♪ And I'm not breaking, I won't take it
And I won't ever feel this way again ♪
{Halsey—Killing Boys}
No matter how uncomfortable it was, Eugene's office chair had become Harriet. She molded into it, fitting atop its cushions as if she'd always belonged on them. There wasn't a day where she didn't sit before the desk and groan, grunt, even guffaw as she flipped through paperwork and reviewed the books. There were distractions—Prince Jules, then Johanna—but she always ended up drowning in documents and yawning until the sun went down.
The Prince didn't distract her as much as she'd expected him to. He kept to himself, though she almost wished he wouldn't. He... intrigued her. Their first exchange upon his arrival had left her curious; and their second, in her old room, tormented her. How did he manage to twist her stomach into knots but soothe her all at once?
But she refused to bother him, and only watched from afar as he cloaked himself and rode out the manor gates to explore the town. He did so after Johanna's arrival and returned at dusk. And today, Harriet saw him taking off as she rose from slumber, stretching in front of her window. The only meal they'd shared was yesterday's breakfast, and he never disturbed her, never even made it obvious he was there. The strangest part of it all was that she wished he would barge into her office and give her an excuse not to work.
"Miss?" The door creaked open, drawing Harriet's chin up from the stash of papers brought in by Jacob early that morning.
Jacob.
No, she hadn't forgotten how he made her feel, too. She'd dismissed him fast, claiming she had much to do—which wasn't a lie—and breathed in relief once he departed for errands in town. He and the Prince both swept her off her feet, and she was dizzy and distraught whenever they were near.
"Yes?" She spied Johanna creeping in and scoffed. "Miss? Please, do not call me that. Not you."
Johanna smirked as she fluttered over and plopped onto one of the chairs across the desk. "But I work for you." She wore one of Mrs. Banks' old dresses, stitched up and patched by Victoria. Harriet had hoped to gift Johanna with a brand new wardrobe, but they were running low on fabrics, and with money so scarce...
"You do, but I will not have you addressing me like so." Harriet scribbled a hasty signature and looked up. "You are family. And besides, Mrs. Banks mostly called me by my name."
Johanna's smirk widened. "Well in that case, Harriet, I have a letter for you." She pulled out a folded parchment from her robe and slipped it atop Harriet's paperwork.
The seal was one Harriet hated to recognize; the same that decorated the first message from her father. "Oh... lovely." She fumbled with the wax, broke it open, and unfolded it. "Oh... that man. That nerve."
Johanna stood and worked out the creases in her apron. "Your father?" Harriet nodded, and Johanna inched backward, intent on exiting the room. Her earlier amusement faded, replaced by discomfort. "Do you wish for privacy to read it? I have plenty of other duties to attend, so..."
"No, stay." Harriet skimmed through her father's words, shocked at how they'd changed from petulant and peeved to panicked and desperate. "Listen to this. Dear daughter, I beseech you... bla bla bla... beg for mercy... regret my attitude, my actions. Ha! Does he, now?" A toxic saliva gathered in her mouth and she yearned to spit it onto Eugene's fake apologies. "I was never a good father, oh, is that so?"
Johanna cringed. "I should go—"
"—no, stay, please," Harriet waved at her to sit, "I must share this with someone. And who better than you? You are aware as much as I am of how horrible he is." Johanna obeyed, but not without a frown, her shoulders pushed back, her knees falling inward. "I do not want to die, he says. Should he not have thought of that sooner? Before wrapping himself up in illegal businesses that put him, that put me in danger?" She sensed her cheeks overheating, her heart filling with rage. "And they want me to determine whether he lives or dies. Me? The daughter he destroyed? How can I choose?"
Chewing on her lip, Johanna looked into her lap. "It is not for me to say."
"It is not?" Harriet scrunched the letter into a ball and tossed it towards the fireplace. To her shock, her aim was impeccable—the flames devoured the paper in a matter of seconds. "He was a tyrant. Treated the staff like they were insects he could crush, did he not?"
"He did..." Johanna shrugged, "but we belonged to him. Truthfully, he had a right to do with us as he pleased."
Surprised by Johanna's sudden reluctance to insult the man who had ruined their lives, Harriet moved around the desk and sat on the seat beside her. What had happened? Not that long ago she'd been quite outspoken about her hatred towards Sir Thatcher; but here she held her tongue, as if afraid someone would cut it out.
Why is she not being honest?
"Johanna, you need not filter your thoughts. This is me. The one he tortured more than anyone else in this household. Perhaps not physically, but emotionally... he damaged me beyond repair." She seized Johanna's hands in hers, forcing the new housekeeper to lift her chin. Her dove-feathered eyes were worried, twitchy, her lips pressed into a hard line, as if to sew her mouth shut.
"You... are not beyond repair." Johanna averted her gaze, her chin fighting gravity. "Look at you—a proper lady, owning a manor, commanding a staff, signing documents! I could not be prouder. And I heard about the arrests from the staff; how you invited everyone to dinner and half of the guests left in chains? Such a bold statement!" She tugged one hand from Harriet's grasp and twirled the end of her raven braid around her fingers, still refusing to let their eyes meet. "You are strong, and you can decide what to do with him. You are the only one who may do so."
