#this feels incoherent. i feel like i need to make a powerpoint presentation on these characters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poppyna · 3 years

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the visitor ; anton&poppy

timing: earlier in may + last week participants: @poppyvernis & @grantcontrol summary: anton gets sent to the hospital. poppy gets a snack a meal plan. content warning: head trauma

In his less than stellar career as an exterminator, Anton was at least able to prove two things: One, he couldn’t dodge bullets, and two, he couldn’t dodge the ground. In retrospect, chasing an overgrown spider on someone else’s roof wasn’t the best idea, but at least it gave him enough time to consider his life choices, as flashes of previously, terribly made ones came running back to him, right before his very eyes, the fall itself peculiarly slow, as if it was intentionally taking an eternity to accommodate this Powerpoint presentation of numerous mistakes and regrets. Then the thud came, and everything else faded to black.

The next thing he knew, he was coming in and out of consciousness, being wheeled through what smelled like a hospital, what sounded like an introvert’s worst nightmare. What he could see were mere blurs, almost incomprehensible and incoherent images fighting for his attention against the blinding lights of the ceiling. What he could hear were bits and pieces of rushed conversation, none of which he was interested in.

A familiar voice did ring in his ears, barely making any sense to him, mostly because he was more concerned about the stuffed rabbit he just dropped as they were wheeling him away, his outstretched hand reaching for it but to no avail. “...oh, it’s the exterminator...what happened?” “...fell down a roof…chasing...dog...” “really?! ...well, that’s dumb.” Then the darkness returned, dragging him back into the depths of his own mind, where a haunting shadow patiently lurked. Hello, Anton. You have your mother’s eyes.

Gossip spread through the ER like wildfire, no matter how much the nurses liked to boast about having the perfect mask of professionalism with patients. The ones with strange reasons for ending up there were the hottest topics- at least for a few moments before someone else came with an even more inane reason. Poppy liked to pretend she wasn’t as interested as the rest of them, but even she wasn’t immune to the allure of knowing other people’s business. And the business, specifically, seemed to be an exterminator of some sort who was in over his head.

The reception area had a temporary lull in new faces, and it was her who was tasked with bringing the personal belongings over to the different private rooms. She expected bags of clothes, maybe a phone or two, but not a… child’s toy? The last thing she wanted to see was some sickly child. Those cases always left a bad taste in her mouth. Regardless, she donned a pair of gloves and set out to deliver the goods that had been left.

When she finally came to the room the note on the doll had mentioned, she realized two things very quickly. One, that the doll did not, in fact, belong to some sickly child, and two, that she definitely should not have stepped into that room. Poppy could almost feel the uneasy dream the man laying in the bed was slipping into from her position all the way by the door. She gulped. She definitely should have just asked someone else to do this job. She threw a quick glance behind her shoulder before she slid the door to the room closed with her hip. As she extended her hand to brush over the man’s forehead to enhance the unpleasant dream he had, she noted that this must be that exterminator the staff were all murmuring of.

“Sorry,” she whispered to herself.

Anton has done his fair share of running. From debt collectors? Check. From adult responsibilities like being a good dad to a young daughter he’s barely met? Check. From bees? Check. The last part, he felt like he’d be doing for an eternity. Or at least until he got tired, which in this place, wherever it was, didn’t feel like it was happening any time soon. Where the hell am I? He wondered, at least for a bit, looking around him as grayish smoke and mist surrounded him, drowning this place as far as he could see. That was, until his attention was once again stolen by the giant bees that were apparently chasing him.

Anton. The voice spoke to him, not as sound in the air but seemingly from deep within, as if the speaker was someone, or something, that resided in his heart of hearts. You cannot run forever. Panting, wheezing, though not actually feeling tired, if only afraid, fearful for what could happen should his feet, knees, fail him, the exterminator continued to run, looking back every now and then to find the giant bees still after him, never speeding up nor slowing down.

Then he spotted something strange, something new, a face, unfamiliar and out of place, from within the swarming rabble. Sorry, she whispered to him, not as sound in the air but from deep within, only confusing him even more. Who the— He cut himself off as he turned away, colliding straight into something else, something strong enough to knock him back, down on his ass on the ground. Wincing, Anton took his sweet time making sure he was still in one piece before he looked up and saw the man in the beekeeper’s suit, his arms already reaching towards him. I’m already home!

On his bed in the hospital, his physical body twitched and turned, his lips moving, though rare were the words that came out ever coherent. Although the fear was great, his guilt would never come second, and under three words, Anton’s lips moved ever so slightly to allow them a strange passage. “It’s okay…”

Poppy’s brow furrowed for a moment as the visions he saw danced through her mind. What the hell kind of fears did this man have? She wasn’t creating anything for him to experience- no, this was a nightmare birthed from his own personal hell. If the rush of energy she felt from how terrified some guy and his insects made him feel- she probably would have cared more about that. She rolled her neck and shoulders slowly, head tilting from one side to the other. It felt like a massage to her very core that no physical touch could satisfy. There was nothing better than this feeling, and for a brief second she considered taking it all in that very moment. She wouldn’t need to feed again for quite some time.

The words that left his mouth snapped her back to reality. She opened her eyes and stared down at him. For a moment, she panicked. Was he awake? What the hell? That had never happened before. Poppy considered her own thoughts that she felt while feeding and bit her lip. The high, warm feeling in her stomach began to fall, leaving her blood buzzing through her veins as though she had just run a race while her heart sat thick in her throat. That’s the monster she pretended she wasn’t. She didn’t even know the poor guy who she just tormented and there she was considering adding a second notch onto her ledger. Fuck.

She retracted her hand slowly, knowing she shouldn’t let it idle on his head for too long. Poppy felt compelled to flee, but there were too many nurses out in the hallways for a fast walk to go unnoticed. The sun had yet to fully set, she couldn’t go intangible and leave, and even if she could the cameras would pick up a door opening and closing on its own, and- and-

Her hold on the stuffed toy in her other hand tightened and she resolved herself to take it face on. Poppy looked behind her, just to check and make sure no other nurse had crept inside while the whole ordeal was unfolding, then took a few steps back. She glided her hand down her face and combed her fingers through her hair, at least trying to make herself look as thought she was a normal human nurse just concerned for a regular patient.

The Beekeeper was a story Anton’s late grandfather told him and the rest of his cousins whenever they had become too naughty, too rowdy, for the other grown-ups to contain, to rein in. It was a tale of warning, of fear, the title character the appropriate Boogeyman for their family’s line of work. Yet as the years went by, as Anton found himself drifting farther and farther away from his own family, the Beekeeper became more of an afterthought to him, a forgotten string of words from a bygone era, nothing more than the whispers of a past he can never go back to. That was, until he returned to White Crest.

It wasn’t like he was forced to return, however, as his former life in California wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies. He had made mistakes, so many, and though he wouldn’t admit to regretting much, there were major milestones in his life that he dared wish had happened differently. Thus, the move was a welcomed respite from the dark clouds that hung over his head through the years, only to be replaced by darker ones once he arrived in this sleepy town. At the very least, he had inherited the pest control business as well as a better place of residence when that grandfather of his died.

“Am I dead?” The words slithered weakly out of Anton’s lips as his dark brown eyes wandered slowly towards the other person’s very form. Holy fuck, she’s gorgeous. It was a weird first thought, considering the nightmare he had just survived, the fall he had taken. One would assume he’d be more interested in figuring out what had happened, how he got there, yadda yadda yadda. Then again, the exterminator has survived far worse and has taken more dangerous beatings. It seemed that the gates of hell were closed to his soul yet again. “Are you an angel? I’ll go wherever you’d take me.”

It took him more effort than he was used to, but he was able to muster a warm smile, the so-called stone meant to hit two birds: the nurse, as a sign of gratitude for keeping his unconscious body company, and himself, as a distraction from the horrors that he had just escaped from. Groaning, he moved his body around, at least as much as he could, still tired and barely recovered from the fall. When he found a comfortable enough spot, a position that made the rest of him ease a little, he turned to her again, his eyes not wanting to leave her face, his smile unable to falter. There was something about her that drew him like a moth to a flame, a vision of beauty and salvation. Shame that Anton had no idea how that allusion was more dangerous than he could ever understand.

She blinked. The more conscious he became and the more words that left his mouth, the less Poppy was able to compute what was happening right before her. Her mouth moved to form the first syllables of ‘are you crazy?’, but she stopped herself before she broke whatever illusion had overtaken the man in front of him. This was definitely… different. She was used to crying, used to screaming, even used to people waking up in anger over having vivid terrors ruin their night of sleep. Not once had she gotten a complement. If she could even call a hospitalized man spouting words a compliment.

