46
Camilla of Severna
I t’s true when people say that one second can be enough to change one’s life.
One second was all it took to be told my mother had passed away. I was an orphan from then on.
The moment Vincent and I locked eyes in the manor during his aunt’s memorial was another moment.
Or even the one when I read Aunt Lizzie’s letter telling me about my biological father.
All those different moments were life-changing. But none of those were as impactful as this one. Right now. Right here.
A strong male roar echoes in my brain as everything turns into a daze, “ Death to the fake queen!”
Vincent turns to look at me, eyes widened with horror, stunning me in place.
Confusion is my first reaction as he runs to me while calling my name, “ Camilla! ”
The shouting is immediately followed by a loud bang. A sweeping force takes me out, and gravity works against me as my back and head hit the floor. Suddenly, the pressure on my chest is stifling. My ears ring as a searing pain shoots through my skull, forcing blotches of black to blur my vision.
My head is strained with the weight, keeping me in place, stuck to the floor. Everything happens too fast, and yet, it feels like I’m experiencing it in slow motion.
As my vision slowly returns to me, I can only watch the top part of the floor-to-ceiling shelves of this room.
My ears perk up at the commotion. Heavy and rushed footsteps—several of them—mix with the incomprehensible yelling of male voices. It creeps in, getting closer and closer.
Bang.
It sounds like a shot. No.
It sounds like–
“It’s him! Catch him!” someone yells. Joshua.
“What–” My mouth is covered by a big hand, and I finally realise who it is keeping me down.
“Don’t move,” Vincent hisses.
“ Death to–ahhh !” The words are cut off abruptly as the person seems to cry out in pain.
That’s when the fires of hell seem to break free.
The yelling intensifies and mixes with other sounds, some awfully similar to fighting. Or at least struggling.
This time around, I do as Vincent instructed and keep still, waiting. The dreadful voice finally disappears into nothingness as I notice, from the corner of my eye, the guard who had just brought us here, being carried away.
Joshua is red like a tomato, yelling and shouting orders left and right. I can hear everything but can’t retain one single word.
Did that man…
Vincent’s body sags deeper on top of mine, barely moving, and that’s when I start to struggle with my breathing.
“There’s blood! ”
I try with all my strength to move Vincent off me, but my limbs seem to fail me, their regular strength evading me completely. Panicking doesn’t help either, not knowing which one of us is hurt.
I hope it’s me.
With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I know I won’t be able to feel the pain just yet. It all comes afterwards, when the brain finally exits survival mode.
“Vincent…” I whisper, hoping to gain his attention once again.
“You’re alright,” he whispers back, not yet moving. “You’re alright.”
Just then, his body is taken off of me, my chest finally taking a deep breath. A pained groan escapes my lips as I try to sit up, my head pounding from the hit. My eyes scour my body as my hands touch my abdomen, chest, and arms, looking for a wound. Besides the vivid reddened stains, nothing.
No.
“Vincent,” I gasp in realisation, hastily turning towards the direction he was taken to. “Vincent!”
A hand grabs my arm, pushing me back. “Your Highness, we need to check your–”
“I’m fine,” I answer harshly, freeing myself from one of the guard’s hold.
He is already being placed on a stretcher, the emergency team from the palace having arrived quickly. Someone is bent over him, at the level of his chest, and my heart squeezes in panic at the sight.
No. No.
“Was he hit?” I ask the man who keeps both hands pressuring a piece of cloth against the left side of his upper chest.
“Your Majesty, the duke will be–”
“Cut it with the pleasantries,” I cut him off. "How bad is it?”
“Ahm, I am not sure...I can’t be sure what the bullet hit or even if it has exited or is still lodged. He has lost a lot of blood, though.”
“Take him!” I order, and the man nods, transporting him alongside two others quickly.
I follow closely, ignoring everyone’s requests to stay back.
Some want to make sure I am not hurt, to see I’m alright. They all plead and follow behind, but no one dares touch me—one of the only perks of being a royal. No one dares touch me without my permission, ever.
The cold air from outside hits my warm cheeks as soon as we reach the other side of the main double doors, leading to the garden of the palace’s main entrance. The sky is dark above us, empty of any light coming from the stars and moon. But around us, from the outside lamps and all the crazy flashes coming from the other side of the gate, it feels like we are in broad day light.
Vincent is placed into an ambulance, and I head towards it, getting ready to enter. Before I can reach it, someone finally dares to touch me gently holding my forearm.
When I look back, frantic and ready to yell at the person to let go, I stop. Joshua.
