47
Camilla of Severna
V incent is alive. He woke up.
The walk to his bedroom is technically short, but inside my brain, it feels like a thousand miles away. I have to stop nearly every second to wait for the nurse, who is supposed to show me the way.
She walks so bloody slow.
Maybe it’s because all these hours have been agonising. Imagine all of the worst scenarios, where he dies, and I am left in this world with nothing but a stupid Crown.
The notion of having all of this. Having all of it but not having him in this world sounds ridiculous. One thing was having him alive and safe, even if we no longer meant anything to each other, but ruling a country at the expense of his blood.
Just... no .
“Here.” The nurse stops in front of a white door. “He’s still slightly out of it. It’s barely been twenty-four hours since the surgery.”
That long?
“He is not supposed to have visitors yet, but this a…special occasion.”
I nod, knowing what she means.
My right hand holds the door handle, trembling as it twists. The soft click of the lock sounds, and the inside comes into view. The white room is bare and cold, stripped down from any and every kind of personality. The only things adorning it are a bed, a big chair, and the machines attached to him .
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It reverberates around the four walls surrounding us. It’s loud but rhythmical and stable. I have never enjoyed listening to this kind of annoying sound so much before. It indicates life —his life.
Everything else feels so insignificant right now.
The sounds, the sight. It feels like a punch to the throat as a sob clogs it up. My eyes feel like they’re on fire with the tears that blur my sight. My feet take me to him, and from up close, it takes everything in me not to break down.
His skin is pale, contrasting with the dark brown hues of his hair and the light stubble appearing on his face. It only makes the gaping hole in my chest grow.
“ Love. ” A struggling and raspy whisper catches my attention, making my head snap up.
More tears flow down my cheeks when my eyes lock with his. Even with all the pain he is struggling with, he is forcing himself awake.
“Don’t tire yourself out,” I plead. “Rest.”
“You’re here.”
Not a question, but I answer it nonetheless, “I am.”
He hums when his eyes roll back. It’s only for a moment until he opens them again, looking at me. So stubborn .
“Get some sleep,” I order.
Instead of obeying, he keeps watching me intently. I notice a slight move from underneath and see movement from under the covers.
It stops when he grunts in pain, and I can’t help but grab his hand, keeping it locked in place.
“Stop moving,” I hiss.
“Am I dreaming?” His eyes roll back once again. This time, they stay shut as he mutters, “Tell me it’s true.”
“I am here, Vincent. I am here,” I assure him. “Get some sleep, please. You’ve been through a lot.”
“We need to talk.”
We do.
“Later,” I counter.
“Stay,” he begs, squeezing my hand. “Don’t leave, please.”
“I am not going anywhere.”
Even if I wanted to, I can’t leave this place until I know he’ll recover fully.
When he finally gives in, losing the battle against sleep, I relax a little.
He’s going to be fine.
Pulling the big chair closer to his side, I make myself comfortable—as much as one can be in it—watching the rhythmic movements of his chest, listening to his soft snoring sounds. The little details of his sleep movements, like the flare of the nostrils or the slight hanging of his open mouth and the moving of his eyes underneath the lids, are comforting because they all indicate he’s alive and it all settles my worried heart.
Supporting both my arms on the edge of his bed, I support my head in them, surveilling a sleeping Vincent.
The weight that comes off my shoulders is enough for exhaustion to settle in instead, forcing me to lose the battle against sleep.
“You...rest...weeks.”
“Don’t wake…”
Whispers.
They sound faint at first, but with every new word, I get closer to consciousness, quickly making sense of the conversation around me.
Peeking one eye open, I see a doctor talking to Vincent.
“Your Grace will need to follow the directions strictly, down to the commas,” he warns.
“Yeah, yeah.” Vincent dismissively rolls his eyes, a contrast to his agreeing words.
“He will most definitely follow them,” I chime in, my voice still hoarse from sleep. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“I told you not to wake her up,” Vincent growls.
“Shut up,” I snap, straightening. “Could you get me everything in writing, Doctor…” I tilt my head, trying to read his name, “Lloyd?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll...uhm...be back with it…uhm, later.”
He swiftly turns around and heads for the door, leaving the both of us alone. Neither of us speaks, and I look around, eager to find a clock that will tell me what time it is. Who knows for how long I have been asleep?
“Over twelve hours,” he answers my internal question.
“What?” I swivel my head in his direction, finally getting a good look at him.
He is no longer the groggy version he was before, and he seems very much aware of his surroundings. And the way his body looks stiff, alongside the constant frown on his forehead, tells me the pain must have already stricken.
He doesn’t answer right away, staring intensely at me. Consequentially, blood rushes to my cheeks. When his eyes move up, lingering, on the top of my head, I realise that I’ve just spent hours sleeping and haven't even looked in the mirror.
Hastily, I start to pat down my hair, and that’s enough to interrupt the awkward silence that has settled. The comment rolls off his tongue easily, ignoring my embarrassment. “According to the doctor, you’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours. And it’s currently eight in the morning.”
Wow. “Jesus. I must have crashed hard.”
He hums for a moment, then comments, “I thought I was hallucinating, you know.”
“I–”
“Thank you for staying.” He smiles.
I stay quiet for a little bit, not knowing what to say. When I first entered this room, I was ready to confess my undying love for him if it helped him get better, but now, it seems as if everything that was meant to be said is locked inside a nailed-shut coffin, unable to get out.