When more than a handful of seconds of silence passed between them, she blinked and cleared her throat. “Ah... no. Not at all,” she started, rocking back on her heels, “you’re not dead. So… I am not an angel.” A soft chuckle escaped her while her head gestured to the side, trying to point out the walls and machinery of the dimly lit room in an attempt to maybe bring him out of this stupor. (Yet again, she had to hold herself back from saying anything out of turn. There was a reason she wasn’t the one who did courtesy rounds with patients). This had to be a concussion of some sort, a fairly nasty one. That thought stung a bit. Having to wonder if she had just fed from someone with a concussion worthy of putting a professional athlete out of commission was a new low. But upon closer observation, he appeared… “fine” seeing as he just fell off a roof. Well, fine in Poppy’s books. Which had considerably low standards for what humans needed to be “fine”.

Regardless, Poppy forced herself to put on a mask of kind professionalism, looking back at him with a gentle smile though she made it a point to stare at his ear instead of into his eyes. “Don’t try to move too much- okay? You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?” She lifted the stuffed animal she held and waved it a bit once it was in his line of vision. “Does this help? It seems to belong to you.”

The smile never faltered on Anton’s lips as he continued to look her over, perhaps even seeing her for the first time. “I beg to differ.” The words slipped out without his consent, though hearing them now, he wouldn’t have even bothered to rein them back if given the chance. He didn’t believe in angels, not as much as he believed in annoying insect monsters that could kill him, that most likely killed his grandfather, but seeing her heavenly face, all that cuteness and innocence, he could definitely see himself becoming a believer.

Slowly, his dark brown eyes wandered around them at her behest, though they didn’t stray long. She had a magnetic presence over him, one he could not seem to ignore. Or at least look away from for far too long, which wasn’t really that long. A part of him feared that she was just a mirage, an illusion, and if he didn’t keep his eyes on her, she would disappear, something he hoped the man in the beekeeper suit was instead. “Oh, hey, Mister Snuffleupagus Von Der Beek!”

His instincts told him to reach out for the stuffed animal, which his body followed and regretted immediately. He didn’t even get to move an inch, his shoulder quickly punishing him for overextending them. “Fuck.” Wincing, he tried to move it around, feeling the pain, before realizing he just swore in front of a goddess. Eyes wide in horror, they found her again, and despite the brief moment of silence, he tried to cover for himself with a warm smile. “Sorry… My shoulder… Pain… You know how it is.”

Anton nodded towards the stuffed animal as he explained further. “That’s the, uhh, favorite toy of my client’s three-year-old. Some overgrown spider tried to grab it and run, but I managed to chase it away and keep the toy but, well, you know… Fall from grace.” He let out an awkward chuckle, not sure if the truth made him look any worse. Couldn’t be any worse than the exterminator who fell off a roof. “I’m Anton, by the way. Anton Grant.” He offered her a hand to shake and winced when even that small attempt made his body hurt. Fucking hell.

While he spoke, Poppy let herself trail over to the hub of machinery at the top of his bed. Her eyebrow quirked at his remark, but other than that, she forced herself not to give any other reaction. Despite the night terrors he just experienced, she could barely feel the residual traces of fear that still clung onto him. All of it had seemingly vanished when he became conscious once more. She hoped that meant that his suspicion for what had caused it was low, too. Though, based on the way he was acting, she was fairly certain there was little for her to worry about in that regard.

She let herself relax somewhat at that thought, though jumped slightly when the man began to move, caught off guard by his sudden urge to get up. “Ah,” she started, reaching forward with her free hand before pausing, letting it hover a few inches away from him. “Your injuries aren’t horrible, but you still need to lay down. If you try to move too much you might make it worse. And that’ll make your bill worse, too.” A stern look crossed her face for a moment. One that read ‘I mean it, don’t fucking try it’.

Poppy shook her head gently and set the doll down next to his thigh, her hands coming to a rest atop the side railings of the bed. A giant spider? She thought back to his nightmare. Well, if what she had gathered from that was correct and he had experienced some kind of bizarre beekeeper who was out for blood, then the spider story should track. A quiet huff escaped her lips as the corners quirked up. “I don’t… know if I should assume that’s real or fake,” she replied, her voice low with amusement, “but if it is, then… that’s. A nice thing to do. Getting a kid’s doll back.”

“I’m not your nurse, but… I’m Poppy,” she paused when he attempted to move once more. She used the back of her hand to gently push his down until it laid on the bed once more. “I’m serious about the no moving thing, Mr. Grant.”

Anton has had horrible and worse, numerous times, throughout not just his respective careers as an exterminator and pest hunter but also his everyday life, most of which he will always regret. Her mention of a worsened bill, however, scared him the most, and with a gulp, he resolved to heed the warning, knowing full well his finances were much scarier to deal with than a trio of beeserkers. That look on her face is pretty cute, though.

His eyes widened in a mixture of horror and excitement as she approached his thigh, though it was immediately replaced with a relieved expression and then disappointment when the doll landed instead of what his crass mind had imagined. Although he was somewhat glad that Mr. Snuffleupagus Von Der Beek was safe and within reach, his thighs craved the touch of something else, someone else. Even in the aftermath of brutality, Anton was still but a boy, hungry for fantastical companionship.

“Oh, it’s real!” He said, almost too excitedly, dark brown eyes beaming with misguided pride. “I really fell down. You see the small rip on Mr. Snuffleupagus Von Der Beek’s right ear?” He winced as he momentarily forgot about all the pain, mostly due to his desire to impress her, and pointing at the spot, straining his arm yet again. His smile only grew wider when she complimented him, as he’s never heard an actual compliment since he came to White Crest, certainly not after he’s been paid at least.

“Poppy?” He mouthed her name over and over again after the word already slipped through his lips, her touch surprising him but in a very good way. He could feel his heart beat race again, her warmth and her scent magnified by his childlike crush. “It’s a pretty name. Perfect for a pretty girl.” He offered her his most charming of smiles, his heart beat rising when she mentioned his name. “Please. Call me Anton.” He tried to distract himself from the loud vibration inside his chest by furthering the conversation. “Is there a way I can choose you to be my nurse? Like a form I can sign or something? I’ll probably need to stay longer now. I’m so hurt, Poppy.”

A quiet hum reverberated from her lips. This definitely was not the first time a patient had acted head over heels for a nurse. And Poppy was sure it wouldn’t be the last, but at least this guy- Anton wasn’t some creepy old man. Just a concussed guy. Who thought she was pretty, it would seem. Her eyebrow raised once more and she stared at him. She’d never encountered someone who acted quite like this before. Even among the strangest of individuals who ended up in the back of the ER.

An idea popped into her head then. Oh. Hey now. She could make use of an infatuation like this, couldn’t she? The softer voice in Poppy’s consciousness tried to remind her that this was definitely a breach of the Hippocratic oath, but she wasn’t a doctor. She wasn’t even human. Yes, she was pretty certain that oath didn’t account for creatures like her. Who was she to deny free food when presented to her?

“I assume you’ll be kept overnight for observation unless the doctor sees you now,” she said, more to herself than as a response to him. She then let a soft, long sigh leave her lips. “If I transfer to your nurse, would you quit trying to move?” Poppy glanced over to him with that same look, though it was less serious and more teasing than before. She may not have all the schooling that the RGNs had, but she had the same nursing certificate nonetheless. It probably wouldn’t even take much convincing to get whoever was actually assigned to him to let her take over. They’d probably let her take all the patients if it meant getting to sit quietly at the front desk like she did.

“Poppy, I would quit everything for you.” Anton quipped, though part of him was certain that it was true, that he’d actually risk his entire life, change everything including himself for her, for a muse that he could serve. The other part? He’s been there before, a long time ago, and it didn’t end well. He did get a cute kid out of the deal, but she was taken from him, too. Probably best for everyone involved back then. He was, after all, at a terrible place in his life.

These days, he has most things under control. He had a stable source of income, he wasn’t too bored that he’d do less than legal things for the sheer fun of it all, then a rebellion against his family and everything else, and most importantly, he had a pretty big house all to himself. If he played his cards right, he may find a very attractive, very nurturing nurse roommate. He and the boggarts at Grant Residence.

