Cicatrice

Chapter XXVIII

QUEEN ESTELLE BELSHAW

I find myself screaming awake from a nightmare, tears streaming down my face as I grip the bedsheets beneath me. I almost deafen myself as I realise I was out of the heinous dream, and then I realised it was because I had died.

My whole life, especially recently, I craved death. Life felt life a nightmare. But perhaps, an actual nightmare had given me the epiphany that truly, I did not want to die. I just wanted the pain to stop. 

The irony.

It was at this moment I remembered that Eddie had slept on the cushioned chair beside me, and I startled him awake, his diamond-like eyes staring at me in shock. 

With my heart racing a thousand miles per hour, midnight rain streams outside just as tears did from my eyes. I watch as Eddie rushes toward me, holding me in his arms, rocking me back and forth as I sob uncontrollably, hushing me. 

"Will I ever be able to live in peace? Without the fear that somebody is coming for me?" I stammer, snotting all over his sleeve, but he doesn't mind. He grooms my untamed hair, soothing me and hushing me down, staying quiet.

"May I ask you something?" I question as my body calms down slightly. 

"Anything," he says. 

"Soon, can we get away from here? Just the you and I? We could go downtown, the ocean? Maybe even the moon?" I stammer, a singular tear streaming down my cheek as I stare up at his beautiful blue eyes, endearment buried within them.

My cheek is delicately stroked by his thumb as he whispers, "Of course. Even to the moon, my darling."

With every second his touch remains on my frail body, I feel my heart rate slowing down, sobs coming to a halt as my eyes daze closed once more. I had never met anybody who could soothe me like a mother could soothe her child. 

Although I was not even sure how that felt like. 

⁂

My long maroon dress cascades down the marble stairs as I hold the handrail, making my way down to the annual royal dinner. However, tonight would be different as Marguerite had offered Eddie the night off and invited him to sit with us for dinner.

With that being said, butterflies flew around in my stomach like bees in a hive. To have Eddie and Malcolm sitting at the same table with almost every socialite here in Toulouse sounded like an actual nightmare, one that I couldn't wake up from even if I tried. 

I am greeted by the servants who seat me down at the head of the table, as my regal tiara resides on my head, weighing me down. The lights are dimmed with wax candles and a red tablecloth hugs the wooden table. Moments like these had made me truly remember my status in life. 

Holding a glass to my lips, I take a sip of bitter wine as Malcolm takes a seat beside me, resting his elbows on the table and groaning. Chitter chatter starts to float around as familiar faces show themselves, yet I feel invisible as they chat amongst each other. 

With the night slowly making its move, it was finally time for the entree to be served, onion soup. This had been when I realised Eddie sitting just beside Marguerite, who was abreast to me. With my heart jumping out of my throat, I knew I couldn't bare for another awkward encounter with the two men, however, I knew there was no escaping it. 

"So, Eddie," Malcolm starts, swirling his wine in his glass. "Marguerite tells me you're one quite of a chef, is that so?" he interrogates, insinuating that he shouldn't be here and cook for us. Anxiety flourishes within me. I wouldn't know where Malcolm was headed with this. 

"Why, yes..." Eddie starts, clearing his throat. "Back in London, my family had arranged for me to take some cooking lessons," he smiles politely, holding the spoon up to his lips. 

I can see nervousness buried deep inside his eyes. 

Malcolm furrows his eyebrows in confusion, frowning. "London? Didn't the servants strictly come from Birmingham? That is what father had said," he questions, taking another sip of his white wine. 

Silence. Shifty eyes.

I watch as Eddie becomes rather sheepish. "Oh! Oh, of course. Yes, Birmingham is what I meant. My mistake. My mind must be hazy from all of this wine," he chuckles, his cheeks turn a crimson red colour as his eyes shift.

"You know, the queen of England's son is still missing, isn't it awful?" Marguerite brings up conversation whilst I stare at Eddie, trying to read him like a book. 

"Why yes, he has been missing for quite some time now," Malcolm says with squinted eyes, as if he was hinting to something else.

Could something be unbeknownst to me?

To everyone?