Cicatrice

Chapter XVIII

QUEEN ESTELLE BELSHAW

Grabbing the hem of my wedding dress, I dash down the red-carpeted hallway as tears flow from my eyes. Father had suffered thirteen stab wounds. I wondered how all of this could have happened in under an hour, whilst in his bedroom suite - and of all nights, my wedding night.

I had mixed feelings about it all. Did I care about my father, the one who raised me into a woman? Or did I not care about the abuser who forced me into monarchy at the ripe age of seventeen? It was hard not to care.

He was my father after all.

I storm through the doors, ignoring the guards. I see father lying on his back in a hospital bed, bandages covering his bare chest. "Oh, my god!" I shriek, falling to my knees as Marguerite helps me up. "It's okay dear, he is not dead," she affirms, rubbing my back as I manage to stand on my feet.

Yet. I thought.

Seeing my own father like that had felt like somebody had stabbed me in the chest. Although he had been a monster, it was hard to ignore the nostalgia and the man he used to be. With his eyes fluttered closed, his skin is as pale as a ghost, worrying me significantly.

I take a seat next to him, just staring at him. I wondered who could do such a thing, but at the same time, I was not surprised. All of his lies, all of his greed had finally caught up to him and somebody finally had enough.

Marguerite exits the room, leaving me with father and the two guards who stand on either side of the doors. Perhaps she knew this would be one of the last times.

"The worst thing is..." I shudder, reaching for his veiny hand. "I don't know if I should feel bad for you," I whisper, my lips turning into a frown. I listened to his subtle breaths, wondering how many more he'd have.

I felt as if this would be one of my last moments with father. I always found it difficult to articulate everything I desired to say, so I just stayed quiet, tears rolling down my cheeks.

The nurses had said he had lost a significant amount of blood and the knife had punctured his heart.

I felt guilty for caring.

After he cowardly stepped down from the throne, leaving me in charge, forcing me to get married to an imbecile and then later abusing me, how could I feel sorry for this man right in front of my very eyes? How could I feel the slightest bit of remorse? None of it had made any sense to me.

I turn away, tears strolling down my cheeks as I try to contain my sobs.

"Este?" father whispers, his voice weak as I look down at him, shocked. With his eyes tired and his lips chapped, I couldn't help but feel as if he was some sort of helpless little lamb, after all of those years holding power over me.

"Hello, daddy,"

His chapped lips form into a small smile, his eyes closing. "You came," he speaks softly. My heart bends and snaps. "Of course, I came. I'm your daughter," I smile softly, rubbing his hand with my thumb. "Who did this to you, father?" I question, my eyebrows furrowed. He takes a deep sigh. I could tell it was painful for him.

"I don't know," he says with agony.

"But I will tell you one thing, Este..." he starts, and I knew what was coming. He wanted to make amends, but I didn't know if I could ever truly forgive him. "I am sorry, daughter, truly," he groans. Maybe he was truly sorry now because he hovered over a deathbed. I didn't think it was sincere but it hurt just as much.

"I know," is all that manages to come out of my mouth. This was such a sight for sore eyes, father apologising for all of the agonies he had put me and this kingdom through. "But I'm afraid I cannot forgive you, father," I whimper, letting go of his hand. My dignity was worth much more than pardoning my father at this point. I knew he wasn't sorry. I knew that he wanted me to care. And I did, but he lost it.

"You may not forgive me... that's alright... Just understand that I will always love you, Este. No matter what... take care of the kingdom for me, I beg," he whispers, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"Goodbye father, see you on the other side..." I whisper, knowing it was the end.

I watch as his arms become limp, his mouth falling open. With his empty, lifeless eyes staring through me, I knew that father had crossed the bridge.

He was no more.

Screams erupt from my lips, tears fall from my cheeks as nurses come rushing inside, trying to revive his lifeless body, doing chest compressions.

It was no use.

I fall to the cold floor in agony as Marguerite nurses me. This pain was unlike any other. I had now officially become an orphan, and I wasn't too sure of what to think of that. Nothing seemed real.

My brain fought my heart.