“Where do I sign? Do I even need to sign anything?” Anton wasn’t quite well-versed with all these medical proceedings. For a long while, he’s been able to skirt out of its way, mostly with help from old acquaintances, accomplices, and his earlier almost rendezvous with death in White Crest introduced him to who both seemed like old acquaintances of his grandfather, Doctor Adams and Detective Lee, the oddest couple he’s ever met. Oh, maybe he’s here! “Oh, by the way, do you know a Doctor Adams here? Weird British guy, has glasses… I actually forgot his first name.” He chuckled, even as pain still lingered within parts of him, dark brown eyes extremely happy at the sight of Poppy.

“Uh-huh,” Poppy drawled out slowly, her head bobbing once in some semblance of a nod. She briefly wondered if this… infatuation of his was more of a passing side-effect of his concussion rather than anything else. Even so, Anton had definitely made himself out to be an unforgettable person.

Strange or not, a meal was a meal. “Well,” she looked out toward the door to the room for a moment, then back to him. “I’ll have to go poke my head around and see who’s assigned to your room.” Her face pinched in concentration. “You won’t have to sign anything, don’t worry, Mr. Grant.” At his question, her expression softened back to one of neutrality. Doctor Adams, huh?

“Is… unless he frequents the ER here, I probably don’t. Lots of doctors in the world, you know.” She rolled her eyes half-heartedly, his words sparking a memory of self-righteous doctors that would sometimes be called down to the ER and throw fits at the state of things. “Alright, I’ll go… run and sort this out. Do you need anything before I go?” She paused. “That, ahem, isn’t me.”

With the devotion of a high schooler suffering a huge crush on his classmate, Anton listened to her intently, a wide grin on his face. Concussion or not, at this moment in time, Poppy was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The second best was probably waking up from that nightmarish hellscape he found himself in while unconscious, but it was probably just a one-off thing. He’s had the same nightmares before, and although they were never that intense, he did fall off a roof this time, so his brain, as much as it could while working in terrible condition, justified that as a good enough reason.

“It’s fine. I’ll sign anything you want me to sign.” The words slithered out of his mouth without any thought, none at all. If Anton had been dragged to a network marketing scheme instead of finding his way to the hospital, he’d probably have lost all of his money as soon as he woke up. Thank god for his client, such a kind-natured soul who was probably more worried about cleaning his corpse off her lawn than his actual health. Eh, good enough for me.

“Yeah, of course!” He laughed at what he perceived to be her quip, already forgetting his question about Doctor Adams. “What isn’t you?” Again, his subconscious tried to help him out, but Anton was presently not 100% whole. A part of him tried to make sense of what was going on, what had happened, but that part wasn’t as strong as the other part of him that catered to his sad, pathetic craving for her companionship. “I’m fine, Poppy. Not as fine as you, but I’m fine.” He grinned, even though his body was obviously not fine, not yet anyway, pain still lingering in his bones and joints.

As soon as she leaves, however, he mutters to himself, an unnecessary assurance to his own misguided feelings, his still blurry perception of the things happening around him, all while he watched her go. “Oh, yeah. She’s definitely into me.” She was, of course, not that into him, but he needed to believe that lie. At least for now, he felt hope, not as just another lie to trick himself into carrying on but as a warm dream he can aspire to. At least for a couple of days, maybe even weeks. Anton’s romantic relationships never end well, after all.

In the days that follow.

It wasn’t every day that Poppy put a bit of effort into her appearance on a day she went to work. In fact, it was never. Except for maybe the very first week she had landed the job. The long hours and constant moving around and sweating meant that makeup was not the best of ideas. Especially at seven in the morning. But she had been planning for the specific day a certain patient was to be released. She’d spent much of the time that Anton had been spending in hospital care thinking about what to do. Never before had anyone she’d ever fed on been so… completely unaffected by what she did to them. Not only that, but it was as if the man had been slapped by some cupid’s curse.

Whatever the case might have been, Poppy decided that it would be best to make use of it. These types of things happened for a reason, didn’t they? She told herself such while she put that bit of effort into her appearance. Her hair was pulled back nice, her eyes lined with a gentle wing of brown eyeliner, and her cheeks had a faint dusting of orange blush. Just enough to make her look like she was definitely not a nightmare demon in some human skin.

She walked down the long corridor of the hospital wing and came to a stop outside the door to Anton’s room. Poppy inhaled quietly, then knocked on the wood with the back of her hand. “Mr. Grant?” She asked, opening the door a inch to make sure he was awake, then more so once she saw him. “Good morning. I think I have something you might be interested in.” She raised her hand and waved a stack of papers for a moment. His discharge papers. Fresh and ready to be signed by the doctor.

For the entire duration of his stay, which was like just a couple of days anyway, Anton found the entire thing quite nice. Sure, he’s been having a couple of nightmares here and there, waking up more tired than he expected, but it was probably just the side effect of that fall. Besides, he finally had an excuse to take a day off, and though it probably sets BUG BUSTERS PEST CONTROL SOLUTIONS back for like a few dollars, it wasn’t that heavy of a price to pay.

Anton could technically take a day off every now and then, but he never did, always consumed by the nagging feeling of guilt and the dread of disappointing his already dead grandfather. So far, however, the Girl’s text messages, meant to update him on the daily goings-on at the office, were mostly boring “oks” and “someone called but i referred them elsewhere”. If he had known things would be this chill, he would’ve taken a day off a long time ago.

Aside from loafing around in his hospital bed, Anton filled much of his time and attention with the love of his life, his nurse Poppy. Thanks to his concussion, which was a weird thing to be thankful for, the exterminator believed he had finally found his muse. His past relationships all ended terribly for one reason or another, but he had high hopes Poppy would be a different case. If he only knew.

“Poppy? Please, call me Anton.” He reminded her again, for the nth time, though he didn’t really keep count and consciously didn’t actually mind. The words just felt like the right reply for her calling her future boyfriend Mister. “Good morning!” He greeted her with as much excitement as he could muster, eager to spend another day with her, only to get deflated when his dark brown eyes found out what the papers were.

“I’m being discharged?!” He turned to her with sadness and despair, as if he was betrayed, rejected, by the girl of his nightmares dreams. How could Poppy do this to me?! “Uhh… There must be some mistake? I still feel, uhm, bad?” Scrambling towards her, he threw off his sheets, grabbing her hands in desperation. “No, Poppy, I’m still in pain... Please. I need you… To take care of me.” He whined. Like a child.

Bingo.

Poppy rolled her eyes playfully and snorted quietly. By that point, she had grown used to Anton’s antics. For the most part, at least. “You say as much, but your doctor says something completely different. Apart from the, uh, bouts of night terrors?” She paused there, sparing a moment to look up at him with some faux-concern. Mostly faux-concern. Seeing the side effects of her noshing still twisted her stomach from time to time, but there was nothing she could really do about that in the end, was there? She still needed to eat. A gentle nudge and she wiggled her hands out of his grip.

“Aside from that, you’re back to being in perfect health.” With that, she set the folder she held down on the rolling table beside his bed. Poppy looked at him with eyes that were both teasing and pitying. “This is a normal part of being in a hospital, you know. You do have to leave at some point.” She tapped a painted nail on the top of the folder twice.

“It isn’t like I’m going to magically disappear after you leave. I still exist, you know. Is there something I can do to ease the pain of this discharge?”

“Oh, yeah… The night terrors…” Anton simply shrugged. He didn’t really want to talk about them, afraid to unearth a childhood trauma that he may not be yet ready to come face-to-face with. As much as the Beekeeper was but a story his late grandfather used to tell his grandchildren whenever they’d misbehaved too much, the exterminator has seen and experienced otherwise, a part of him certain that there was more to the tale than he was told. With a smile, however, he eased her concern, not wanting to burden the love of his life with his inglorious fears. “Just a side effect of the fall, I think? Nothing to worry about!”

Yet he could not stave off the disappointment and sadness he felt at the idea that this was it, this was the part where they’d, well, part ways, him and Poppy, forever no more. Anton felt his heart wrench, a stinking feeling in the deepest pits of his stomach that almost sent him in a panic. This was the best he’s felt in weeks, months, and now it seems over. Back to lonely nights in his late grandfather’s massive house then. Maybe he should really put that guest room up for rent. “Do I have to?”

There was nothing normal about him, that much he understood. Certainly, the adjective perfect was rarely used to reference Anton. Poppy was right, however: All things must come to an end, even the good ones, especially the good ones. Life is nothing else but suffering, sometimes tolerable, most of the time annoying as fuck. Still, she offered him hope, and like trout to a lure, he could not ignore it. Forlorn, his dark brown eyes wandered back to her, and he mustered a weak smile.

