48
Vincent Hawthorne
B y now, hell surely has a spot reserved for me because there is no way I can take my brother for a second longer.
“How are you feeling?”
My only answer is a nod and a grunt. Never mind his voice being annoying, he’s irking me just for breathing in the same room I am.
“Have you seen her today?”
He knows damn well l fucking haven’t. She avoids me like the plague.
“She’s gorgeous, as usual.” He smirks. Wanker.
“Fuck off!”
It’s been two weeks since I got shot. For one week and a half, I was wasting away in that damned hospital. Now, I am wasting away in this stupid palace.
At least in the hospital, some people would talk to me without fear or disdain. Here—besides my annoying brother—I always find one or the other.
My mother was allowed to visit once a week, always with the supervision of the royal guard and Joshua. It was funny to see the show. She created a scene in the hospital until she got threatened to either behave and visit me or not see me again while I was in treatment.
It may seem cruel, but I felt relieved. It meant the choice of telling her to leave was being made for me.
There’s a voice inside that keeps telling me she is behind this. I just don’t know how to prove it. And while I know I wasn’t the target, knowing she’d be willing to kill Camilla just to see me take that Crown makes it even worse.
It’s probably too late for this, but I want to cut ties with her. She may be my mother, but that’s it. Even Edgar is living here now, hopping in on the manor now and then just to make sure everything is alright. Which it is. Mariah has been doing an exceptional job as the new housekeeper. So, he says…
“Did you know our clever queen has found a way to extract obsidian from one of our deserted islands without affecting a lot of the wildlife there?”
“I am not surprised,” I answer. “She majored with Honours in Conservation and Ecology Systematics.”
“I am so proud of her,” he gushes like a little kid. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
I am proud of her, too. She’s been amazing at this ruling thing, and I honestly think she’s the best ruler our country has had in a while.
But talking about her hurts…a lot.
“It’s almost time for your daily walk,” Edgar informs me, thankfully changing the subject.
As if I don’t know.
There has been this strict schedule of meals—and meal plans—physiotherapy and walks around the palace’s private gardens. Daily, I see from ten to fifteen different people, and none of them is her.
Just as expected, a knock sounds, and one of the maids peeks inside.
“Your Grace–”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, cutting her off. “I’m going.”
Edgar helps me stand, and when we both turn to her, she stammers a little bit, “Her Majesty requested both of you at the audience hall.”
What?
“Come on, brother. I think our queen has found the perpetrator.”
My stomach sinks. This dread slithers underneath my skin, and my brain anticipates what’s about to happen. I think I know what is about to go down, and as much as I think it’s necessary, I am not prepared for it.
My brother walks by my side, looking now and then just to make sure I don’t need help. I am still fully immobilised on my left side. Up until the stitches come out, that area must be very well tucked in. But it seems as if everyone thinks it has affected the rest of my body. When it surely hasn’t.
“Stop worrying about me,” I grit out in a low tone so the maid ahead of us can’t hear.
He scoffs, “You may be an arsehole, but I still love you.”
“I’m fine,” I half-lie.
Physically, I truly am. The recovery is going as well as expected, despite the pain, which is slowly wearing off. But the rest? I am mentally destroyed. My soul is shattered.
“You can lie to yourself and everyone else nut not to me,” he tuts.
My mouth opens to fight him on it, but the maid stops abruptly before turning and announcing, “Here.”
Then she knocks, and a strong “Come in” is heard.
When the double doors open and the hall comes into view, my step falters upon the sight. The silence is deafening as the only heard sound is the creaking of the doors. My mother is sitting in a single chair with three guards surrounding her. One on each side and one behind. In the far back, on her right-hand side, is a hand-cuffed man with two other guards on his flanks.
“Vincent!” my mother calls, a tinge of panic present in it. “What is this? What is happening?”
My body deflates, as I already know this can only mean one thing.
Not letting myself dwell on it, I focus on Camilla. I can finally watch her properly for the first time since she left my hospital room. The first thing I notice is the breach in protocol clothing. She is wearing a black suit, no crown, honour staches, or medals, which is unheard of, but then again, besides a handful of guards, there aren’t media or outsiders here.
My mind goes back to my mother’s presence in this room. Camilla had vowed to find the one to blame, and watching her here. confirms my suspicions.
“Duke of Hawthorne,” Camilla’s cold and detached voice reverberates throughout the room. “Please, enter.”
I obey with Edgar on my tail. The walk is quick and awfully silent, and we both bow as soon as we reach the allowed distance to greet her.
“As promised.” She ignores all formalities. “Inside this room, you’ll be face to face with the man who fired the gun and almost killed you. But also…the woman who ordered the coup.”
“Nonsense,” my mother shrieks, outraged.
“He admitted to everything. How he used to work here in the palace and how she bribed him for information ever since the previous king was still alive. Also how she hired him to fake the security breach and kill me .”
Edgar gasps out loud, and while I don’t, my heart still skips a beat. Throughout our lives, my brother was more in touch with our mother’s cruelty, but I think he had hoped it wasn’t her...
