42
Vincent Hawthorne
“ A re you finally going to tell me how the hell she ended up being the heiress? The fucking queen ?” I growl the words at my brother, unable to hide my dissatisfaction.
This has been a complete circus.
Instead of leaving the manor alone and focusing on the queen, the media decided to cover my allegedly butthurt for not getting the Crown. All the while, the palace has been completely silent, feeding all the controversy and conspiracy theories about what happened.
Edgar quirks up an eyebrow, still enjoying how much this is affecting me. Who needs enemies with a brother like this one?
Everyone is hounding around as vultures do on a fresh carcass, thirsty for a statement from the duke.
Of course, I gave it to them, hoping to kill the excitement of an existing feud. It exists, just not in the way they imagine. I showed my full support to the new queen.
How could I not?
“Are you so vexed for losing the Crown to a lass?”
“Don’t be stupid,” I grit. “I just want to know the truth.”
“It’s been fun watching you suffer, brother,” he chastises. “You deserve more, but I love you too much to do worse.”
“You couldn’t make me feel worse about myself than I already do. Can you get to the point?”
“She’s the secret child Joseph had with our aunt’s housekeeper.”
Thank you, Edgar, for stating the obvious.
“I already know that,” I grit once again.
“What else is there to add, then?”
“When did she figure it out? Why did she act on it? Why didn’t she tell me?” I press.
Edgar deadpans, giving me the silent answer I was hoping to avoid. Deep down, there is a restless feeling that tells me just how obvious the reason why is. The guilt that has taken permanent residence inside my heart is the one shouting that there’s no one else to blame for this but me.
The only real information I can’t get my head wrapped around is how…how did she find out and when.
“Are you seriously asking me this. Vince?”
“Yes,” I answer truthfully. “You know I’ll drink up every word you’ve got to tell me about her.”
“Come on, brother…” he sighs, his head tilting back, leaning against the couch. “Staying here and sulking won’t change anything. You need to do something.”
Right.
“They don’t even let you visit her,” I scoff. “You think I can do something?”
“It’s temporary.” He snickers. “She told me she would invite me for tea very soon .”
“Great,” I grumble, heading for the drink tray.
“You fucked up, and I may know everything now, but you still deserved that punch. Being honest with her would have saved you this kind of outcome.”
“If only I had known,” I sigh, serving the port in a glass. “I was blindsided and wanted to protect her…I also hoped she wouldn’t attend the party.”
“Not even a dumb person would think that, brother.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, swirling the caramel-shade drink in the glass. “How did she find out, though? I still haven’t understood that part.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, turning to look at me, supporting his arms on the back of the couch, where his head was just moments ago. “She seemed to have known for a while, though. And I doubt this didn’t affect her. A truth this big, for someone who has no one left alive, must have taken a toll on her.”
Edgar’s right.
Think, Vincent... Think!
The only time she—
That month! That whole month, she had distanced herself...I believed she was afraid to lose me, fearing our impending end. That is part of what has made this process so hard, knowing she’d be worse than I would be.
“It must have been that month she got weird and tried to push me away,” I mumble, deep in thought.
Vincent, I don’t want to talk about this.
Her words are still crystal-clear in my memory because that was the same night I gave in and confessed my feelings out loud for the first time.
I love you.
Her eyes got so shiny then, like a spark of hope had just ignited upon hearing those words.
We chose this path. We chose the hardest way, and we’ll deal with the consequences when they come…
Camilla was right about everything. We were a ticking bomb waiting to explode.
“Why didn’t she tell me? It could have changed so much, Edgar,” I sigh again, exhausted emotionally.
“Well...I understand her position, though. Camilla has no more relatives alive. Finding out her identity made her afraid of what could happen if someone found out. Or if the wrong person found out about it. She took precautions, and she did well.”
My little brother has shown more maturity and emotional intelligence than I would ever find him capable of. The last few days, I’ve been getting by with him constantly busting my ass for what happened. In true Edgar style, I need to man up and do something about it to right my wrongs.