“Promise? I mean, I guess it’ll be a little less painful if you, like, I don’t know, keep in touch? By, uhm, giving me your number? There’s, like, a really good restaurant at the docks. Dinner sounds like the least I can do to thank you for keeping me healthy.”

Poppy smiled.

She put a finger to her lips, as if to tell him not to tell anyone else. Without saying anything, she pulled a pad of sticky notes and a pen from the pockets of her scrubs. If Anton was anyone else, she would have worried that they might wonder why she precariously had such things in her pocket, but she had learned that by that point, he didn’t seem to care about much other than looking right at her. For a moment she wondered what his reaction would be if he ever figured out what she was. This little façade couldn’t go on forever- at least. For her, time had proven that everything nice would have to end at some point. Would he still be as awestruck if he knew? Or would he finally come back to his senses?

A thought popped in her head. Had she ever cared so much about what a human really thought of her? Really?

When she glanced up and saw the genuine gleam of desperation in Anton’s eyes, Poppy decided not to worry about it. Whatever he wanted out of her, she could play along. No one else was being hurt- clearly he wasn’t as affected as other humans would have been. As she carefully wrote down the digits to her number, adding a small smiley face at the end, just for the appeal, she spoke: “As long as it doesn’t entail you chasing after some sort of gigantic bug and getting another concussion.” She peeled the note off the pad and flattened it down on the cover of the folder, the ink on the face smearing just-so.

Poppy took a few steps back and smiled. “Another nurse will stop-by in a bit with some more for you to sign. And then you’ll be a free man once more.”

Anton nodded fervently, dark brown eyes wide in delight as they found themselves glued on the tiny piece of paper that contained Poppy’s number, that he held as tightly as he could, as if he was afraid it would vanish very soon. Committing her contact information to his memory, the exterminator couldn’t hide his triumphant joy, chuckling at her quip. It would be dishonest to not admit that he had thought about doing the same thing again, suffering the fall and the nightmares as an excuse for him to be near her once more, in the same room as the angelic face who woke him up from his nightmare. Her phone number was a safer compromise, though.

“Thank you. Again. You have no idea how much this means to me, Poppy.” He didn’t either. Not really. Especially all things considered. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

That was the last he saw of her. At least at the time. When he was told to leave, the exterminator unfortunately couldn’t get a hold of the nurse that had a warm grip on his heart. Anton wanted to wait and see her, bid her goodbye at the very least, but she was apparently busy elsewhere and some security guard was being rude, watching him like a hawk does a mouse. With her parting gift, however, he knew it wouldn’t be long until they crossed paths again. Or at least until he’d hear her voice again. Maybe, if she was too busy to have dinner with him tonight, he would at least see her in his dreams. The thought made him smile as he finally made his way out of the hospital, breathing in the fresh air made even better by the memory of his muse.

In fields of poppy, buzzes this little bee.

#wickedswriting #chatzy: anton

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3. Our Place in the Cosmos

‘I wish we had all been born birds instead’ Kurt Vonnegut

“Réveille toi, princesse!”, Louis bellowed, barging into my room first thing the next morning, “Time do doll up for the day! No little birdies coming to help!”

I responded the way I always did, by grunting half-heartedly, hoping it would be enough for him to leave me alone; it never was.

“Mags?”

I felt the mattress dip to my left and then a sudden pull to the blanket. Prepared, however, with more than two decades of him in my life, I was already holding tighter to it.

“Come on, I brought coffee! Get up and look! I even added cream and powdered cocoa, just how you like it.”

I took in a deep breath, emerging from my blanket cocoon just enough to look at him with one eye, raising one eyebrow.

“I asked the chef, it’s the intention that matters.”

Sighing, I pulled myself up slightly to half-sit against the bed frame. I pulled the blanket off a little more, enough for one arm and half of my face to be out, and took the mug from him.

“Praise!” Louis looked up, in mock-reverence, “For the sacrificial bean potion has been accepted by the beast! The kingdom is spared another day!”

I rolled my eyes, or tried to in my sleep, but stuck to the coffee smell entering my nostrils as I blew it lightly, allowing the first sip to wake me up a little.

I’d been having the weirdest dream; I was in the conference room at work and my entire company was sitting around the room. At the head of the table, my bosses. They were all staring at me as I struggled through a presentation I couldn’t for the life of me remember and when I looked at the screen behind me, it was a powerpoint filled with images of Harry.

‘Care to explain, Your Royal Highness?’, my boss asked, which was weird, because no one at work treated me as HRH.

‘He was just joking!’, I justified, hurriedly. ‘Of course he was joking!’

‘He seemed pretty serious, Margueritte’, said my other boss. ‘He was even jealous of your ex.’

‘Where would you live? If you married?’, asked Sophie, one of my colleagues.

‘They’re both spares, so neither needs to inherit…’

‘I guess neither is needed at their own country, they could live in Savoy.’

‘No, she would have to move to England, of course.’

‘Why?!’

‘She’s the woman. They would make her.’

‘But her career is here!’

‘She can be a lawyer anywhere!’

‘Do you really think the British Royal family would allow her to continue to work?’

‘Guys!’, I started yelling, but my voice wouldn’t come out, ‘He was just kidding! Of course it would never work! Guys! We’re not together!’

‘What will the press say?’

‘What will her grandmother say?!’

“Maggie?!” Louis snapped his fingers in front of my face.

Startled, I sighed, closing my eyes, trying to will the nightmare into oblivion.

“You still talk in your sleep, huh?”

I looked at him, feeling my blood run cold. I cleared my throat, but didn’t say anything.

As a teenager, he always managed to get information out of me by pretending he heard me say something in my sleep and allowing me time to start justifying myself or ask incriminating questions before I even knew what he heard. With time, I learned. Say nothing. If he really heard something, he’ll eventually ask specifically.

“Who’s Mary?”

I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Did you have a dream about Jesus? Because you were also saying ‘I’m a catholic! There’s nothing I can do about it!’, so maybe it was the mother of Jesus?”

Of course I knew what that meant. Harry had called me “Mary” at least thirty times the day before. And being anglican, Harry could lose his title if he married a catholic, a fact I couldn’t for the life of me remember how I knew, or when I learned.

“Maybe.” I said.

He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through something, allowing me time to drink my coffee. A song started playing, slightly upbeat, with an indie feeling to it. I tried to remind myself to ask the name later, but had no energy at that moment.

I heard a noise and realized he’d taken a selfie of us.

“Pourquoi?”, I sighed.

“Just texting Lou.”

Both Louis and Lourdes, our sister, used ‘Lou’ as a nickname. It made for confusing conversations with other family members or friends, but amongst the three of us, we always knew who we were talking about, so we rarely used their names.

He showed me his phone, smiling, a minute or two later. There was a selfie in reply from Lourdes. It was a Saturday so she was home from boarding school, and the picture showed herself in bed with an open laptop nearby and some young teenager paused mid-sentence on it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I think she’s watching youtube.” He returned.

“She should be asleep.”

“She has ice skating practice soon.”

I sighed again, heavily. “She does too much.”

“Did she send you a video of a new move yesterday?”

“It’s possible. She sends me a lot of videos.”

“She’s getting really good.”

The coffee had gone cold, so I sunk into bed again and shoved the mug in his general direction.

“Put it over there.” He said, dismissively, eyeing the bedside table to my other side.

I whined something incoherent, pleading as I sank lower into the blanket, but he made no move for the mug.

“I’m not taking it, you gotta get up, anyway.”

“Ugh.” Forcing myself to turn to my side, I stretched and pushed the mug into the bedside table, near my phone.

Clicking the screen twice, I looked at my notifications. A couple texts from my friends and a few emails. I clicked it dark again and let the blankets consume me.

“Have you heard from Chris?”

I sighed loudly, more for him to be able to gather my annoyance than out of actual necessity.

“Non.”

There was a pause.

“You know we have to leave soon, right?”

I whined again.

“I know.” He sighed. “How’s work?”

I sighed, trying to respond like a normal, awake version of myself.

“Good.”

“Nice."

I constructed a sentence in my head, about how I had to stop taking time off if I wanted to be taken seriously as a lawyer, and how dad had promised me he’d let me focus on my career after he moved back home. Instead, what I said was,

“How’s school?”

He sighed. “Good.”

There was a pause, but I didn’t hear his fingers on his phone anymore. I closed my eyes again and started feeling a cosy sleepiness take over once more, as if it never left.

“Peter came out to his family.”

I opened my eyes again.

“...I thought - oh. I thought everyone knew.”

