. I’m going to miss everyone, but this isn’t forever; I’ll see them all again and hopefully make things better. It’s a giant hopefully.

I’m not a miracle worker, but I’ll try my best.

The silence between Gareth and me is comfortable.

We walk side by side as we approach the wooden fence that marks the end of our village.

Beyond sits the pastures that lead to the town, and then finally, the palace.

In total, it’s about twenty miles give or take.

If we lived on the other side of the village, we’re talking over a hundred miles.

“Be safe, okay?” Gareth’s voice is soft, hesitant. He’s going to worry; so am I.

My eyes lift to his and I smile slightly, matching the look of uncertainty on his face. He pulls me into his arms and I welcome the embrace eagerly. The familiar scent of blueberries and dewy mint fill my nose; it’s distinctly Gareth.

“You’ve got boobs now.” He whispers, putting a complete halt to the precious moment.

I lean back, my dark eyebrows pinching together. “What?” I breathe, bewildered by his statement.

The corners of his lips pull up until he’s grinning widely. “You didn’t have them then, now you have them.” He winks.

I lied, I’m not going to worry about him at all.

My palm presses into his face, a laugh bursting from his lips as I break our bodies apart. There’s no turning back now; I stomp through the opening between the wooden fences, middle finger raised high in the air.

The wealthy town buzzes with life as I head down the single pathed street toward the palace gates. While I don’t spend much time outside of my small corner of the kingdom, I always found it unique how a single path connects the whole land. It makes it easy to find your way around.

No matter what way you go, as long as you stay on the main strip, the end will bring you to either the gates or the shipping docks.

It was designed that way, highlighting the evolution of Hawthorn.

From poverty and people fighting over bread, to wealth and people fighting over the newest hat, all the way to the unmatched power that oversees us all.

Precious silks and gold mining place Hawthorn at the top of the four kingdoms in wealth and commerce.

Tria ranks second, followed by Dumar, and finally Murid.

Large cobblestones line the street, opposed to dirt.

Dogs are on leashes and know how to sit, speak, even roll over.

At night candles are lit in the tall black light posts randomly placed along each street, allowing the townspeople more freedom, even on the darkest of nights.

The vast difference between our world and theirs is baffling.

We are ruled by a man who favors the rich and looks down on the poor. I’ve never liked King Deacon, but I’ll have to bite my tongue.

I ignore the many stares thrown my way, focusing on the birds chirping overhead rather than the whispers of mockery over my appearance.

The dress I’m wearing is rumpled, well-loved and patched at the hem.

It’s not bleached white, but rather a tea-stained taupe.

I’ve never liked wearing my hair up, so it flows loosely down my back and over my shoulders.

And…judging by the people stopping mid-walk by me, they aren’t too thrilled with my bare feet. The flats dangle from my right hand, taken off miles ago, mostly because I wanted to walk through the pasture grass on my way through and totally forgot to put them back on. Oh well.

By the time I finally make it to the gates, the sun is nearly setting.

A large, golden fence expands for miles on either side of the metal gate, disappearing from sight. Green shrubs tower along the other side of the fence, ending beneath the golden spikes and guarding the palace’s hidden secrets.

Four royal guards stand outside the gate doors, all wearing the Hawthorn traditional uniform.

Royal blue jackets with golden embroidery, cream pleated trousers and tall black leather boots.

They have swords hanging from their brown belts, sheathed but at the ready.

It’s all very poised and I want to laugh.

I’m let in without interaction, expected to arrive at this designated time.

There’s a single white horse attached to a wooden cart waiting for me once I step through the gates.

My heart thuds in my chest as an older man eyes me, dropping his gaze down to my bare feet before he lets out a long sigh.

I frown, not waiting for him to tell me to get on the back of the cart. With a snap of the thick, leather reins, The horse whinnies and the cart jerks forward. I’m jostled back and forth, huffing under my breath as I slide the flats back onto my feet.

The carriage ride brings forward the anxiety I tried so hard to suppress.

Every creak of the wheels up the clean gravel path is another inch closer to my past. My chest tightens, a deep seeded ache gnawing inside.

The last time I was on this path, my small hand was clutched in Uncle Thomas’.

We were running, fleeing. I may have been only ten years old, but I remember it so vividly.

My eyes close at the memory, anxious nerves shooting through my veins.

He passed away a year later, leaving me alone.

“Off with you.” A disgruntled voice pulls me back to reality.

I shift in the seat, taking in the enormous white stoned building before me.

My feet hit the gravel within seconds and the clopping from the horse retreating fills my ears.

Nothing on the outside has changed. The walls are still white as ever, stone with golden fixtures wrapping around the large windows, as well as the railings of each balcony.

I fight the urge to run around the side, into the courtyard and to the very place I want to see most.

The garden.

Is it still filled with juliet roses? White peonies? Are the raspberry bushes still full of sticky berries? Do fireflies light the gazebo at night?

My fingers pinch at my thigh, stopping the impatience from growing in my legs.

In time, I remind myself. I need to be patient.

I can be patient.

A slow creak breaks through the questions rattling in my mind.

The old ornate doors etched with intricate designs open, making my world crawl forward at a snail's pace.

My heart hammers in my chest, a drumbeat to the marching of my memories.

My entire childhood sits behind those doors. Sebastian lies behind those doors.

“Victoria Pierce?”