Vincent Hawthorne
By 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 up 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. According to the doctors, I was lucky. A few inches below ad it could have caught an artery--or the heart who knows. It was the blood loss that made it worse. 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, with the supervision of the Royal Guard at all times. 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 am 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 for me.
It's probably down too late for this but I want to cut off ties with her. She may be my mother but that's it. Even Edgar is living here now, hopping on the Manor now and then just to make sure everything's alright. Which it is. Mariah has been doing an exceptional job as the new Housekeeper. So he says...
"It's almost time for your daily walk," Edgar informs me.
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 in.
"Your Grace---"
"Yeah, yeah," I grumble, cutting her off. "I'm going."
Edgar helps me stand up, and when we both turn to her, she stammers a little bit, "He-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 in. This dread slithers underneath my skin ad 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 are to come out, that area has to be very well tucked in. But it seems as if everyone thinks that 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 doesn't listen.
He scoffs. "You may be an asshole but I still love you."
"I'm fine," I half lie.
Physically, I truly am. The recovery is going well and 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. But not to me," he tuts.
My mouth opens to fight him on it but the maid stops abruptly before turning around 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 on 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?"
I focus on Camilla. Seeing 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 or the honour staches and medals. Which is unheard of, but then again, besides a handful of people, there aren't media, or outsiders here. And this feels awfully like a closed door even than a public one.
In the end, 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... It confirms my suspicions.
"Duke," Camilla's cold and detached voice reverberates through the room. "Come here."
I obey, Edgar on my tail, awfully silent and bow as soon as I 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. And the woman who ordered the coup."
"Nonsense," My mother shrieks.
"He admitted everything. He used to work here in the Palace and you bribed him for information ever since the previous King was still alive. And you hired him to kill me."
Edgar gasps, maybe for the first time in his life, a real and surprised one. He's been more in touch with our mother's cruelty but I think he had hoped it wasn't her in the end... Even I did, when deep down I knew she was the one to blame.
"Fucking hell," I breathe out, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"He lies!"
"Does he?" Camilla prompts, motioning her hand.
Joshua, King Charle's mains counsellor and closest confident and apparently, Camilla's too shows up with a few papers in his hand.
"Here," he hands them to me.
In my only 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 Police's report on how the gun who 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."
"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 through her. "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. "Not 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? Blackmail me into keeping an engagement I never asked for. Running for a position I never wanted!"
"I did it all for you," she wails, trying to stand up, 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 own 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.
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 been in one.
But I can't shake this weight off of me. 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 of my belongings out and stuff them inside my bag," I order her, not bothering about formalities.
"Y-your Grace, I--"
"No questions, get all of my stuff 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 Eric 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 but I know that's unlikely. Don't worry, I'll be out of your way."
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 me and Camilla. "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."