“They… knew.” He said, uncertain. “His friends knew. His parents knew, but… pretended they didn’t. His extended family definitely didn’t know.”

I stretched a hand towards the bedside table, hovering over the vertical stripes of the wood. It was a victorian style chest with copper edges, two small drawers and a victorian lampshade on top. I knew there were 17 vertical stripes in the wood facing the bed - I had been counting them the night before after the Mayor’s ball, when I couldn’t sleep, thinking of how the edges matched the hair in a certain jerk.

“How… how did it go?”

My brother sighed.

“Fine.”

I turned in bed to face him, and waited.

Peter was Louis’ roommate since his second year at the University of Edinburgh, when he left the dorms in search for more privacy. They met at an econ class and soon discovered they had a lot more in common than it seemed. Peter was also from an upper class family with a lot of generational wealth and property to look after, and was also studying in Edinburgh to find some space in which he could figure himself out before he had to dedicate his life to the family business.

“...I don’t know.” He admitted. “I guess, from what he said, it sounds like it went better than expected?”

“His parents came to your birthday party a couple years ago, right?” He nodded. “I remember them; they seemed nice.”

“They are, they’re lovely! It’s just… His father has an estate up north. It’s been with them for generations. Peter doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, so he has to inherit. And you know the aristocracy, right? They’re…”

“Overly conservative? Stuck in the past? Assholes?”

He smiled, slightly, then shrugged. “He needs to provide an heir.”

“He can, though.”

“He knows… it’s just…”

“Unusual.”

Louis let out a long breath; “Yeah.”

“Maybe they just need time.”

“His family does this… thing, every year. They’re big on Christmas. So they plan this whole, really long family holiday, with a trip, and activities, and theme nights…”

“I know, you spent Christmas with them last year.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “It was the most fun I had with older British people ever since I moved here.”

I smiled; my family had its own Christmas traditions, but as royals we didn’t have any commitments until New Year’s Eve, when there was a televised ceremony at the Capital and a speech from my father. It was nice, it gave us room to do whatever we wanted for the holidays, as a family, not property of the country. We could stay with mom’s family, or Lourdes could go skiing with a friend’s family, or I could go to Cabo with college friends in my junior year… so it wasn’t unusual for Louis to decide to spend last year’s holiday with Peter’s family, specially when his family made such a big deal of those days.

“It’s such a big spectacle, they start planning months in advance… Peter said they usually have already started an email thread at this point in the year… And he hasn’t received anything.”

“It’s October.” I reasoned.

His smile was sadder now. “His cousin said she’s in a thread.”

I sighed. “This…”

“I know.” He added, when I couldn’t find words.

I knew Peter, of course. Being only a couple years younger than me, Louis was basically my best friend. Not the one I talked to the most, but definitely the one who knew me better than anyone in the world. We loved Lourdes with our whole hearts, but she was more than a decade younger than me.

As a result of that close age difference, Louis and I had a lot of friends in common. Even though I went to an all-girls boarding school in Belgium, and he to an all-boys boarding school in Savoy, we had the weekends at home, and the school holidays. And polo matches at the club, and charity events with family friends, and we always ended up meeting the other’s friends from school one way or another.

Peter, then, became a fixture in our lives, and it broke my heart to know something so silly could be wrecking him without my knowledge.

“You should invite him home for Christmas.” I told Louis. “Invite him to come to Savoy. I think we’ll be at Corsilla Castle this year; it’s right by the beach, he’ll love it.”

He considered it for a few moments, but his brows were troubled.

“I don’t know… He already has to deal with paparazzi at the entrance of our building and following us to class because of me… I don’t want to throw him even more to the wolves.”

I sat up in bed, adjusting my shirt. “It won’t be that bad! Remember my third year of University, when I brought Kat and Amanda home for Christmas? Paparazzi followed us around because of me, but then they went home without me and they were fine.”

He nodded. "I'll wait a bit more, see if they'll come around. If not, then I'll ask."

I smiled. "Good."

Laying back again, I pulled the sheets to my neck, and turned back to the bedside table, closing my eyes.

It wasn't even five seconds before I felt a pillow hit my thigh.

"What?!" I jumped.

"Get up!" he said, looking distressed.

--- ---- ---

After breakfast at Clarence House, I rode to the British Parliament with Louis and our father. I wore a nude, midi length, blazer-like wrap dress with two rows of buttons and a tank top of the same color underneath to make the neckline more conservative, with shoes and hat were of the same color.

We sat in the House of Commons and watched as my father was introduced and delivered an address on the honor it was to be at the ‘center of British democracy’, and ‘how fortunate we are in Savoy to have such an ally across the sea’. I sat in my seat attempting not to look bored, which was a feat to behold as I had heard that speech a bunch of times in preparation for the trip. It was just as hard not to mouth the lines along with my father.

Over the past few years, tensions had been growing between the two islands: the British and the Savoyen governments were in conflict over the right way to handle the immigration crisis slowly taking over Europe from Syria. England, Savoy and France were all interchangeably accessible through the Eurostar, and that free access was generating higher immigration numbers, and because unlike France, Savoy hadn’t yet toughened their regulations over the issue, the British were more than a little upset at our government for, as they said, ‘facilitating the entry to Great Britain’.

That’s what we were there to do, smile and wave and appear friendly to strengthen our diplomatic ties. And that was the main issue my father was subtly talking about in his speech. Our need to come together and find solutions to benefit the many, yada, yada, yada.

“I’m thinking of skipping the meetings to go with you to your event.”

I looked at him. Louis was still looking at our father as he talked about the economic partnerships between the countries.

“The meetings are important. Dad is talking to a lot of representatives.”

“I know, but he doesn’t really need me.”

I sighed. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Just have Cadie send a press release to inform people I’ll go.”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

I made sure to keep a smile on my face during the exchange, but as soon as had shaken all the appropriate hands and posed for the necessary photographs in front of the press, I pulled him into a quiet corner of the hallway while dad gave a short interview to a British journalist.

“You can’t come with me.”

“Why not?”

“Louis, your responsibility is to help dad with diplomatic affairs.”

He rolled his eyes. “There won’t even be press there.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Stop stage-whispering, they’re gonna hear you.”

I took a step forward and gave my back to the people on the other end of the hallway.

“Papa is counting on you. The press is not important, it’s about…” I sighed, searching for help in my memories of the preparatory meeting Auguste made me attend. “It’s about building a relationship of trust with the people you’ll be working with when you’re king.”

“Maggie.” He took in a long breath. “Fine. Okay, you’re right.” He shrugged, sighing.

“You’ll do great. Remember, you’re here to learn.”

“Alright, fine, now you’re sounding like Maman.”

--- ---- ---

The Duchess of Cambridge was nothing but bright and bubbly, the picture of politeness when I met her that morning at the gravel driveway into Clarence House. The team figured it would be weird if we saw each other for the first time in public and had to make introductions in front of the whole world, so she was kind enough to drive to Clarence House so we could leave for our engagement together.

I arrived from Parliament, where I left my father and brother to their meetings with elected officials, and had just enough time to change into a different outfit and remove my hat before I rushed down the stairs to meet the woman the world knew as Kate Middleton waiting in the drawing room with the Duchess of Cornwall.

The dress I was wearing now was silk and down to my knees, tied under my chest with a bow, bellow a V shaped neckline that stretched into long, bishop, sleeves. The Duchess of Cambridge was wearing a green envelope dress, midi-length, and nude shoes, with her silky, golden brown hair falling down her shoulders in perfect waves. She and the Duchess of Cornwall were sitting in armchairs, leaning towards each conspiratorially. They looked up at me when I walked in with Cadie, with an air about them that gave me the distinct impression I was the subject of their recent whispering.

With a mid-thought smile on their lips, they stood up.

“Your Royal Highness, may I present, Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge.”

“Your Royal Highness, it’s lovely to meet you.” She said, extending a hand, which I shook just as she flexed her legs down in a curtsey.

It was a bit of a gray area, who curtsied to whom between the two of us, because, although we both technically held the same spot in the lines of succession of our countries, I was there as a royal by blood, and she was only the consort of one; still, I wouldn’t have expected her to curtsey, so I curtsied too.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Royal Highness. And please call me by name.”

“Well, then you must too. Call me Catherine.”

“You can just use Margueritte, if it’s easier. I make no fuss over our obnoxious French R’s.”

They chuckled.

“I will admit it shouldn’t be too difficult to skip the formal titles, I do feel as though I know you well already.” She exchanged a look with the Duchess of Cornwall that could only be described as knowing, and then said, in a forcibly casual tone, “I have heard a lot about you.”