I miss her so much.
“She still looked beautiful,” I comment, sipping my drink. “She was perfect on that balcony like she was made for it.”
“Agreed, brother, agreed.”
The moment they showed her as the new queen was shocking, to say the least.
The manor suffered a hurricane that day. With bulging eyes and a reddened face, my mother was frozen, looking at the TV for a whole five minutes, with her hands gripping her hair tight. She almost ripped it out. But she stayed there, motionless like a statue, glaring at it as if it was guilty of murder. I mean, it was. Her dream of being royalty—mother to the king—had just been murdered. Annihilated.
For a second there, I feared she’d get a heart attack from it. She didn’t, and I have been feeling guilty for the relief I’d feel if she had.
Ever since then, I barely get a glimpse of her. She’s been cooped up in that bedroom she has claimed as hers in my house. She comes outside only for three things: meals, to bark orders at my staff, and to yell about everything they do wrong.
It’s been a nightmare, and I have been very close to kicking her arse out a few times already.
However, Mother Dearest is never just sulking. She must be planning something, a way to get the upper hand. I can feel it in my bones and just as my father taught me: keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.
So, unfortunately, I need her close to know what she’s plotting this time around.
“Have you even tried talking to her?”
“Like it’d make a difference, Edgar,” I answer, my tone salty. “You know damn well she won’t answer me.”
I tried calling and texting, but it didn’t even ring. I must have been blocked, for sure.
“Brother, you know Camilla. She’s got a soft heart.”
She has. Deep down, she always will. That’s why I know she’ll be a much better ruler than I could have ever been.
I had just hoped that this move wouldn’t provoke my mother. But it has…
With this, Camilla has sent my mother and me a message.
Fuck you and your arrogant, entitled arses.
I heard it. Loud and clear.
If before I was the one unreachable, now it’s her. How the hell do you reach royalty? They reach you . That’s how it's always been. the best you can do is send word to the palace, and she’ll decide to answer or not .
The ball’s in her court, even if I am the one who has some making-up to do.
“As if,” I scoff. “She wouldn’t even let me set a fucking foot in her palace.”
The words feel bitter on my tongue, even though I know very well she has every right to keep me away.
The fact that she is the heir —the queen— changes everything. There isn’t a reason for my mother to keep a hold on me anymore. She could still leak everything, but the consortium would never let something alike get to the tabloids. The new ruler’s image is the most important to keep intact.
A humble worker for the nobility for her whole life, not knowing the huge secret that was her ascendency. Camilla also graduated with honours, a PhD in Biology and a Master’s in Conservation and Ecology Systematics. She is the perfect example to bring credibility back to the royal family. Someone from the people who had the fortune of finding her place on this broken ladder that is the noble society.
“Well…” Edgar breaks me out of my reverie. “Maybe there is a way you could get in there?”
“What are you on about?”
“This…” Edgar stands up and fishes a pastel-blue envelope from the back of his pants.
He hands it to me to, the back facing up. The first thing I notice is the wax sealing it. It’s bright golden, shaped with the royal insignia and her monogram. My finger grazes it for a long second before turning it around. On the front, there’s the Hawthorne’s coat-of-arms, thin gilded lines pressed into the thin paper. I used to be proud of my family, my name...But now? I despise it.
The lord chamberlain is commanded by the queen to invite, His Grace, the Duke of Hawthorne, his brother, and mother to the Coronation ceremony of Her Majesty, in Livian’s Palace, on the Lord’s Day, Sunday, the First of May, 2022 at 12 am.
A void and impersonal piece of paper, after everything we’ve—
“Brother,” Edgar cuts off my spiralling thoughts. “This is your way in. Your one shot to make things right. Don’t waste it.”
His words echo inside me, convincing me to go for it. I fucked up once too many, and now I need to make things right. She may not want to see me ever again, but I can’t let her go this easily.
Whether I win my girl back or shit hits the fan…I’ll risk it.