Chapter Fifty-Nine: 'Normal' Is A Type.
1261 Words
“So, what’s the verdict?”
Kat asked, then lowered the volume of the news broadcast.
Rather than news, it was another interview for Regina concerning new improvements to her sponsored clinics.
Amazingly, she never thought of new projects to tackle in over four years; one would think she was holding out to perfect the clinic project, but…
“I might marry him.”
I fixed the golden dress-imbedded choker with an emerald centre on my neck to cover the darkening bruises.
“Are you serious?”
Breca asked, placing aside the golden pillow on her thigh.
“Maybe, I don’t know. I haven’t seen Clay, so definitive answers are…tricky, to say the least.”
“But you seem excited for your date?”
Kat pointed to my dress.
It was a green silk dress that clung loosely to my curves with each step.
Not my first choice, but I was running out of summer dresses that could hide bruises well.
The dress had multiple thin gold straps that fell easily to its bareback.
It was a full dress, in terms of it not needing extra accessories, other than gloves. The wrist the prince twisted to my back held a similar colour to the bruise on my neck, if only just a tad lighter.
“I am.”
“What's he like?”
“Normal.”
“Wow, I can pick him apart from any crowd with that description!”
The room’s crystal blared for our attention, and all three of us turned to the phone.
“Well, he’s here. Breca no drinking, Kat, no inciting Breca to drink.”
“Breca’s going to an art symposium at nine.”
“But you… you're still in your pyjamas?”
“Didn't you hear her say nine?”
Breca took the pillow she had placed aside, tucked it between her legs and added the broadcast volume.
‘Well damn…!’
*
*
*
The restaurant was magnificent.
It was partially empty, and each diner was granted their room, their own private space with their own restaurant ordained chef.
The walls were lined with plants laid artistically, much so that I found I missed my powers. ‘How much is the cost of a reservation, let alone a full-sized meal?’
Had been my first question to him, but Harell had been graceful enough to dodge it.
Our room was an external second-floor corridor with the most glorious view of the capital.
The lights twinkling in the distance did nothing to soothe my strange homesickness, though our chef's delicious treats were close.
Of our five courses, we were moments away from the main dish.
Lobster thermidor.
The setting was such that we could not discuss political or sensitive matters, just easy general topics, making it the ideal location for a date.
Have I ever been on one that was not required as a publicity stunt?
Perhaps with an ex in my past life.
I can't believe he had me pay after breaking up with me in a public setting.
Back then, I thought my life was over.
‘I’d pay anything to go back to that moment in time.’
“Is there a reason as to why you are smiling? Does this count as a date now?”
‘I am smiling?’
I soothed the corners of my lips into a neutral expression then cleared my throat.
“It…most definitely does.”
The wine in my glass was topped off by a waiter whose presence I hardly felt.
“So tell me, Your highness. Why do you want to be the ne-.”
“No work talk on the table.”
“Excuse me?”
“Countess, give me a chance to romance you. As man and woman, not colleagues.”
Heat claimed my cheeks.
Perhaps the alcohol?
“Oh..okay. Uhm, what Rosé wine is this?”
“No, that is not wine but sparkling pomegranate. Do you like it?”
‘Wow… I…I need an etiquette teacher.’
“Right, of course.”
“Would you prefer something alcoholic? I can have the staff-.”
“No, no, please.”
‘If I am this awkward sober, I might just try to sleep with you drunk.’
“I like It, especially the floral notes. Perhaps that’s why I confused it for wine.”
“You like it? Really?”
“Yes.”
“Good, my…friend introduced me to it.”
For more than a second, his face turned tender, then desolate.
‘By friend, does he mean Riette?’
I twisted the stem of the glass held in my hand then leaned back on the chair.
“What do you picture marriage life to be, countess?”
The question came as a surprise.
I would much rather brood than daydream happy illusions that don’t fit me.
“I imagine a lot of press statements, particularly on your end,”
I smiled then continued.
“As well as apologies. I mean, knowing your personality so far, I feel that you are the type that would hold press conferences to apologise.”
“What do I have to be apologetic for?”
“You…you really have no idea how it feels to be an outcast, do you?”
“Is it difficult?”
He is the first to ask that.
Neither Breca nor Kat had ever enunciated the question, perhaps because they had their burdens.
But before me, a boy pampered by life into mediocrity asked me if being despised, if having to work twice as hard as the average person, is difficult.
“Of course not.”
The lie came so easily that my voice sounded foreign even to me.
“It is more freeing than you would believe.”
His expression remained unconvinced, but there was one thing that grew clear to me.
The Empress was wrong; Harell would not make a good Emperor.
He was like Regina in more ways than I care to admit.
He elicits protective instincts from those around him by dressing his naivety in the bareness of his soul.
A wonderful thing, but not for an Emperor.
Not for anyone who needed to compete with Étienne.
“What do you imagine marriage life will be like? You can be with anyone you want; let not the wedding bells limit you.”
I turned the question to him.
“I wish that were the case, but…”
‘See…look at how pitifully ignorant you are?’
‘If I were to grow jealous in the future and dream of monopolising you, isn’t it obvious that I would turn to the saintess?’
Such a personality leaves everyone around him vulnerable to attacks.
Seriously, did the Empress raise him solely to act as a puppet? Or was his grandest rebellion Riette?
Am I in the way of his development?
I turned to the chef.
“How long will the meal be?”
“Just a few more minutes, my lady.”
The chef made a show of adding oil to the naked flames before him, causing the fire to flare seemingly out of control.
Harell was amazed; I, on the other hand, despite being in the open, couldn’t breathe.
“Excuse me.”
I stood from my seat then walked out of the private room in search of the lavatory.
Everything felt distasteful.
I knew why…but I could not think myself out of it, out of the hideous feeling inside me.
“Oh, sorry!”
Was my first response as soon as I bumped into something hard and warm.
“Arusei?”
“Wreigner?”
- Writer