“You have?”

They stared at me, smiling. Behind me, Cadie was aiming her wide eyes at the ground; brows raised, an amused grin in her lips.

“Good things I hope.”

“Oh, of course.” Catherine laughed. “Nothing but good things!”

“A little too good, perhaps.”

Of my current options - ignore it altogether, try to pretend I misinterpreted their meaning or face it head on - I decided it was safer, more diplomatic perhaps, to stay in the middle.

“We’re not as famous as Britain in Savoy, but we do get on the news sometimes.” I said, with a small shrug. “So long as you don’t believe everything you read. Unless it’s good.”

They chuckled again, but the Duchess of Cambridge seemed as if she wanted to contest my understanding, but decided against it.

“Of course.” She agreed, finally.

“And lucky you.” Added the woman to her right.

“We should get going, then.” Catherine’s aide, a young brunette, added from the door.

I curtsied to the Duchess of Cornwall, who wished us luck before kissing her step-daughter-in-law’s cheeks and waving us into the car.

There was a palpable shift within Catherine when we were in the car, alone if not for the driver and her aide in the front. Her hands were fidgety, her eyes moving quickly between the window by her side and the one in the front. At times I thought she might have looked at me as well, only for a moment, one from the corners of her eyes.

She seemed level-headed. Mature. Sensible. So she could reasonably have meant something else entirely by what she said… what I said about the press, perhaps. Because what could Harry even have said about me? He barely knew me. It was only the day before that we met (officially, that is). How much time would he have had to talk about me to his family? Did he run home and told them of the cold, overly polite Princess he’d just met who kept rebuking his advances?

I looked over at her, who still seemed slightly fidgety, definitely more than when the Duchess of Cornwall was with us. I wondered if there was a particular reason, or if maybe she was just shy. Maybe she was also thinking of all those times she’d heard so much of me.

Her aide spoke before either of us did.

“Ma’am, why don’t you tell Her Royal Highness why we chose Place2Be to visit today?”

I was reminded of my mother, when she attempted to force me to talk to our adult guests at dinner parties when I was younger.

“Right.” The Duchess smiled. “Well, I’ve always really loved children. So after I got married, I was meant to chose organizations I’d like to support and I decided to start with children. Place2Be is was the first, it’s where I made my first speech. They… they help children.”

There was an awkward break. I wondered if that was it. Was that it? That seemed like a very short answer, though I suppose a case could be made that it was to the point.

My mother had made me attend enough etiquette lessons growing up to know that the host is supposed to make conversation, so I wanted to stay quiet, but the only thing I had to occupy myself with were my own thoughts, and that was unacceptable.

“I remember my first speech. It was… a nightmare, honestly.” I chuckled to myself. “And no matter how many of these things I do, I still get so anxious beforehand.”

She looked over at me, and I saw immediate relief and surprise wash over her features.

“Really?!” She shook her head in disbelief. “So do I! At times I’m shocked I don’t trip on my feet!”

“I used to only wear low shoes when I first started, I was afraid of the very same.” I confessed, with an embarrassed smile.

“And I do prepare, of course! I do all the work-”

“Exactly, it’s not about the work, just… the-”

“Responsability.”

“Yes!”

The way she smiled in response, shoulders dropping, voice wavering, I wondered how often she had been told by her own team all the things she should and shouldn’t do during these events; If I couldn’t escape Auguste’s nagging, and my father was the King, what hope did she have? Merely marrying into a family where her husband was still the heir to the heir.

As it turns out, the charity Catherine chose to show me, Place2Be, didn’t just ‘help kids’; it helped the communities around them as well, providing lunches, and courses for the parents, and and counseling tools for the children to learn how to properly express their feelings in order to be healthier. They mainly worked with school, so on that afternoon we joined them in an event in a primary school in the outskirts of London that served mainly marginalized communities and families of immigrants.

As we parked outside the simple yet lovely building, our security stepped our first, followed by our secretaries, and finally, the Duchess and I. At the entrance, the organizations’ leaders awaited to guide us in our visit, with the press lined up at the opposite direction, cameras ready to snap.

Friends often ask me what is running through my mind when I walk anywhere with the press on my heels. 'How can you think straight-', they'll say, 'with those cameras and flashes following you so up close?'. The truth is, I do not think at all when forced to walk with the press watching. Things like arriving at events, such as this one, where the flashed are so constant it mostly just looks like the room merely has weirdly artificial lighting. I don't have time to look around and register or appreciate the landscape, or take notice of who is watching and what they might be thinking of me. All I can do is walk straight up, either taking the lead or, in this case, following it, and shake the hands I was suppose to and say the pleasantries I was suppose to, all making sure I have a smile on my face and my skirt isn’t blowing with the wind.

There were two women waiting for us in the entrance, one was wearing a dress, the other a pantsuit. I‌ let Catherine go first, and after she had shaken their hands, and they had each done a short, polite curtsey, she turned around and introduced me as ‘Princess Marie-Margueritte’, with a perfect French pronunciation.

The school was simple enough, brick walls with colorful art, posters about washing one’s hands and treating others with politeness. There was a smaller group of reporters inside, following us along as we walked, and our aides were taking pictures or videos themselves.

As we walked, Angela, the principal in a pantsuit, was telling us about the progress the children had undergone since the school began its partnership with Place2Be. Less temper tantrums, more willingness to talk things through. Michelle, the representative from Place2Be, told us about the art therapy initiatives, which helped the children learn how to better process and express their feelings, and about the researches that showed children that were incentivized to talk about what they felt were less likely to develop mental health issues.

We passed by classrooms and halls until we arrived at a room with wide, round tables, knee high, filled with children and a few teachers. We walked in, reciprocating their timid, excited smiles, and another Place2Be specialist introduced us and welcomed us to take seats in a table in the middle, where two tiny chairs had been left empty for us, side by side. There was a hilarious moment when we realized just how low the chairs were as we tried to take our seats, and shared a mildly desperate look, before starting to giggle at the same time. We eventually sat down, knees together as demanded by etiquette, and said hello to our table mates, Audrey, Matthew, Safiya and Thomas.

The instructor told us the exercise we were doing today was called safety net, like one an equilibrist might use in a circus to make sure if he falls he won’t get hurt, she said. The gist of it was, in our lives our safety net was the people we could count on to talk to or to help us if we felt troubled, like family or trusted teachers. They gave us sheets of paper and crayons, and told us to draw our safety nets, or something that represented them, which is when I sighed, looking at Catherine.

“I’m a terrible artist.” I told her.

She chuckled, cheeks red, and seemed to ponder her words before she spoke.‌ “No pressure, only all the reporters will see.”

I‌ smiled, noticing her a little more comfortable now, sarcasm and all.

I looked at tiny, Asian little Audrey to my right, “do you think they’ll accept a stick figure? It’s all I can draw.”

She giggled and showed me her drawing, already a red man with strangely large hands and comically crooked legs, “Like this!”

“Yes,‌‌ I’ll try to do as well as you!”

I ended up drawing only faces - they did say I could draw something to represent my safety net. In truth, I‌ would have drawn some of my friends, like Stella, Constance or Kat. Maybe even Sophie or Larissa, from work. But bringing up friends during royal engagements was practically asking the press to talk about them, and I did not wish that on anybody.

So I drew exactly who I knew they would expect me to, my family. Of course I could count on my family, even if I had to put my career and goals on hold to help them with no early notice just because they needed me. Even if my brother seemed to not be putting much effort into coming home as soon as he should. Of course I could always count on them. And regardless, it’s not like I could draw anything else. Not when this was my job. Even if I needed space, they were, after all, the job.

“Woah.”‌ I told Catherine. “That is amazing.”

I wasn’t even exaggerating; she had drawn a pretty good, torso only version of her husband, with a bundle on his arms which I suppose was their son, Prince George. There was another adult figure by his side, with larger shoulders and a stronger jaw - I was seriously amazed at her ability with crayons. As I watched, she was filling in his hair with an orange one; I felt my heart in my throat. I knew that orange.

“Thank you,”‌ she said, timidly, “Yours are not so bad either!”

I‌ had four crooked circles in my sheet of paper, all black, and I had just managed to fill out two with weird, tiny dots for eyes and large, wavy lines for hair.

“You are too kind.”‌ I told her, half-laughing.

“Who are they?”, asked Thomas, the little boy to her left, pointing at her drawing.

