44
Camilla of Severna
“ I solemnly pledge my complete and unwavering loyalty to Her Majesty, Queen Camilla and her heirs and successors. I will support the Monerian constitution, by her defended as is according to law and swear to perform my duties, whatever they require, to the best of my abilities. So help me god.”
His voice tears through me, rotting me from the inside-out as I manage to keep my stone-faced stance on the outside. Watching Vincent on one knee, completely bent on it with his eyes glued to the floor, pledging his loyalty to me through a shaky voice and trembling body is not as satisfying as I thought it would be.
And even though I am now queen, it’s not like I can say fuck it and leave all the ceremonies behind. Those who thought that occupying this place would be easy, just to boss everyone else around, were wrong. I am the one being bossed around like a ragdoll.
As soon as his head rises, my eyes change direction, landing directly on Edgar in the background. I can recognise the pity from here, swirling in his eyes, and while I hate it, it’s my only refuge for now and the only way of avoiding Vincent’s gaze.
I can see his face, unfocused from the bottom of my eyes, and I can feel the heat of his gaze on me. He might be pondering what to do next, and it doesn’t seem to be standing up and letting the ceremony continue—as everyone else did.
No, the highest-ranking nobleman was left for last, making this event more agonising. I had to go through all the faces, from lords to viscounts to counts and dukes, all the while dreading this moment.
It ended up being very anti-climax.
Vincent’s mother is around somewhere, keeping her distance— thankfully —and he has been nothing but a prime example of what a duke should be. Yet, I can see from a distance how robotic his movements were. How he was programmed into what was expected from him , as usual.
“Thank you.” My voice comes out strained, on the edge of shaky.
And it’s only when I finally look down at him that I notice Vincent’s body flinching. His once-golden-tanned skin is paler, making him look ill. The deep, dark bags underneath his eyes add at least ten years to his young frame. And the frown that seems to have been sewn onto the area between his eyebrows makes him look like a man who is constantly worry or concerned.
This man looks miserable.
And instead of being glad, of feeling triumphant, it only pains me more.
In his weak attempt at doing whatever it is that he was meant to do, he lost everything.
Vincent lost me—even if I doubt he ever wanted me in the first place. But he lost his treasured Crown, and he lost it to me .
“Can we—” I cut him off abruptly by standing up from the chair—or throne—as everyone else says. I hate calling it that. It makes me feel like I’ve travelled back to the Middle Ages.
Finally, I look forward, not giving him one second more of my attention. He doesn’t deserve it. Understanding my unwillingness to talk to him more than necessary, he rises to his feet and joins the crowd.
“My dear guests, thank you for your presence and support. We can officially start the best part of the night—the Ball. The buffet will open in a few minutes, and the orchestra will start its performance. Please enjoy.”
Everyone bows in unison and gradually starts to scatter. A few start dancing, and others head for drinks. Not having all the attention on me allows my shoulders to slump in relief and my lungs to exhale.
“Damn,” Edgar’s taunting voice sounds right beside me.
Throughout the last couple of weeks, the Guard has gotten used to him. It was hard at first, especially with his sassy antics and stupid jokes. Now and then, he still gets his arms twisted behind his back and is often retrieved from many places for unfitting behaviour. But mostly, they let him roam freely, especially when I am present to “put” him in place.
“That was the highlight of the night,” he mutters so no one else listens to our talk. “You could hear the flies buzzing around with how quiet this event was.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I brush his words off.
“Are you joking? The previous heir, the one the entire country expected to rule for quite a while, was thrown out of the race by a girl and forced to pledge his loyalty to her. It was epic!”
“He did look miserable,” I mumble. “But I am not taking any joy in this. You know this is not something I aimed for, but it’s not like I am trying to rub it in his face.”
“Oh, really?”
Edgar side glances at me, smirking, and I give in, admitting, “Only your mother.”
He chuckles for a moment before his expression goes back to serious when his eyes land on his brother. “He is miserable,” he says. “But not for the reasons you may be thinking.”
The silence stretches between us as I take him in from afar. His back is turned to us as he stands in front of one of the many French doors that open to an outside balcony, overlooking the immense gardens. He is tense, probably looking outside, lost inside his head, even though he still looks stunning in his formal attire.
The white button-up is barely visible with all the layers and decorations on his attire. The black silky tie over it is tucked into the dark red vest, and the black dress pants match the tailcoat suit. It has the Order of the Garter’s broach on its lapel. To finalise the outfit, there’s a chain attached to one of his buttons, sliding down and slipping into one of the coat’s pockets, probably a pocket watch.
“Well, you reap what you sow,” I finally answer.
“Your Majesty,” Edgar calls me. “Will you save your last valse for me?”
I roll my eyes. “Who else would I save it for?”
“Well.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Please sign my card, just in case you change your mind.”
