41
Vincent Hawthorne
T his house feels dead. So do I .
It’s been a week. One long and fucking miserable week.
That night, I found out my brother had taken Camilla to a hotel first and Harry Langford’s house right afterwards. So, I chose to wait for them at the hotel, thinking I could still try to talk to her.
Say what?
“That I am a coward,” I mumble, answering my own question like a crazy person.
Except my brother came back to the hotel alone and refused to tell me anything else. He’s been staying there alone, too.
No sign of Camilla anywhere, and it is driving me crazy. What happened?
Did my mother do anything?
She’s been too happy here, telling me daily that she is only waiting for the good news of the king’s death. It has nothing to do with Camilla, I am sure…
I have also contacted Rachel, but if she knows anything, she refuses to tell me as well.
The worst is that once the news got out of my official engagement to Eleanor, leaving the house was no longer an option.
That is only heightening my anxiety. My restlessness.
Staying inside, not being able to fix it and facing the forced memories of her that assault my brain every time I go somewhere in this manor is driving me crazy.
Her scent is everywhere…
Walking around the place is painful, and yet, I almost bit Mariah’s head off when she tried to change the fragrance used in the house. It was my mother’s request, but I’d rather die in agony smelling her than no longer have the one thing I was left behind with.
It invading my nostrils is the highlight of my day. How fucking miserable is that?
Miserable is my middle name now.
My self-commiseration moment is cut off by the double doors bursting open and my estranged. traitor of a brother showing up in my office like he owns it. This idiot has not talked to me ever since, ignoring my existence and not even letting me explain. And now he chooses to come here and disturb my— lack of —peace?
“What the fuck do you want?”
He doesn’t answer. Bellend.
I know I deserve it, but fuck. He’s my brother. He was the only one who knew about us, and… I need him .
Instead, he turns on the flat screen in the far corner by the couches and sits down, watching the TV and jumping between channels. His back is turned to me, and it gets on my nerves.
“If you’re here to torment me some more, you can fucking leave,” I grit.
Edgar turns around to face me with a wicked smirk. The one I only saw when he was preparing to get himself—or both of us—in trouble. “Oh, dear brother...the torment is just about to get started. And I don’t even need to do anything.”
“Breaking news!” the familiar feminine voice from the news channel sounds from the TV, catching my attention.
“This is going to be hilarious," he mutters amid a chuckle.
Then it continues, “The king allegedly passed away yesterday morning. He was surrounded by his loving family members.”
What? Fuck, no! I need more time .
“Oh, boy.” Edgar sounds amused. “And...Three...Two...One!”
“ How was I not informed of this? Vincent? Vincent !”
I wince hearing her high-pitched screeches but try to ignore it, focusing on the TV. My mother bursts into my office the same way my brother did just a few moments ago. her chest heaving and her face red, from the rage, of course.
For the first time in her life…Sarah Byron has been blindsided.
While it’s a historical event in itself, I am more worried about what the king’s death means.
According to Monera’s Constitution, the heir is to be appointed and recognised by the government before the king’s death. And if the baby has passed away, then I should…
What the hell is going on?
Is this really it? I won’t even have a chance to make it right by her?
All the ruckus around me dies as the buzz in my ears rings loudly. This heart has been barely beating ever since she left. Now, it slows down to a stop, shattering into a million pieces. It causes all the sweat to run free over my skin, giving away the anxiety coursing through my veins. This is it.
I’m done for.
The difficulty in breathing forces my brain to travel to happier memories. How her soft skin would graze against mine during our morning cuddles. How shiny her eyes would get whenever I complimented her and how her shaky breaths would fan my sweaty neck when making love or the way she would look at me so intensely, so eagerly. Almost as if she were afraid to lose me any moment.
She was afraid. I knew she was, but I wanted her.
I wanted it all, and in the end...everything that matters is gone.
I fucking lost her.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Huh?” I finally answer, unsure how long I’ve been lost inside my brain.
“We need to pack and set everything to head to Livia.” No.
No fucking way I’m leaving Gamia.
Ignoring my mother, I let my arse fall back down on the leather chair behind my desk with a deep sigh.
There is no way I will live anywhere else other than this manor. It’s not a modern, sleek place, but Camilla’s personality is shining through every single detail and decoration.
When I got here, she was adamant about reassembling some things and changing some decorations and while I faked being unbothered…Secretly, I loved it. She tried to make it my home as well.
And in return, I took hers.
All the white wooden carved family frames were replaced with darker wood, which were less sculpted and more minimalist. It is one of the few modern touches in these old, mostly wooden-covered walls and floors. The shelves are still filled with the same books, the only difference is they no longer have those bright decorative boxes. They’re less filled with clutter, and the only decorations are a couple of nineteenth-century ceramic sculptures.