“I drew my husband and my son, and my brother-in-law, Harry.” She told him, sweetly. “My husband is very patient and dedicated, he always helps me when I need, and he is a really good daddy. And his brother is very sweet.”

I kept my eyes to my black blobs, adding a hat to the one that was supposed to be my mother to hide the weird hair I had done, trying not to listen to her even though she was sitting right next to me.

“He is really kind, and really good with his nephew, and always makes people laugh.” She turned to look at me.‌‌ “You know Harry, don’t you, Margueritte?”

I‌ looked at her, feeling weirdly warm. “Harry?” She nodded.‌ “Prince Harry, you mean?” She nodded again, smiling. “Yes, we’ve met.”

I looked back at my drawing, now doing a ball on top of Lourdes’ head, as she was always wearing her hair in a bun for ballet or training.

“Don’t you think he’s a sweetheart?”

“Well, I… Yes, he seems nice.”

I drew Lourdes’ hair a bit more forcefully, making it almost look as if she had a second head on top of her own.

“And he’s so funny. And a truly loyal friend, you can always count on him.”

This, I‌ thought, was a lot. So I sighed, and looked at her, brows furrowed, trying to decipher what exactly she was trying to do, but she was focused on her own drawing again, now giving Harry some freckles.

“He is very dedicated to his work, too. He and William love animals, and conservation work, and we started working on mental health a while back, that’s very important to both of them.”

“How nice.”‌ I said, moving on to one last circle, giving Louis - or attempting to - thin eyes and a long, thin nose.

“How did the two of you meet?” she asked.

I‌ leaned in.‌ “Did he ask you to ask that?”

“No.”‌ She said, a faint note of surprise in her voice, but her reddening cheeks gave her away. “Why would he?”

“No reason.‌”‌ I‌ told her, smiling.‌ “We met a while ago.”

She nodded. “He talked a lot about you yesterday.”‌

“Did he?” I asked, now adding my brother’s long, wavy hair.

“He did…” She leaned in again, and whispered to me, “I‌ think you made an impression.”

“Well, that’s… good. I think.”

“He’s single, you know.”

The crayon in my hand broke. I‌ looked at her. She was… redder than I had seen her yet and, looking uncomfortable, she focused on her own work again.

“Whoever he ends up with will be really lucky, I think.”

“That’s…” I tried, my voice hoarse. “That’s nice.”

“Woah, I don’t have that much hair!”

I turned around. On my other side, there was Louis.

The kids all turned around to look at him, in some kind of awe. The reporters in the front of the class started snapping their flash-photography more viciously.

“Oh, hello.” Catherine smiled up at him.

“Good afternoon.”‌ He smiled back, sharing her hand, before waving it to the room. “Hello, everyone!”

“Welcome, Your Royal Highness!” The Place2‌Be instructor brought a chair for him, placing it after Audrey, and addressed the children, telling them who he was and asking Matthew, by his side, to explain to him the exercise.

“Oh, so that’s why my sister was drawing me!”‌ He said, cheerily, after hearing the explanation. “That’s so sweet, Marie-Margueritte, even if you completely over did my hair, which I will attempt not to take personally.”

A reporter took three steps to the center of the room, and raised a camera to capture us better. The movement put me on my guard, so I smiled at my brother.

“I only drew what I see. You need a haircut.”

“I do not need a haircut!” He said, brushing his hair back with a lazy hand that, having known him all his life, I‌ knew was precisely calculated.

“What do you think?”‌ I‌ asked Catherine, who startled, and laughed.

“Oh, I think you both look lovely!”

We laughed at her defensive reaction.

“Very diplomatic.”‌ Louis nodded and began drawing something on his sheet of paper.

Another kid came walking towards us and stopped by Catherine to show her his drawing; naturally, all the paparazzi turned to her to capture the sweet moment.

Louis used this moment to lean over to me. “Se détendre. Papa dit que je pouvais venir.”

Relax, he said, dad said I could come.

I‌ sighed, still smiling, but focused on the crayons.

It was around this time that the teacher started telling the students that had finished their first task they could start on the second. She said, now that we had our safety net, we had someone we could tell our problems to. Sometimes, she said, all you need is to get those feelings out of yourself, even if you don’t find a magic answer.

So, instructed to draw a box and put the things that made me angry inside of it, I used three crayons and a lot of time to draw a 3D, colorful box, so that the time would run out before I had the time to draw anything to put into it. It did, so we left our drawings on the table, knowing they would be shown off for the world to see soon enough, and marched out of the room waving goodbye to the children.

We were led into a crowded, large meeting room, where the teaching staff shared their biggest challenges and joys of teaching young children and the precise ways the organization had helped. Next, we sat down with older students who told us of the difficulties of being their age, and the things about the future that made them anxious.

My brother stayed mostly quiet except to crack a joke or two, making everyone laugh at his charming, easy-going personality. I focused on Catherine, on the children, and on keeping the most sincere smile I‌ could muster on my face.

Eventually, as we were preparing to leave, Auguste, who had come with Louis, leaned in to tell us, in a whisper, that dad had been delayed in his meeting, and we should make ourselves busy before our next appointment, at which time the Duchess of Cambridge invited us for tea at her home.

Eventually, we shook all of their hands, thanked them for their time, and walked out of the school the same way we came in, to a large wall of reporters and a crowd of well-wishers. Normally, someone would suggest that we go shake their hands, thank them for coming, but I could feel my anger-box starting to crack, so I took matters into my hands.

Though Catherine’s aide volunteered to drive separately so me and my brother could go with her, I insisted she go with her boss, who I was sure, ‘would need her’. That way Cadie drove with the security, and I joined my brother and Auguste in the car they had come in.

“I know you want to yell at me,” he started, when we were seated, as the security closed the doors, and Auguste got in in the front seat, “but more importantly, did you get a text from Lou today?”

I smiled at the people outside and waved, silent.

“Oh, right.” He said, copying me. “It was a video. She finally perfected a double axel, she’s getting really good!”

After we took off, my smile dropped, and I turned to him.

“Qu'est-ce que tu fous ici?!”

He threw his head back against the seat. “Papa said it was fine for me to leave!”

“Or course he did. Why does it matter?! You have a job to do, Louis. You can’t just half-ass this job!”

“I know very well what I am supposed to do, thank you very much.”

“Do you?! Because it doesn’t seem like it!”

Auguste took a deep breath in the front seat, turning back towards us. “Perhaps there’s a better time for this discussion?”

“Shut up, Auguste!”

“Don’t be rude!”

“You need to understand you have a responsibility!”

“There was no press there, me being there would make no difference.”

“Not everything in this job is about the press!”

“Will you stop acting like you’re my boss?! You’re not Maman.”

I looked at the window, feeling more frustrated than I ever had. “You think of nothing, of no one but yourself.”

“Yes, and I should be more like you, and put everyone ahead of my every need. Because that’s healthy.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You spent your whole life letting them dictate your every move and then you complain that it’s hard?! Yes, Maggie, we know it’s hard-”

“I did this for you!” I screamed.

“I never asked you to-”

“No, you didn’t! They did! Because they wanted to give you time to live your life before you had it committed to the monarchy forever! But guess what, Louis? It’s not a magic trick! Someone has to pick up the slack, and that someone is me!”

“You are not a victim here! They make you do these things because you let them-!”

“Because they need us! Because this job is taxing, and toxic, and exhaustive, and it’s our job to help!”

“You help because you want to-”

“I help because you’re in Scotland gallivanting around with Peter and somebody has to pick up the slack!”

“You know why I am in Scotland! You know what is waiting for me-”

“I do! But you don’t know that every day you’re not home I am sacrificing my career and my life as well!”

“You’ve done this your whole life, Maggie! You’ve always been like this-”

“Like what?! Like this what?!”

“Desperate to be the good girl! To be the child our parents think of when they needs someone responsible, and efficient. They place the burden on you because you let them! Ever since we were kids, you always acted like a third parent even though you shouldn’t have, so don’t blame me for your choices!”

“You don’t think I want to live my life?! You don’t think I want to travel somewhere people won’t know me or my family? You don’t think I want to text dad that I can’t come to this ceremony or that one because I am busy with my own things?! Who would help, Louis? You’re not home! Adrien is always away with Faye. Lourdes is too young. He is just one person!”

As my voice cracked, I turned to the window, trying to dry one tear before it fell.

“...you don’t have to cry.”

“You know saying that doesn’t help!” I yelled, now crying more.

He extended a handkerchief, which I took, drying my tears before they could fall down my cheeks.

There was a long, awkward, painful silence in the car.

