32
Camilla White
“ I don’t know,” I admit, dumbfounded.
In front of me lies a silvery sheath dress with a huge slit on the side. It’s something worthy of a blue-blooded lady from the highest ranks in this society’s hierarchy, not a nobody like myself. Still, I can’t take my eyes off of it.
It’s stunning.
“I need you to come with me tonight,” he whines, slumping in the dressing table’s chair. “I’ll die without you to keep me entertained!”
Christmas has come and gone too quickly. I miss Rachel already, but we’ve been talking through texts and calls and have set up a date to catch up after the holidays.
She was eager to know how my Christmas had been after coming back to the manor. It was the best I’ve ever had in my life—the snuggling-in-bed-and-having-astronomical-amounts-of-sex kind of Christmas.
And there’s no point in fighting against it or denying it anymore. I’ve fallen for the duke.
“Oh, so I am just entertainment for you?” I cock my eyebrow and tilt my head, faking offence but knowing the amusement is present in my eyes.
“No,” Edgar exclaims, wide-eyed. “You’re my best friend by now, but I am a nobody in an event like that one. Vincent is the star. At least this time around, I’ll have someone who’ll be there for me .”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Your Gra–” I am cut off by his snicker and a glare. “Edgar.” I sigh, correcting myself.
He’s been adamant that I address him informally.
It’s still hard sometimes.
“Why?” he whines again like a little boy.
“Because,” I answer pointedly. “Your brother will be there, and you know…”
“I don’t know what you mean!” Edgar tries to conceal the smirk that wants to slip out.
I believe in his good intentions and wanting to spend time with me. But I also know he also enjoys irking his brother up. He knows how jealous and possessive Vincent can be. In a place where he can’t be.
“This just confirms what I thought. You want to rattle your brother’s feathers.” He now smiles fully, unashamedly. “See? No way you’re going to cause unnecessary ruckus in such a big party.”
“But you’ll be my date. Meaning, he’ll be bound by etiquette. Either way, he won’t be able to throw a fit, even if he wanted it.”
“Edgar–”
“Please,” he cuts me off, joining his hands in a prayer position and kneeling in front of me, begging like a kid begs for ice cream. “Please, please, please. I’ll behave, I swear!”
You couldn’t convince anyone this is a man who is almost thirty years old and was raised in a noble family. Because he certainly does not behave like one.
Such a spoiled noble brat.
I roll my eyes at his antics, but then I steal another glance at the dress and give in, “Fine.”
It’s not fine . Not at all.
I am not one to cuss, but I could shit my pants right now. That’s right.
It wouldn’t be pretty, but it would describe all the dread I feel about facing this stone monster. One of the most famous royal residences in the world, Livian Palace is an eighteenth-century construction.
The old private residence was bought and enlarged by King George III to house his wife. However, the first one to live there was Queen Elora, and it is still the Royal Family’s residence nowadays.
“Here.” Edgar’s arm extends out for me to intertwine with mine.
The carriage has brought us to the Queen’s Gallery, the side that gives us direct access to the State Ballroom, where the New Year’s Eve Party is being held. As he leads us inside, I can’t help but be awed at the luxurious decoration surrounding it.
The king certainly hasn’t spared expenses for this event.
When the double doors open in front of us, a loud trumpet sounds, followed by the announcer, “His Grace, Edgar of Hawthorne and his date, Miss Camilla White, have arrived.”
The light murmur of people talking throughout the hall ceases all at once. All eyes turn to us, and that’s the exact moment Vincent's eyes lock with mine. We quickly find each other in a room full of dozens of people, but what strikes me is that he is closer than I’d imagined, and his features are clear as day with all the strong lights.
His jaw is ticking while everyone else gawks at me and Edgar.
“Oh, it seems we’re making quite the impression.” The younger brother smirks, so sure of himself.
I guess it runs in the family.
“If I had known this would happen, I would have let you attend this party by yourself,” I whisper-hiss while trying to maintain my fake smile.
With a light tug, he gently takes us closer to the upper-class crowd. Once our feet touch the same floor as everyone else, Vincent’s body unfreezes, walking towards us. With his movement, everyone seemingly goes back to normal. There’s still some attention on us but much less.