“You can’t go with him. We can’t guarantee your safety–” he is cut off by my strong pull, disentangling my arm from his hold.
“I dare you to stop me,” I growl.
For a second, he freezes, but then he sighs, resigned.
“Royalty…” he huffs. “Always making things harder for others because of love.”
Joshua nods to someone behind me, and I take that as a green light to follow, however it’ll be that will take me to where Vincent is.
“That guy, you got him?” He nods in response, and I add, “Find out why he did this. I want him brought to me as soon as I get back.” Joshua nods once again, letting me know he has it under control, and I start to step inside the back of the ambulance. Just when I am about to climb in, someone calls for me, “Here, Your Majesty, I’ll drive you.”
I hesitate for a second. What if…
“He’s safe,” Joshua speaks. “And won’t leave your side.”
Then, he closes the ambulance’s back doors and taps twice. It immediately drives off, speeding out of the garden and heading to the main gates.
“Go,” he’s the one ordering now, opening the back door of the sleek black car. I don’t think twice before I thank him and get inside.
The drive goes by quickly. I’m in too much of a daze to care about anything other than him. Anxiety eats away at me, that uneasy feeling settling in every crevice of my body.
By the time we arrive at the hospital’s back entrance, a team of security guards is already there. One entire floor has been cleared for Vincent’s treatment and my presence, where only necessary hospital professionals can freely circulate.
Joshua works quickly.
“Any news?” I ask one of the nurses coming with a big plastic box in her hands.
“He’s in surgery. No exit wound. We need to get the bullet out,” she informs me quickly. “Sorry, I need to take this inside.”
And she scurries off with a small bow.
The white walls and floor do nothing to ease my anxiety.
Breathing is a struggle as my mind races with unwanted and intrusive thoughts.
Vincent didn’t even hesitate to jump in front of me.
And that man…I can’t even remember his face, but I don’t recall seeing him before. Have I?
Was this Sarah Byron’s plan, after all? To kill me just so her son could become king?
And why the hell did he jump at the opportunity to save me? Stupid man!
What if he dies?
No. He can’t die!
What would be of Edgar if he lost his…
Edgar!
“How the hell do I call him? I don’t have my phone with me. Bloody hell,” I hiss the curse out.
“Your Majesty?” A wide-eyed guard, fully dressed in black, peeks from around the corner. “Do you need to call someone?”
“Yes, can you help me?”
He simply walks to me with his arms stretched out and a smart phone in his hand.
“Code?”
“No code. Work phone,” he responds, and I hastily open it and dial Edgar’s number.
“Camilla?” His voice sounds breathless from the other side. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I answer. “But, Edgar–”
“Have you seen my brother?” Some rustling accompanies his voice. “I haven’t seen him since your dance, and they’re not letting us go anywhere for now. I heard there was an attempt…What happened?”
A shiver runs through my spine, and something in my brain lights up, awakening me to the severity of the situation.
“Oh, Edgar,” my voice breaks as I finally break down.
The little whines quickly become full hiccups as my throat constricts and my nasal channels get obstructed. My face is burning, even through the coldness of the tears sliding down my cheeks.
“Darling, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” The silence stretches as I continue crying, unable to talk. “Let me see the queen,” he yells. Some more rustling. “Where are you? What are you doing?” Some rustling is followed by Edgar’s grunts. “Let go of me!”
“S-stop,” I cry out.
“Let go of His Grace now!” Joshua’s voice sounds from the other side of the phone. He has reached Edgar, thankfully. “On a normal occasion, I wouldn’t let you out, but the queen trusts you completely. Your brother’s been hit. She’s at the hospital. Please meet her there.”
“What?” The line dies down, making me cry even harder.
A person comes out, wearing blue scrubs and crocs, and I stand up, heading to her.
She shakes her head negatively and says, “They have located the bullet. If it had been a bit more to the left, it would have hit the artery. He was lucky but still has lost a lot of blood. As they’re getting the bullet out now, it may take a while. I’ll come back soon with more news.”
I nod, deflated, and the nurse curtsies before heading back inside.
Time passes, and seconds turn into minutes. It may not feel like it, but in these situations, it slows down. Every ticking of the clock is a trigger, for a moment more of risk. Risk of losing him.
It’s torture.
“Camilla,” Edgar’s voice booms through the waiting room at the same time the double doors bang against the walls. “How is he?” He rushes to my side.
Upon seeing his dishevelled state, the tears come back, releasing a sob with them. He can’t die. He can’t.