"I agree," came a voice from the doorway, prompting both Harriet and Johanna to leap to their feet.
Prince Jules, arms crossed, leaned against the threshold. His silky rose-colored shirt was unbuttoned at the top, casual and comfortable, and a few laces of his boots were undone. How long had he been there? Harriet had seen him leave a few hours prior, and didn't realize he'd returned.
"Highness." Johanna dipped into a curtsy.
Harriet did the same, legs wobbly and arms stiff. "You... agree?" She blinked at him, hesitating to fully connect their gazes. Last time that had happened, she'd gotten lost in the dreamy daze his presence created.
"I do. I would not have said so in my letter from a few days ago if I did not. And Antoine would not have agreed either." He strode into the office, and the closer he got, the smaller Harriet felt.
Johanna collapsed into her chair, keeping her head down.
Harriet did her best not to fall, like Johanna had. "I... just think that I am... too involved. Too... close to the situation. Biased, no?" She tried to straighten up as the Prince stopped inches before their shoes collided. But her back was so racked with shivers that she strained to even stand. "He is my father. Is it normal for a daughter to decide whether or not her father is hanged?"
"It is not, no." He swerved past them and meandered to the sitting area, but didn't sit. He picked up a biscuit from Harriet's long-abandoned breakfast and took a bite. "But it is not common for noblemen to be sentenced with treason, and for their daughters to be old enough and smart enough to have a say in their fates."
Harriet's knees gave out, and Johanna whipped her arm out to stabilize her before she sank to the ground.
He thinks I am smart?
Harriet nearly tripped as she sought to regain her balance. She caught herself by grabbing a corner of the desk and puffed out a breath of relief. "So I... am an exception?"
"You are." Prince Jules reached for a cloth napkin and wiped his mouth, then strode up to Harriet. "And yes, he is your father... but he was never good at that, was he? He set you up to inherit a business of immoral nature and expected you to be all right with that? No... I must tell you, I would encourage you to..." he swept a finger across his throat, suggesting beheading.
Johanna gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth at the gesture.
Harriet wasn't as easily frightened. "And..." She swallowed, "what would you do if it were your father, Highness?"
A heavy, horrid silence fell upon them. And almost too late, Harriet realized what she had done, what she had implied.
Rumors claim his father turned out to be a murderer... oh dear, what have I said?
As she opened her mouth to belch out apologies, Johanna grabbed her wrist. "Harriet!" she whisper-yelled, "watch your tone!"
But if angry, if offended, the young Prince didn't show it, and offered them both a weak smile. "It is all right, ladies. I must prepare for people to say such things in my presence. Word has already gotten out about my father... but I would not hesitate, My Lady. Were he still alive, and I found out what he did to King Gregor... to Marguerite... I would insist he face the consequences."
Harriet had no idea what to reply. How had she forgotten that the Prince understood betrayal perhaps better than anyone else in the room? He understood lies, deceit, falsehoods—both his parents had concealed terrible acts from him and his siblings, and he'd only recently discovered the truth.
"Well..." Johanna's tiny voice broke the quiet as she heaved up from her seat, "you wanted my opinion, yes? And since the Prince gave his, I will give it." She perked up, a determined air about her features, fists tight at her sides. "Sir Thatcher is an evil man, with the blackest of hearts. And I agree with His Highness on all accounts... but I think that before you choose, you... should visit him. To say... goodbye."
"V-visit him?" Harriet's legs didn't want to keep her upright, and she slipped.
Next she knew, she'd landed on her chair, her vision blurry, sweat sleek across her forehead. Johanna rushed off to fetch her some tea, and Prince Jules kneeled at her side, waving a makeshift paper fan in her face.
"Are you all right?" His timbre was so smooth, so suave, it somehow guided her out of the fog that had dimmed her senses.
"I... the idea of... visiting him, it... scared me." The air whipping onto her cheeks helped, yet she was still warm, and her bodice became itchy and tighter than usual.
"As it should. Prisons are no place for women," said the Prince, replacing the document atop the stack of others. "But your housekeeper is correct; you should meet with him. You should go to Torrinni." He ambled around the desk and pressed a hand to his heart as he bowed. "And on that note, I am reminded I have tasks awaiting me in Torrinni. It is time for me to take my leave. I have used up your hospitality for long enough."
Harriet was still too weak and not fast enough to stop him. "Nonsense. You have used up nothing."
His eyes creased as he bowed deeper. "I have overstayed my welcome, Harriet. You have much on your plate, and unfortunately, so do I."
"Are you sure?" She gripped the edge of the desk to help her balance her wooziness as she stood up. "You may stay as long as you would like, Highness."
He winked, his mouth quirking into a grin. "That would be inappropriate, Miss Thatcher. But should you elect to come to Torrinni... please, let me know. You would be my honored guest at court."
The image of Charlotte, green with jealousy at Prince Jules' invitation, loosened the tight ropes around Harriet's heart. Though why the future Princess would envy her, she had no clue. "I appreciate that, Highness." She sighed and curtsied, though with difficulty. "Safe travels to you, then. And inform your brother, the King... that I am still working on our mystery."
And am nowhere near solving my father's crimes.
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