Hawthorne

44 - Loyalty

Camilla of Wales

“I solemnly pledge my complete and unwavering loyalty to Her Majesty, Queen Camilla and her heirs and successors. I will support the British 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, pleading 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 and just to boss everyone else around were wrong. I am the one being bossed around like a ragdoll.

As soon as his head raises, my eyes change direction, landing directly on Edgar, in the background. I can recognize the pity from here, swirling in his eyes and while I hate it, I focus on it, avoiding Vincent’s gaze.

I can see his face, unfocused from the bottom of my eyes, and I can feel the heat of his eyes on me. He might be pondering what to do next and it doesn’t seem to be standing up and letting the ball continue--as everyone else did.

No, the highest-ranking nobleman was left for last, making this party all the more agonizing. I had to go through all of 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 could 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 sick. The deep and 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 in constant worry or concern. This man looks miserable.

And instead of being glad. Of feeling triumphant, I pity him.

In his weak attempt at doing...Whatever it is that he 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, even though it feels like I’m in the middle ages when I call it that--and look forward, to all the other guests.

He understands the interruption as my unwillingness to talk to him, rises to his feet and walks backwards, joining everyone else.

“My dear guests, I want to thank everyone for your presence and support. We can officially start the Ball. The buffet is open and the orchestra will start its performance. Please enjoy.”

Everyone bows in unison and gradually start to scatter, a few start dancing and others head for drinks and food. Not having all the attention on me allows my shoulders to slump in relief and for my lungs to exhale.

“Damn,” Edgar’s taunting voice sounds right beside me.

Throughout the last month, 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.