This is my home, even if it’s hollow without her. She’s everywhere, and it’s all I have left.
“Show some enthusiasm!” My mother snickers. “This is the happiest moment of my life! You’re about to be king!”
I scoff. Like that’s something to be excited about. Everyone knows it’s more of a prison than anything else.
A gilded cage is still a cage.
“Is he, though?” Edgar asks, his familiar taunting tone audible.
What?
“What are you on about? Don’t be ridiculous!”
What the fuck does he mean?
“Well…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders.
The blonde woman on the TV is still talking about the king’s death, repeating the words that were given by the royal statement, claiming he was surrounded by peace and all his loved ones, is cut short by the royal trumpets.
The camera man quickly moves the camera from his coworker to the balcony where all official announcements are made. The Livian Palace shows up in a blurry shade until it focuses.
What the fuck is going on?
I ask myself, standing up and inclining my body forward, hands splayed on the desk’s shiny wood, trying to get a better look at the image.
This is not how things work. Usually, there are at least a few mourning days before any other announcements are made. Even if the heir already knows what’s expected of him…and that makes this all the weirder. I should have been notified already, even if I will only be proclaimed in a few weeks and coronated a year from now.
“What?” My mother rushes closer to the TV. “They only do this when they are about to announce the heir. I wasn’t warned about this. Is that child still alive? Was I lied to?”
Bloody Christ, can she even listen to herself? If that kid survived, then good. How can a mother of two kids say that about a baby?
The cruel words that leave her mouth, I never once thought I’d be able to hate my mother, but I’ve been further away from it.
Then, the trumpets sound once more, and the entire entourage comes out. All of them dressed in the famous red uniform. A serious announcement...
Lastly, the announcer comes out, placing himself exactly in the middle, in front of the microphone, and clears his throat.
We all stop moving inside the office. Maybe we even stop breathing.
To be honest, the entire country must have stopped due to this.
“Whereas it has pleased almighty god to call to his mercy our late Sovereign Lord King Charles the Second to his Holy Realm, the chosen one to continue on his legacy has solely and rightfully come to The Princess Camilla of Severna."
Inhale.
Who?
Exhale.
“We, therefore, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal of this Realm and Members of the Council do now hereby proclaim that Princess Camilla of Severna has now become our only lawful and rightful Liege, Lady Camilla Marie of Severna, by the grace of god...” the silence is deafening, trapping us in unmoving bodies, as we watch the proclamation, “by whom kings and queens do reign to bless Her Majesty with long and happy life to rule over us. Given at Livian Palace this twenty-second day of April in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty-two. God save the queen !”
Inhale.
Another heir... A queen?
Exhale.
The weight of the world leaves my shoulders as I let out that second breath and let my arse fall on the seat once more.
Silence.
Then, a shriek.
It is followed by my brother’s hyperbolic laughter.
“What is this circus?”
My mind is blank. Void. Empty.
“Your reactions are priceless,” he finally comments. “I am so glad I didn’t miss this.”
I am not the heir. I, Vincent Hawthorne, am not the heir. I am... free.
“Hilarious!”
“We’ve been played.” My mother stands up, pacing around the office and ignoring Edgar’s words. “Robbed of what is ours. We need to get to the bottom of this. Who the hell is this fake heir? They must want to gain some time to turn this around. It’s the only option!”
And when I thought everything had been delivered to me on a golden platter before being rubbed in my face, the trumpets sound again.
“In this one-of-a-kind moment, by order of our late Sovereign Lord King Charles II and accepted by all legal departments, as stated in his last will. We, hereby, present to all our subjects, our new Sovereign, Lady Queen Camilla I.”
My heart speeds up as the scene happens before me in slow motion. The double doors behind the announcer open, giving way to a tall, fit, and graceful body. The camera closes in, from bottom to top. A white and golden gown, perfectly snug to soft curves, is complemented by matching silk gloves that end at the elbows.
The neckline is conservative, with an off-the-shoulder strap falling to the sides. Her collarbone has one single round mole over the bony area, and my body shudders upon recognition.
It can’t be.
But as the camera rises, finally revealing her face, my soul leaves my body. The dark hair, flawlessly tied up in the back, the make-up, minimal as always, enhancing all her beautiful features. Two tiny diamond studs decorate her delicate ears, and shiny gloss covers her full lips.
Stunning. Perfect. It’s Camilla.
My Camilla. The woman of my dreams, the woman my mother despises and worked so hard to get away from me for being beneath me and unworthy. Of my status.
Camilla is the Queen of Monera.