Cicatrice

Chapter III

PRINCESS ESTELLE BELSHAW

The night carries on graciously. For the most part, I'm left alone, and I'm not quite sure if it's because I nonchalantly keep pushing people away. The worst part is, I'm not meaning to. And I don't know how to stop.

I'm escorted back home in the dead of night, the guard leading me to my suite. I decide to take a rejuvenating, long bath in the golden claw, which was engulfed with rose petals, in an attempt to ease my mind, but it was no use. My mind was still pacing, wandering. It was as if there were clocks in my head reversing, and reversing. Perhaps there would be no rest, no peace for the future queen.

Sitting on my white and pink canopy bed which is laced with golden details, I hear a faint knock at the door. When the doorknob turns, father reveals himself, a sorrowful look on his face, but. I cannot feel sorry for him.

"Estelle, daughter, may I have a word?" he asks faintly, creeping into my room and sitting beside me. He sighs deeply, placing his hand on top of mine, and I let him. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to tell me something awful, so I begin to panic.

"Whatever is the matter, father?" I blurt, trying my best to seem calm and nonchalant, but father could always t ell when I was nervous.

Frightened.

"I heard you weren't treating Malcolm very kindly, Estelle," He states bluntly, and I am utterly astonished by the ridiculous words that have just come out of his mouth. "You must maintain your good looks and gain everyone's approval to avoid being harassed," he continued, and for some reason, I felt heat rushing through my veins. Through my head and heart. Was Malcolm some sort of lost puppy I was unaware of? Couldn't he take a little heat?

"What makes Malcolm so important, father? Why should I care what that man thinks of me?" I grill him, feeling anger rush throughout my entire body. The words that were coming out of my fathers mouth made me spite Malcolm.

He pauses, looking down to the tiles. My heart beats so rapidly against my chest, I find it hard to breathe. Why would I want to win Malcolm over? He may have needed to impress me, for all I knew.

"Victor and I are arranging a marriage, between you and Malcolm," he simply states.

As if my life could get any better than this.

"Pardon?" I scoff, tears forming in my eyes.

My father was unrecognisable. He wasn't the same person he was when he took me horseback riding when I was seven. He wasn't the same man who would spend hours on end crocheting blankets with me. Who was the man sitting right next to me? He betrayed me in every possible way a father could. And all I could feel toward him was disgust.

With my lips quivering and tears slowly starting to spill down my eyes, I can barely make out any words.

I was unaware of who my father was anymore.

"How could you?" I softly whimper. "How could you?!" I insist, firmly shoving his chest. "What has changed since you promised me I would never be in an arranged marriage?" I sob, as I noticed tears falling from his eyes. He wouldn't even look at me.

Silence.

"Tell me!" I yelp, standing up from my bed, my hands turned to fists as I knock over the flower pot that sits on my nightstand, shattering into pieces. I believed I would hold resentment towards my father for the rest of my life since he had destroyed any hope I had of finding true love.

"I did what I thought was best!" he yelled, banging his cane on the floor.

"I have no idea who you are anymore," I cry, storming out of my room.

I had to leave this place. The walls started to close in. I truely started to believe there was no way out and that I had no control over my life. There was nothing I could do because Father had changed his heart.

Running down the marble stairs, everything became a blur. The palace was quiet, beside a quiet murmur of Marguerite down the hall. Usually, I would flourish in her company, but now, I longed for solitude. Unfortunately for me, to get outside, I had to cross her path.

I realise that she is not alone and that she is speaking with someone, but all I can make out is a hazy silhouette. I quickly rush past them, trying to be as quiet as a ghost. However, they notice me, and that's when I notice a man I've never seen before.

In each of his hands, he is holding brown bags. He had golden, mid-length hair, and he was tall and rather slim. Even though it was dim and my vision was clouded by tears, it was impossible to overlook his deep blue eyes that were making contact with mine. Even if it were only a glance, this man looked magnificent, breathtaking.

"Miss Estelle, is everything alright?" I hear Marguerite call after me, but I keep running, my hands holding up the hem of my lilac coloured nightgown.

I just needed to be alone.