T H E R E W A S a party of six sitting in the drawing room of Thatcher's and Dane's shared apartment. The apartment had always been shared between the two brothers, but Thatcher had it all to himself when Dane was in France for all of those years. The space was far too large for the two of them, let alone one of them.
Thatcher never understood why the two brothers would have to need such large living quarters meant to be resided in for a family of four to five. The Clemens' apartment below the brother's was even smaller, and they were a family of four. Surely, they could have used the space more. He was aware Louelle would have loved it. She would have enjoyed being farther away from her sister.
He swallowed the lump stuck in his throat at the mere thought of her. He could not even think of anything so mundane and unrelated to her, yet somehow he found a way to relate it to her.
She left.
She had actually left. It did not feel real to him. Nothing felt real to him. The pain in his knees from scraping them against the gravel; the ache in his chest; the soreness of his legs from pushing his muscles past their limit; the coldness in the room, although the hearth was well-lit. Regardless of what he sensed, he felt numb above all.
Is this what heartache truly feels like? he asked himself as he watched the flames flicker and grow in front of him. It was like he was observing his life - the one he and Louelle had thought of together - burning away.
Thatcher rubbed at his burning eyes with the heel of his hands. He no longer felt like crying. Even if he wished to, he did not think he was able to. He was in a state of complete shock. His face remained passive; emotionless. He was simply sitting - barely existing - in a chair in front of the hearth, the warmth hitting him just right but still feeling cold, while everyone else kept him company and silently panicked to themselves or amongst one another.
He was able to feel Maryann staring back at him from time to time, surely worried for his well-being. He would have been worried for himself also if he was in her shoes. In all of their days of being acquaintances, he'd always played to be a jovient man. There was never a time where he did not have a smile on his face - usually.
That was, until Louelle left him... And with so many questions left unanswered, words left unsaid.
Maryann was the one to find him still kneeling on the gravel just outside of the castle's gate. He was uncertain of how long he'd remained there before she found him, but he was positive it had to be quite a deal of time. He had watched as the carriage grew smaller and smaller as it had gotten farther and farther from the castle, until it completely disappeared from his sight. His knees were beginning to grow absent of feeling. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, leaving them scarred with tear stains.
When Maryann delicately placed her hand on his shoulder, he did not even flinch. His mind was too preoccupied to care about anything else.
"Thatcher," she whispered in a voice of disdain. Maryann was aware of the prince crumbling inside. The guards stationed on the top of the wall were half-heartedly observing it, too.
"She is gone," he replied meekly, voice cracking.
She rubbed his shoulder soothing, or so she hoped, with her thumb. "We will find her, Thatcher. Dane and I - We have formulated a plan in order to do so."
A plan, he thought as he sneered internally. A plan, or a lack of a plan thereof, was the reason he was in that position in the first place. There was a plan - one that could have and should have ended the arrangement. He should have tried harder to convince King James to end the arrangement. If he had, perhaps he would not have fallen into his current predicament.
"Dane is going to fetch Mister Albernathy and Queen Dione - your mother. He will convince Mister Albernathy to assist in enlisting other guards to search for her..."
The rest of what Maryann had told him went through one ear and out the other. There was no purpose to listening. Even if the plan she and Dane had conspired worked, it would have been pointless. By the time Louelle was found, it would have been too late, just as he was to reach her before she officially fled.
If it were any other situation, he would have been surprised and found it funny that Dane and Maryann had worked with one another. He would have been bewildered with Maryann's help, too - bringing him the letter informing him of Louelle's "fib" (blatant lie) and departure, let alone her speaking to his brother to conjure plans to find her sister.
But it was not any other situation.
His Louelle, the lady whom he thought was to be his future wife and queen, was gone. Perhaps for good.
She was his future, and she ripped it all away from him all without consulting him on her decision first.
Ruby Belford stepped in front of Thatcher's line of vision to the lit hearth, standing before him with a tray with a lone cup of tea sat in the middle of it. It was how he was feeling in that moment - alone, stranded. Even with five other people in his company.
"Prince Thatcher," Ruby spoke in a soothing voice. He met her eye and noticed how she immediately straightened her spine. "Please drink this. It will help you feel better."