“Brother,” Vincent greets with gritted teeth before turning to me.
If this was a cartoon, he’d have flames raging in his eyes and dark smoke coming out of his ears. Yet, on the outside, his body language is cool and composed. His hand finds mine, invisible sparks flying all around us. With a bow and light kiss on my skin, he greets me, too, “ Miss White .”
“Your Grace,” I curtsy, according to protocol. “It’s delightful to find you here.”
“Likewise.”
Before Edgar or I can answer and get the conversation going, their mother shows up, standing between us, “What are you doing here?”
“She’s my date tonight , Mother,” Edgar warns her, keeping his voice cool. “Follow protocol, please.”
“One son isn’t enough?” she hisses. “Now Edgar as well?”
“Alright.” Vincent casually puts his mother’s hand on the interior of his elbow, taking hold of her so he can guide her somewhere else, thankfully. “I’m thirsty, Mother. How about we go and get some champagne?”
Without letting her answer, he gracefully drags her away from us.
This is going to be a long night...
“Little Hawthorne! Look how much you’ve grown!” A male but frail voice sounds from behind us, making us slowly turn to find the owner of it.
“Here we go,” Edgar whispers. “It’s the king.”
My eyes widen right when he mentions who it is.
I am not ready for this.
But before I can bolt for my life, Edgar bows dramatically, and I follow his lead, curtseying and keeping my head down as much as I can.
“Your Royal Highness,” Edgar greets for the both of us. “We are most delighted to find your acquaintances here. I thought you’d be too busy for the likes of us,” Edgar continues with a charming smile.
“At ease,” the king finally speaks, and finally straighten back up, looking at him for the first time in person. “This is a party, after all. Let us not dwell on too many formalities.”
Fighting a gasp, I look back down.
The times he showed up on the TV, he was handsome, but in person, it’s completely different. It’s not that the king is ugly, but he looks…severely ill. The excessive make-up added to his face only makes it even more obvious instead of disguising it.
Edgar nods beside me and nudges my arm, beckoning me to look up. And I begrudgingly do.
Dressed to the nines, the king poses in front of us with none other than St. Edward's Crown on his head. He has a yellowish tone to his skin and dark bags underneath his eyes, badly covered with make-up. Despite his over-the-top outfit, surely of the most expensive silks embroidered in gold threads, none of it makes up for the sunken cheekbones and thin hands. Even with the best of disguises, he looks unwell and fragile.
Word had been out that the king was well and cured, but from the looks of it, he is not.
Just then, a beautiful pregnant lady shows up, stopping by the king’s side. She is gorgeous with a beautiful white gown that sticks to her breasts, pushing them up, right before falling freely over her swollen belly. I have never seen someone make pregnancy look so good. On top of that, she wears a gorgeous diamond tiara on her head, identifying her as the queen.
“Who is the date this time around?” the king asks before chuckling alongside his wife.
“My girlfriend.” Edgar smirks, shutting all the three of us up. “This is Camilla White, my brother’s housekeeper who I have fallen madly in love with.”
“Edgar,” I hiss before looking around us, making sure no one else has heard. “He is only joking, Your Royal Highness. We’ve become friends, almost like siblings. That’s why he is saying this, to irk me.” I try to smile, but instead, it comes out as a grimace.
“That’s...an interesting way to make friends,” the king comments, obviously confused. “Your brother’s housekeeper?”
“Well, I wouldn’t blame him if he had fallen,” the queen chimes in, trying to cut the tension that would settle with his words. “You’re a beautiful girl.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I curtsy once again. “I am honoured you think so.”
“Camilla White, you said?” the king asks Edgar before turning his attention back to me. “So, you are Monerian?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Born and raised, even though my mother was half-Asian.”
“Ahh,” he sighs. “That explains it. How have you landed the job in my half-brother’s mansion, then?”
Stealing a glance at Edgar, he nods in encouragement.
“My mother was the housekeeper already. I was born and raised there. To His Grace’s wife, Mrs Hawthorne, it was only normal for me to follow in my mother’s footsteps if I wished.”