Edgar hugs me tight in return, not forcing me to talk when I know he is worried sick about his big brother. We stay there for a while, finding a sliver of solace in each other's arms.
“Stable so far,” I choke out through sobs. “In surgery. That’s all I–”
“ Where is he?”
A female voice shouts, and I tense.
“Fuck,” Edgar whispers.
“Where is my son?” she bellows.
One of the security guards looks at me expectantly...One order, and she can be out of here. But can I do that? It’s his mother. If it were my son, it would be an over-my-dead-body kind of situation.
I shake my head, and he stays put, letting her enter the same waiting room Edgar and I are in.
The woman has the nerve to scoff, “Of course, this had to be your bloody fault. Even after stealing everything from us, you weren’t satisfied. You had to go and get my son killed!”
“Mother,” Edgar grits. “Vincent’s alive.”
My cheeks are flaming hot now but not from crying, from rage.
“Thank god,” she exclaims, pacing around the room. “It should have been you!”
What?
“What?” Edgar’s body lets go of me and twists so fast I’m startled by the sudden move.
His mother freezes, it’s barely for a second, but I notice it quite well, and I can’t help the narrowing in my eyes at her reaction. However, she catches herself rather quickly, answering her son, “Wasn’t she the target? I saw on the news there was an attempt against her, then you called me saying he was hurt. Why did he have to save her?”
True. Why did he have to bank the hero in here?
I’d rather be dead than be the reason he dies.
“Mum,” Edgar tries, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards one of the chairs.
“You did this,” she growls as he drags her to the opposite end of the room. “You ruined us. Happy now?”
More than angering me, her words hurt me because they’re true.
I am the reason he is inside that operation room.
“I am letting you stay here because you are his mother!” my voice booms around the four walls, strong and assertive. I can’t bear to hear her anymore. “If you keep bothering me, I’ll have you removed.”
She scoffs, “As if–”
“Don’t try me,” I cut her off. “Don’t forget you’re beneath me now. I’ll have no problem getting you out of here.”
“You had all of this figured out, huh?” she taunts. “For such an obedient housekeeper, you sure filled in the shoes rather quickly!”
“Mother,” Edgar hisses, scolding her.
We’re glaring at each other, my eyes shooting the sharpest imaginary daggers my brain can muster.
The one thing that makes me look away is the sound of the double doors opening. Watching the same nurse who had been here before sends a jolt through my heart, and my body automatically rushes to her.
I feel two bodies hovering behind mine, but I ignore them as I focus on her words, “The surgery has been completed. The bullet has been taken out, and nothing critical has been affected. The Duke is stable but has lost quite a good amount of blood. He’ll be sedated for a while longer, and if all goes well for the next twenty-four hours, he’ll be able to receive visitors soon.”
“Twenty-four hours?” My voice is shaky as the adrenaline that has been keeping me up slowly starts to wear off.
“If the doctor says otherwise, maybe. If not, yes. Only after the next twenty-four hours.” The nurse smiles apologetically. “Maybe you could head home, rest and come back tomorrow?”
It’s around four in the morning by now. Not to mention, I won’t be able to sleep. No, I can’t leave.
“Maybe it’s good if we head home for a bit,” Edgar’s voice sounds. “We’re all tired, and we need the energy for when we see him.”
“No–”
“Mother, we are going!” His tone is strong and leaves no space for doubt.
Absentmindedly, I nod at him. Edgar gives me a knowing look before he starts to walk away, keeping her close to his side.
One of the security guys slowly approaches me with a bag in his hand. With a quick bow, he informs me, “Joshua sent some clothes, Your Majesty, so you can get changed.”
With a nod, I head to the bathroom and shed the layers of the gown, struggling only with the tight corset. My lungs expand in relief as soon as it loosens up, and I realise how much my body was already numb to the physical pain due to the long hours in a constricted space.
Inside the bag are a pair of black trousers and a white button-up, plain but still formal enough and most importantly…comfortable.
Once I am redressed, I head back to the waiting room. The last remnants of energy evade me with my bottom hitting one of the plastic chairs.
Limbo takes over, the state of grogginess keeping me in and out of consciousness for hours. No one else comes out, nor do the guards tell me to move or leave the hospital. We just stay, in silence, listening to the clock tick the seconds away.
It’s a long while after that a faraway voice brings me back, calling out for me.
“Your Majesty,” the soft female whisper-calls, and I open my eyes. “The Duke of Hawthorne is asking for you.”