After a good night of sleep and watching him better has grounded me. Has reminded me of how broken things are.
“How are you feeling?” I ask instead.
“Like I got shot,” he grumbles.
“Is that something you can joke about?” I hiss, baffled at his ability to joke in such a serious situation. “You could have died!”
He looks at me, amusement swirling in his eyes, and I bite my tongue to avoid saying something I shouldn’t, “I’m alive.”
“I can see that. And well enough to throw stupid jokes around, too,” I snap.
Vincent moves, and the sheets drop, showing the left half of his chest fully bandaged and his left arm tightly clutched to his chest with an immobiliser.
Watching him struggle to sit upright with just one arm wakes me to action. I lean forward and reach out to him to help him get comfortable. He doesn’t complain as I help him but cracks a small smile when he finally looks somewhat comfortable.
“Was it too soon?”
“What?” I ask absentmindedly as I rearrange the sheets, covering his lap.
“The joke,” he answers, still smiling. “I’m fine, you know.”
It only irks my anger. The anger created by the fear of losing him, for good.
“You idiot,” I scold. “You could have died! What were you even thinking?”
His face twists like I just asked a ridiculous question. “Isn’t it obvious?” he snarks back. “I was thinking you could die!”
“So what?” I say with a high pitch coming out at the end.
Standing up, I stalk closer to him and lean down, bringing our faces closer. “It wasn’t your place!”
“That’s rich.” He chuckles darkly. “You think I was just going to stand by and watch you die? What for? For a Crown that, by the way, I don’t fucking want?”
“Does it make your skin crawl so much you’d be willing to die just to avoid it? Are you what, stupid?”
His face reddens while his jaw ticks and his frown deepens. For a moment, his narrowed eyes study me intently before he thickly enunciates every word, his outrage dripping from every syllable.
“Yes, I am fucking stupid!”
My mouth opens to speak, but he beats me to it.
“I am stupidly in love with you,” his tone keeps rising, “madly and irrevocably in love with you. And even if I fucked things up so bad I can’t fix it, at least I’d rather not live than live in a world without you.”
My mouth clamps shut, every possible answer failing me. Warmth spreads through my body as my heart wildly pumps the blood away.
I love you, too.
Instead, the words don’t leave the cage I created inside me. They’re so stuck inside that I choke on the pain he left behind during that engagement party.
It still feels like it was today, even though a month and a half have gone by…The way he stoically held my gaze while my world fell apart. It would have hurt less to have him rip my heart out with his own hands.
Growing up, this rose-tinted view of the world had me believe that while unfortunate events can happen in life, love is always warm and fulfilling. Except, it isn’t.Vincent has taught me that love hurts. It will bend you until you finally break, changing every atom in one’s being. Leaving behind nothing but the ashes of everything you used to be before.
The worst is that it took him doing it for me to realise that everyone has done the same to me…
My parents. Even Aunt Lizzie.
My life— my family —was a complete lie, and I am still trying to come to terms with this new...identity.
“I know,” he whispers, leaning forward. His right hand moves towards my face, quickly caressing my cheek. “I can see in your eyes how much you are hurting. I am the one to blame, and I am so fucking sorry.”
At first, I freeze, tensing upon his touch. It’s so gentle and slow, covering my whole cheek. For a second, my eyes close, basking in the comfort of his caress, momentarily forgetting all of the pain.
But images of Eleanor perched on his arm flash behind my eyelids, and I can’t help but move away from his touch. As my lips tremble, I fiercely try to keep the tears at bay.
“Don’t cry, love. No one deserves your tears.”
“Why–” I sob. “Why do you all hurt me? Am I that worthless?”
“Worthless?” He tilts my chin up. “You’re the fucking queen. ”
“Like it fucking matters.” I laugh sarcastically through the tears. “I wasn’t enough when it mattered the most. You think it matters now ?”
“It was not because you weren’t enough for me,” he admits. “It was the only way to protect you. Let me make things right...Let me show you I can make right by you.”
I want that, too. To believe that those aren’t just desperate, empty words, that he can magically prove he will never hurt me again. But I can’t trust that it won’t happen again.
Deep down, I still want to believe that loving someone is enough. But it isn’t.
I love you, I want to say.
But no words leave my mouth. It’s as if my heart has thrown away the key. Because it knows I won’t bear the pain of a second heartbreak.
With that resolve, I shake my head before leaning back in my chair, bringing some needed distance between us.
“I can’t,” I answer, determined.
“Love,” he pleads.
“When they discharge you, you are to stay in the palace and receive the best care until you have fully recovered.” I ignore him. “I also promise to quickly find who is responsible for this and punish them accordingly. Your sacrifice won’t be in vain.”
I stand and slowly get closer to the door when he calls me, “Camilla!”
His eyes beg me to go back, to get closer again, but I can’t. If I do, I will give in.
My voice is as shaky as my legs. “Your family must be waiting to see you. I’ll get out of your way.”
“Camilla, look at me.”
“I will forever be grateful that you saved my life,” I admit. “I can work on some kind of compensation as an official thank you. All you need to do is tell me what it is.”
“I want you,” he begs. “I want a second chance.”
The pain in his voice matches the gaping hole in my chest, and my vision blurs as waves of tears fill my eyes. I can’t.
With a shake of my head, I answer with finality, “Anything but that.”