As my words sink in, the king stills, looking at me intensely. Expecting for him to answer, even make a joke about my situation, he lets the silence drag instead.
It’s the queen who breaks the awkward moment by commenting, “Seems like you’re doing a great job. I believe you also find it an honour to keep your mother’s life work, serving such an important family like the Hawthornes.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty,” I answer.
“What was your surname again?” the king asks me, finally reacting.
Everyone turns to look at me, not without looking at the king before with confused expressions. Not sure what to do, I trail off, “White…”
“Your mother had White as a surname?”
No, she didn’t.
White was my father’s surname. She had always told me it was his wish for me to have it before he passed away. It’s the only thing she ever told me about him.
“Yes,” I answer instead.
My hand tightens on Edgar’s elbow, giving away my discomfort. He looks down at my hand before looking back at the royal couple with a poker face.
“That’s curious,” the king comments, pensive.
“Not really,” Edgar chimes in finally. “Camilla’s grandfather was Monerian, while her grandmother was the one from Asia, so naturally she inherited the Monerian surname. A rather common one at that.”
“That’s lovely.” The queen pats my shoulder. “You’re almost a true Monerian.”
With that, Edgar chokes. Probably on his spit as a reaction to her subtle racist comment.
“I am going to beg your royal majesties to excuse us,” I beg of them, making a curtsey while Edgar makes his cough dramatically stronger. Filthy liar . “As it seems, His Grace needs some water.”
They both nod, not even sparing us an extra minute, turning their back on us, and I rush him to a hidden corner. Edgar suddenly stops coughing and starts to straighten his tux, as if nothing has just happened.
“Almost a true Monerian,” he scoffs.
“Shhh. Don’t make a scene out of it. It’s the queen. What do you want? To be hanged for treason?” I hiss.
“Darling, this isn’t the mediaeval period anymore. We’re entitled to freedom of speech.” I roll my eyes. “And according to the Monerian Constitution, we no longer have death sentences, so no hanging convictions anymore.”
“Still, shut up.”
“Uh, feisty.” He smirks, pushing a short lock of my short hair from my face, placing it behind my ear.
“Behave, Edgar, or I’ll break one of those million-dollar hands of yours.”
“Ugh,” he groans, stepping back. “My brother is such a lucky bastard. Why does he get to take all the best of this world for himself?”
“Get a hold of yourselves. You spoiled brats have it easy and still complain.” I sigh in exhaustion. “I need to go to the restrooms. I’ll find you later.”
With a naughty smirk, Edgar nods and turns, heading to the bar. My hand finds the doorknob behind me, leading me to a long, wide hall. I walk across it in hopes of finding an open door that leads me to the restrooms. Fear keeps me from opening any of the closed ones, knowing they might take me to forbidden areas of the palace.
My steps halt when I find something intriguing placed on the wall. A big rectangular frame holds a giant painting of the royal family. King Charles is the visible one, sporting the best outfit among all the royal kids with a tiny Crown on his head, signalling him as the heir of the Crown. He is sided by an older boy, both in front of the late King Unwor, already a widower.
However, what catches my attention is not the healthy baby face of King Charles, contrasting with the one he has now, nor his father, completely dressed in black after the death of his queen. It’s the older boy right by King Charles’ side. In this depiction, he should not be older than nine or ten, with a serious face and a stiff pose.
I recognise him, even though he’s changed a lot from the pictures I grew up seeing. I can still see the same kindness in his eyes, the same shape in his eyebrows, and the same hair colour. It’s Aunt Lizzie’s husband...Joseph Gotta. What shocks me the most is that the usual small scar he used to have on his face doesn’t exist.…Instead, there is a little heart-shaped blemish above his left eyebrow. The exact same spot with something that doesn’t exist in any of the pictures and paintings in the manor back in Gamia.
I have never seen it on anyone else. My body shudders at the sight of it, and instantly, my shaky hand finds my hip. The pads of my fingers caress my skin over the dress’ fabric.
Right above the spot where lies a bigger version of the same heart-shaped birthmark.