He hands me his tiny dance card and a pen. Another obsolete tradition that the court seems to be fond of, even if most of these so-called blue bloods are not as blue as they claim. But some habits are hard to get rid of, I guess…
The card is small and simple, with his surname at the top. With a snicker, I write Queen Camilla on the last line of his card and give it back to him, earning another chuckle from him. He leans in as if to kiss me on the cheek, but then thinks better of it and winks at me before bowing and disappearing through the crowd.
With Edgar’s absence, the two royal guards, who oversee my safety, tighten their proximity and protection as three different couples approach me at the same time for small talk. Joshua had warned me about it, how everyone would be seeking the smallest opportunity to greet me and try to get to know me the best they can.
According to him, everyone either wants to be in their ruler’s good graces or to try to find their weaknesses.
I entertain most of them. They don’t even try to hide how thirsty they all are to get a piece of information that isn’t yet public knowledge.
Hours pass before Joshua comes to my rescue. My legs feel like jelly from walking around in these awful heels for the entire day, and my stomach grumbles for the thousandth time today. He carefully takes me away from the ball, down the long corridor to a small room where a small banquet of food was set just for me.
My mouth waters, and I help myself after sitting down at the small round table.
“I reckoned Your Majesty would need a break and some food to endure the rest of the night,” Joshua comments.
“Thank you so much,” I answer. “How are you doing?”
“Huh?” he asks.
“How are you doing?” I repeat. “You may not tell me, but I noticed. This must be hard for you after serving him for so many years. How are you doing?”
“We...grew up together.” He swallows, glancing away. “I can’t deny it’s been hard.”
“It gets easier.” I smile sadly at him, trying to keep the memories of my mother and Mrs Hawthorne at bay. “Let me know if you need a few days off.”
He nods, acknowledging but denies my offer. “Working helps me keep my mind off of it.”
“And how is his wife?” I ask once my mouth is no longer full of food.
“The happiest she’s ever been,” he grumbles. “No kid to raise, free to do what she wants, settled for life back in her family home.”
“Look at the bright side,” I start, knowing by now she wasn’t liked at any of the staff members—not even by the king, it seems. “You don’t have to see her ever again.”
“True,” he agrees quickly.
“How’s Primrose?” I ask. I feel like a neglectful mother.
My baby girl has been spending more time with strangers than with myself, but with how crazy things have been, there’s no other solution. I can’t wait until the chaos slows down, and I can have her with me in my bedroom again, and go on daily walks in the palace’s gardens.
“Amazing,” he answers. “The staff loves her. There’s even fights over who is walking her outside next.” I nod but don’t answer, missing her too much. “Just a couple more days, and you’ll have her back, Your Majesty.”
“Yes,” I answer meekly. Then, Joshua looks at his watch and focuses back on me before adding, “Time’s up, Your Majesty. Ready to go back?”
“Will it matter if I say no?” He cracks a small smile.
Gulping down the last of the water, I nod, following him back to the torture waiting for me. It’s already late, close to one in the morning, but the ballroom is still overflowing with people reluctant to leave the premises.
And even though I don’t have to be the last one leaving, being the first one always looks terrible. Also, I still owe Edgar one dance. My feet reluctantly take me to the dancefloor, where many other couples dance to the current music.
No one dares ask me to dance, thankfully, as I search for my dance partner. He is nowhere to be seen and hope lights up in my chest as I think maybe he forgot, and I won’t have to dance anymore. But that crumbles to the ground the moment a soft voice calls for me.
I freeze, knowing right away who it is. And it’s not who I was looking for.
Turning around, I come face to face with a sheepish Vincent. My heart races in contrast to the fading music surrounding us. Everyone else stops dancing, and he bows in front of me, extending his hand. No.
“Will you allow me this last dance?”
“That was promised to your brother,” I answer in a clipped tone.
“Uhm...” he stammers. “That is not what my card says.”
What?
Sure enough, as he shows me his card, or what I thought to be Edgar’s card, my name is written on it in my calligraphy. Shady bastard. I will get him hanged for treason someday .
“It’s alright,” he sighs, resigned. “I just hoped you–” He cuts himself off for a second. “You look stunning.”
His lips stretch in a tight, sad smile, twisting the knife deeper into my broken heart. Then he bows again quickly and turns around. My skin crawls while my heart yells for him not to go. My brain is the only one fighting against it, wanting to avoid hurt again, but it is futile against my yearning body.
“Wait,” I call, and Vincent freezes. “ One dance.”
His eyes are wide in shock, and his body is still as if he can’t even believe the words that just escaped my mouth. Not even I believe myself. All it took was a look at him to give in.
What a weak, needy girl you are, Camilla.
But it would look bad in front of the entire court, showing that there is indeed bad blood between the previous heir and the current queen. Dancing with him is mandatory to show peace, even if it’s an imaginary one. At least, that is what I tell myself to try and justify my feeble decision.
“That’s all I ask for.”