Cicatrice

Chapter V

PRINCESS ESTELLE BELSHAW

"Good morning, my beautiful lady!" An abrupt knock on the door and a happily sounding Marguerite makes my eyes slowly flutter open from my slumber. She makes her way from the end of my room to the edge of my bed, holding a tray full of delightful-smelling breakfast pastries.

The ambient sound of the birds chirping at dusk could always put me at ease. There was just something so peaceful about the morning time when not everyone was quite yet awake that was so peaceful.

"How was your sleep, my dear?" She chirps, placing the tray on my porcelain nightstand which contained all of my favourite French pastries --  The recent creation of Pain au chocolate, and of course, croissants. "I brought your favourites," she continues, noticing a bright smile on her plump face.

Marguerite usually brought out my favourites when there was a big day ahead of me – whether that was travelling to Paris, consulting with locals, or simply accompanying my father with royal duties, so the second she pulled out my favourites, I knew there was something waiting for me.

"Why thank you, that's wonderful, Marguerite. Did father happen to arrange this?" I enquire. She turns to face me as she places a cloth on top of my cotton sheets. "Oh, no dear! I want you in a good mood before you meet our new guest," her dark brown eyes flash me a smile before she made her way out of my bedroom, leaving me alone to eat breakfast.

"New guest?" I whisper to myself, then scoff. "What was it? My future husband?" I ask myself, full of sarcasm.

I eat my breakfast in a hurry, allowing curiosity to take control. I saunter over to the body-length mirror with the gold trim, sighing at my sad looking reflection. With my eyes still engorged from the tears I had cried the night before, my fingertips gracefully meet the scar where the hand of the fascinating handsome man rested last night.

I slipped on a day dress with a ruffled, white design and lace that cascaded down the bottom, as well as brushing through my thick, brown waves that had tied itself into knots from the previous night.

Holding the hand railing, I quietly dash cascade down the golden, marble stairs down to the foyer, where I overhear father conversing with someone who sounded eerily familiar. When I turn past the thick, white pillar, I notice it is the man I had spilled my sorrows to last night.

My heart slowly sinks to my stomach; now I was definitely panicked. I had never expected to see him again.

"Good to see you're awake, Estelle," Father exclaims, putting his arm around my shoulder and dragging me nearer to this unknown man. I recognise an endearing smile in his stunning blue eyes, much like I had seen last night, but I'm dumbfounded - shocked, to say the least.

"Estelle, welcome your new servant, uh... Edward, was it?" Father questions. Typical father, forgetting the names of those he deems beneath him.

"Eddie, your majesty," the man looks at me whilst he speaks in his English accent.

No doubt. How on earth did I miss it last night? The servants all arrived from central England.

"Ah! Eddie, this is my daughter, soon to be queen, Princess Estelle, who you shall be tending to," father exclaims, a cheesy grin on his wrinkled, bearded face.

I was at a loss for words. After such an impressionable first encounter, how could I save face? I felt humiliated; like I was anything from a princess. I felt like a pig, truly repulsive, how could I get away with such an act?

Eddie gently takes my hand in his as I feel my heart flip in my chest. "Her Royal Highness, it is a pleasure to finally meet you," he says quietly, kissing my hand as he stares intensely into my eyes. I feel my face burn up.

"My! He behaves rather well for a servant, don't you think?" Father teases, talking about him as if he were an animal, and Eddie's pink lips form into a line.

"Do you mind taking him on a tour of and around the palace, Daughter?" Father asks, and my heart bangs violently on my chest. Did princesses really do that?

"Why father, hasn't Marguerite done so already?" I pretend to act like an imbecile, although I knew father wouldn't budge. He was as stubborn as a bull. "I insist, Este. Perhaps you could start with the garden?" he simply says, shooting daggers at me through his beady eyes.

Eddie catches me rolling my eyes at father, letting out a silent chuckle, father utterly clueless.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all...