Hell, even I did .
“Fucking hell,” I breathe out, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“He lies!”
“Does he?” Camilla prompts, motioning her hand.
Joshua, King Charles’ main counsellor and closest confident—and now, Camilla’s, too—shows up with a few papers in his hand.
“Here.” He hands them to me.
In my good hand, I make sense of the papers. The payments are the one on top, and when Edgar takes that one from my hands, I see the proof that my mother has been in contact with him on multiple occasions. When my brother takes those, too, I see the official report on how the gun that was fired is... Fucking hell!
“There you can see all bank transfers, pictures of the public places they met, even the gun has the same serial number registered in your late father’s name.”
“And,” the queen chimes in, “Unless he left the grave on his own, I doubt he was the one to hand that man the gun.”
“How sensitive of you to mention my dead father,” I can’t help but snark.
“Sir,” Joshua warns. “Please address Her Majesty with full formality.”
“It’s alright,” she cuts him off. “I was out of line.”
Ignoring this shit show, I turn to my mother.
“Mother?”
“Oh, Vince,” she cries. “I didn’t do it. I swear. I am being framed!”
“Proof is here,” I counter. “Just admit it. There’s no point. You’re going down either way.”
“I…” Her face morphs, a wide range of different emotions fleetingly travelling over it. “I was trying to get back what’s ours!”
The admission hits me like a wall of bricks.
“Ours?” I question, appalled.
“I–I mean yours!”
“There is nothing inside this fucking building that is mine,” my voice booms. “Not that place!” I point at where Camilla is still seated. “Nor any kind of royal chair. Not the Crown. Nothing! Do you understand me? My claim to the throne ended the moment she was proved to be Joseph’s daughter.”
“You were–”
“You are right,” I cut her off. “I was! Not anymore. I am the duke, and that is fucking it. You orchestrated a plan to get me something I never fucking wanted in the first place.”
“Brother–”
“No,” I shout, stunning everyone into silence. “She knew it! I told her I was going to give it all away. Make you duke instead just so I could stay with Camilla, and what did she do? Blackmailed me into keeping an engagement I never asked for. Forced me to run for a position I never wanted!”
“I did it all for you,” she wails, trying to stand, only to be pushed back down by the guard.
“You did it for yourself,” I snap. “And honestly? I hope you get what you deserve because someone who can hurt their children just to reach their ambitions deserves no mercy.”
I throw the papers onto the hall’s ground, at the queen’s feet, with a gaping Edgar looking at me.
“Hang them both for all I care,” I growl.
It’s not a thing. I know it isn’t. She’ll just be arrested, go through trial, and be in prison for a very long time, but if it were, I don’t think I’d care anymore.
Losing a mother I never really had. Losing Camilla. Being shot. Having to stay here and not even be able to see her, talk to her...I’ve been bent and broken enough. It’s enough.
“Bro–” My sombre expression is enough to cut him off.
I am angry. Enraged. To the point I feel like biting someone’s head off and not fucking caring about the consequences.
“I am going back to my house today,” I cut him off, looking straight into Camilla’s eyes. “Thank you for all the hospitality, but that ends today...I am no charity case.”
“As you wish,” Camilla’s monotone voice sounds slicing through me.
With an annoyed huff, I walk back to my bedroom through the endless corridors.
Fucking huge-ass palace.
I reckon they are keeping my mother detained while waiting for court. There is no hope for her. And that means I can go back home without any danger–if I ever was in any.
But I can’t shake this weight off of me, this revolt. It’s all-consuming and exhausting. Such a den of vipers in this motherfucking place.
A maid startles when I storm inside the bedroom, her eyes widening upon seeing me.
“Please take all my belongings out and stuff them inside my bag,” I order her, not bothering about formalities.
“Y-your Grace, I–”
“Did I stutter? Get all of my stuff packed in ten minutes, please.” I will not stay in this place a second longer than what is fucking necessary.
“Vincent.” All the hairs on my body raise to attention, in a chill.
The only person, besides Edgar, who will call me by my name. When she is not trying to avoid me...
“Now you want to talk?”
“This can’t be easy. She is still your–”
“It isn’t, but I’ll manage,” I snap, turning my back to her.
“I just want you to know that if you need–”
“No, thank you.” My voice comes out harsh and final. “Not seeing each other again would be ideal. All that I need really, but I know that’s unlikely. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your way as much as I can.”
Her mouth closes tightly, looking away. Still, her posture doesn’t change. Squared shoulders and poker face. The Camilla I fell in love with is long gone, but I can’t blame her for it. It’s my own doing.
It doesn’t mean it doesn’t destroy me all the same.
“Brother,” Edgar calls from the door, a confused look jumping between Camilla and me. “You alright?”
“Perfect,” I snark.
“Sir,” the girl calls sheepishly. “Your bag is ready.”
“Great,” I answer, walking up to her. “I’ll take it from here.”
“What–” Edgar is cut off by my hand, pulling harshly at his arm when I reach him.
“Let’s go, brother,” I mutter. “I need to go back home . I’m done living in hell.”