His gaze flickered to the cup. He scoffed. "I do not feel anything," he said to her in monotone.
Ruby narrowed her eyes at him. The stern look she gave caused him to squirm in his seat. "Then drink it."
"Are you demanding me, your prince, to do something, Ruby?" he inquired in a dark tone of voice. The strict look she was giving him was quickly replaced by one of panic. "I highly advise you to remember your place."
A shocked gasp sounded from the opposite side of the room. "Thatcher Cornelius Darling!" Queen Dione scolded her eldest son, as she greatly disapproved of the way her son spoke to Miss Belford. "You will take that tea the lovely Miss Belford is offering you. You will drink that tea. You will thank Miss Belford. And then, you will apologize to her!"
The scolding the queen issued to him appeared to snap him out of his poor behavior. He felt embarrassed. It was unlike him to treat others terribly. There were a lot of things that occurred that night he could have used as an excuse, but there was not one. He was raised better by his mother, and he knew it.
So, he did as she instructed him - and in order - all while Ruby remained standing straight as a pin. The only indication she was not a statue was the feverish trembling of the tray gripped tightly in her hands.
"Truly, Ruby... I do apologize. I am humiliated by the way I had just treated you," he repeated his apology with more sincerity. "I am exhausted emotionally, and quite frightened, although there is not an excuse to be made for the way I behaved."
He took another sip of the tea. It warmed him some, and he didn't think anything could thaw the icy coldness rumbling through his veins.
He lifted the cup and smiled at her half-heartedly. "This tea is actually delicious."
She looked down at her feet somberly. "Louelle loves -" she choked on her words, so she took a brief moment to swallow the ball of emotions growing in her throat - "Loved... Louelle loved this specific recipe. Whenever she had a moment of sorrow, I would make it for her. It was cure for disdain, she said."
He blinked back his own tears at the mention of his Louelle, and the way Ruby's voice was full of emotion speaking of her.
Thatcher took the empty tray from her hold and placed it on the ground beside his feet. He gestured to the open chair beside him.
"Ruby, please sit. There is not a need for you to work tonight."
She hesitated, but did not have a choice when he tightly took her hand in his and gently directed her towards the chair. Once she was sitting, she appeared to be (and was) uncomfortable. It was as if a pole was strapped to her back to keep her sitting properly. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.
His fingertips drummed against the top of his knee, feeling awkward himself. Thatcher and Ruby hardly spoke, if ever at all. They were acquaintances, of course, however not well enough to hold a conversation. The only instances where words were exchanged was in passing - when she'd be finishing the last of Louelle's chores before scurrying off to leave Louelle and Thatcher to their privacy.
He was aware the mood of the night was dire and solemn; tense and suffocating. Even if he wished to (which he did not) poke fun at something of the night, he was unable. There were much more important things weighing on his shoulders. Even that, he did not feel like discussing.
Thatcher thought if he suppressed the events of the evening down far enough, they would not fall to be true when the sun rose. When he'd wake the following morning, Louelle would be safely nestled in her bedsheets, awaiting for him to join her for their morning canoodling.
He also knew if he suppressed the events of the evening down far enough, he would not properly digest it. The thing was, he did not want to digest it. He did not want to accept Louelle fleeing to rid of his unborn child - which he was only briefly made aware of several hours prior - and putting her own life at risk.
He glanced over at Ruby. Her eyes were glossing over, her lips beginning to quiver.
He allowed himself to finally scan the room to avoid watching Ruby crumble just as he and just about everyone else in the room had.
Mister Albernathy was consoling the queen, hand rubbing in soothing motions on her shoulder. In the midst of all the chaos that ensued following Louelle's departure, Thatcher learned of the close friendship Mister Albernathy and Queen Dione had. It was secret - much like Thatcher's and Louelle's relationship - not to draw suspicion to King James.
It was to Thatcher's understanding that Mister Albernathy was working alongside the queen throughout the duration of the arrangement. Since he was head guard, he had eyes and ears everywhere.
He was the one who told Queen Dione of King James threatening to remove Thatcher from next in line of the throne the day Thatcher confronted the king in his boardroom. Mister Albernathy was stationed outside. Thatcher had been so blinded with anger he didn't even notice Mister Albernathy standing there.
When Dane asked (because Thatcher was spiraling too much to form a coherent thought) why Mister Albernathy - William - would risk his position as guard in the castle to aid them in ending the arrangement, his eyes immediately glazed over with tears pooling at his waterline.
"I have been keeping a watchful eye on those two children since they were all but four years of age," he began, keeping his eyes trained on Thatcher as if he was speaking to only him. "All I can ever wish and pray for is their happiness. If my imposition was to be discovered, I would gratefully accept my fate knowing I did my absolute best to provide that happiness."
Thatcher had been made aware of Queen Dione's insider several weeks prior, but he failed to follow through with finding out who. He was preoccupied with a tight schedule between being with Louelle, then Maryann, and his duties as crowned prince. And that night of all nights, thoughts of the insider resurfaced and the mystery of the person came to fruition.
And he was happy it was William Albernathy.
Thatcher flicked his wandering gaze to his mother. She was sitting on one of the loveseats beside William. Her usually composed self was bent over with her head in her hands. It was not a surprise she was worried for Louelle. She was, afterall, like a daughter to the queen.
Feeling the heavy emotions eluding from the two, he moved to Dane and Maryann. The two were sitting on the floor in front of him, both silently watching the flames in the lit hearth.
He somewhat felt guilty for the accusations he shouted at Dane earlier that night, yet at the same time he felt at ease for getting his worries off of his chest. After discovering what Louelle said of her and Dane's friendship was a lie and reading the letter she wrote to Thatcher, the secrecy between the two did begin to make sense.
He should have known and trusted his brother and Louelle to not betray him in such ways. He allowed his insecurities to get the best of him.
Maryann's involvement and her sudden worry for Louelle's well-being arose suspicions within him. For as long as Thatcher had known them for, Maryann was always hostile and selfish towards her sister. She did not seem to ever care to get to know Louelle or be an active part of her life. It had appeared she only ever wished to get the younger sister into trouble, or cause her younger sister great internal turmoil.
It was clear Maryann truly was concerned for her sister as she gazed at the burning wood in the hearth, cheeks stained with tears that continuously flowed.
Thatcher only wondered: why now? Why care for Louelle when their entire lives, Maryann constantly made Louelle feel small, unheard, and belittled?
"How could I not have known?" Ruby's quiet whisper brought him out of his thoughts.
His sight fixated on her once more. She still sat the same - straight as a pin with her eyes still watering and her lips still quivering.
She hiccuped and threw her head into her hands as she sobbed. "I am - was - her lady in waiting! I saw her just earlier this day - oh!"
Thatcher had to look elsewhere to hide his own tears that shed. He did not want for anyone to see him cry. He already had felt somewhat pathetic because of what Maryan had earlier witnessed - kneeling on his knees as he woefully and numbly watched the carriage disappear from sight.
Hearing Ruby in such dismay over the loss of Louelle broke his heart more than it already was. He did not think it was possible to feel the organ shatter more. It was obvious Ruby had truly cared for Louelle as if she was her sister. He knew, from the times Louelle had boasted of Ruby, the feeling of sisterhood was mutual. Their bond was unbreakable, even after they had distance between them due to Maryann's actions.
"Prince Thatcher," she cried in a plea. "We must find her before it is too late."
He was going to say it was already too late. Louelle was gone and surely too far away for any of the guards to catch up to her. In his bones, he knew there was no way for anyone to find her with time to spare.
And that thought alone stabbed him like a sword in his chest.
Before he was able to speak his negativity, Dane twisted in his spot on the floor and offered Ruby a comforting smile. "She will be found, Miss Belford," he reassured her as well as everyone else in the room - everyone but Thatcher. "We have the best guards out on search. She shall be found prior to injury inflicted upon herself."
Death, Thatcher wished to correct his brother.
What Louelle fled to do was suicide, and she very well knew it. And in her wake, chaos and heartbreak uncontainable.
Word Count: 2,707
Hi Royal Subjects! I'm sorry, it's going to be sad for a little while... but it'll get happier (eventually).
Please comment and/or vote if you enjoyed this chapter!
- Haley