“All I’m saying is,” he started, slowly, almost obnoxiously calm, “Stop placing the blame on me for not setting some boundaries and going after the life you want.”

I laughed, humorless.

“You really think I don’t want to? I have a career, Lou. I have friends and loved ones, too. You did not invent a personal life. I want to live mine, but this family we were born into does not offer an opt out option.”

He sighed. “I think you’re angry at yourself and you’re taking that on me.”

“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “Explain that to me.”

“You’re angry at mom and dad for giving you more than you can handle, you’re angry at yourself for letting them, and you’re angry at Chris for the-”

“I am angry at you!” I yelled. “Mom and dad, too, of course, but you’re the one that is running away from your responsibilities! You want to know why I have to take all of this on? Because while you’re here, tucked away and safe from us and from every negative headline back home, Maman isn’t speaking to Aunt Katherine, and Aunt Stephanie heard about it! Your sister has driven away yet another chief of security, the third one in four years, and dad…” I sighed, “Dad is getting worse, Louis. Meanwhile, I am the one that has to keep everyone together to the expense of my own life and career, when this isn’t even my job. It’s yours.”

The only sound in the car was the sound of the wheels on gravel as we drove into Kensington Palace in awkward, heavy silence.

“We don’t have time for this.” I said, drying my tears, and trying to make sure my makeup wasn’t smudged in a hand mirror before we parked. “Just… behave.”

Though I did not look at him, I could almost hear his eyes roll before he forcefully opened the door and stepped out, as petulantly as when he was 8 and I told him he couldn’t play doll with me and our cousins.

Kensington Palace was essentially built as one big set of squares and rectangles, which as most palaces in Europe, was now divided into sections, each being an 'apartment' given to specific families. The Cambridges' door was white, and by all means completely indistinguishable from the others. Louis had already ringed the doorbell when I reached him, and was avoiding my eyes, a pout in his lips, when Catherine's aide opened the door and welcomed us in; Louis and I were smiling again.

Catherine was in the kitchen making finger sandwiches as her husband watched, one hand to a glass of water, the other on a baby monitor.

Louis marched straight to Prince William, shaking his hand as if they were long-time friends, but that meant nothing; that was just his normal personality.

"So you're the famous Princess Mary." William said to me when Catherine introduced us.

Her smile immediately dropped, and she placed a delicate, yet forceful hand on his shoulder. "William", she warned, "It's Marie-Margueritte."

"Right, apologies." He smiled. "I've heard so much about Princess Mary I suppose I just forgot it might have been a loving nickname."

Feeling myself blush, I cleared my throat, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm not so sure that's how I'd describe it."

"And why not?"

I didn't have to turn around to know who the owner of that voice was, I'd been replaying it in my head long enough to know. Even if I didn't, the knowing smiles on William and Catherine's lips would be telling enough.

“Harry!” Louis greeted joyfully, shaking his hand. “Long time no see. How excited are you to be crushed by us tomorrow at the polo match?

Even as he answered, laughing, his eyes kept coming back to me. “I think you need to check your overconfidence, Castillon.”

“I think you’ll regret underestimating me, Windsor.”

“What I’m learning from this is you’re fully capable of pronouncing our Royal House surname,‌ yet my name remains a mystery.”

He grinned at me, “It’s a loving nickname,‌‌ Mary.”

“It’s just… a name. Not my name. Just another name.”

“Regardless.”

To say it shocked me to see him was was an understatement, and yet, somehow, the moment it happened I‌ was also overwhelmed by a feeling of unmitigated relief to have him there.

On my ‘loving nickname’, Harry was unwavering. As Catherine had her husband set the table with the sandwiches, and asked what our favorite tea was, Harry talked happily with my brother about our trip, about his schooling, and about me, whom he kept referring to as ‘Mary’. I made a point to roll my eyes every time.

On his end, ‌Louis didn’t seem to find that odd at all, which made me angrier at him. I wanted to ask Catherine what the delicious smell coming from the oven was, and if she would be at the polo match tomorrow, but I‌ couldn’t drag myself away from standing peripherally around my brother and Harry, even though I had no participation in their conversation, hoping Harry would stop for one or two seconds to look at me instead, but he and Louis were now happily trashing the other’s favorite rugby team.

I wasn't sure if it was the fight with Louis, or the wave of shock of seeing Harry again sooner than I had expected, yet somehow later than I wished, but I was suddenly annoyed. At Louis, for everything he'd said in the car. At Harry for focusing so deeply on his conversation with my brother instead of interrogating me again after apparently talking about me to both his brother and sister-in-law. But, perhaps more revealingly, at myself.

It annoyed me that I cared. It annoyed me that I suddenly felt sixteen-years-old again, hoping a boy would look at me across the polo field. It annoyed me that I seemed to have been expecting him to arrive ever since saying goodbye the day before, as if it was a given he would.

If forced with the choice of admitting I'd missed him or sticking knives into my eyes, I might pick the knives.

It was, however, when Harry asked if he was nervous about graduating, and Louis answered by saying he was looking forward to whatever came next, and that he was looking into maybe getting a master’s degree next, that I forced myself to leave.

I‌ asked Catherine if I‌ could use the restroom, and she directed me to the one upstairs, seeing as the one on the first floor was being re-tiled. I climbed up the large, hardwood stairs into a clean, minimalist looking second floor, easily finding the bathroom. I‌ washed my hands with cold water, placed them in the back of my neck for a few seconds, taking deep breaths, and tried to focus on calming memories.

Unfortunately, the most calming memory I‌ used to have - a skiing trip with Chris - was now tainted by the breakup, so it didn’t help. Instead, I‌ sat down on the edge of a bathtub, and pulled my phone from my handbag, checking my messages.

Lourdes had texted another video, but this was a music video; the text read, ‘do you think I can do a routine to this?! i’m so obsessed!’

I replied, ‘why not? it sounds great!‘, without opening the link.

Constance, my longest childhood friend, had ominously sent: ‘Did Stella and Rick get back together?????? I have thoughts. Call me.’

I sighed, typing a reply rapidly; ‘I can’t talk now, I’m in London. Let’s have dinner when I get back and do another intervention.’

And skimming through an email my mother had sent, I now knew all her thoughts on how I should do my hair for the State dinner the following day.

Telling myself it was mostly out of curiosity, I found Chris’ name in my list of old messages, and clicked through, seeing no new messages had arrived. I‌ blocked the phone, and went back outside.

When I was leaving the bathroom, before I could reach the stairs, I heard a soft wailing coming from a door to my right. It was half opened, and the room only lightly lit. Pushing the door forward, I recognized a beige and white nursery, and a moving bundle inside a wooden crib.

“Bonjour, bebe!” I approached, as gently as I could, whispering softly. “Do you need mommy? Or papa?”

I looked at the door, hoping to see someone coming to fetch Prince George, but no one was there.

“Alright.” I said, feeling slightly as if i was intruding, but not at all comfortable leaving the crying boy alone. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Placing him in my arms as swiftly as I could, I started to rock him from side to side.

“Should we go downstairs?”

His face still contorted painfully, but the crying was a little more spaced out now. I figured his parents would know what to do and, as weird as it would be to just show up downstairs with him, it would be weirder to leave him behind. Turning to the door, however, I was startled once more by his uncle.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”‌‌ He smiled, looking at the baby.

“How-?”

“Nanny-cam.” He answered, gesturing vaguely to the hallway, walking towards us.

“Oh.”‌ I‌ nodded. “He was crying, I didn’t want to leave him.”

He leaned down to look at the boy in my arms, raising one hand to his soft, tiny head as the citrus scent of his perfume overwhelmed me.

I‌ cleared my throat, trying to bring things back to familiar territory.

“Which bet did you lose to be put in nanny duty?” I joked.

He shrugged, smiling at his nephew.‌‌ “I‌ volunteered.‌ We’re buddies, aren’t we,‌ George?”

The baby stopped crying, looking at his uncle now making funny faces at him. It was hard not to smile.

“I‌ think he needs a nappy change. I‌ can take him if you want to go back downstairs.” Harry offered.

“Oh, sure.”‌

Avoiding looking into his eyes from so close, I passed him his nephew - our arms touched in the exchange; I tried to suppress the little part of me that noticed he was surprisingly muscly.

“We’ll meet you downstairs.”‌‌ He smiled, walking with the baby towards a changing station on the other side of the room.

I walked through the door slowly, trying to delay having to go back downstairs where I‌ had to pretend I wasn’t upset at Louis, but stopped when he spoke again. Initially, I thought he was talking to me, but the baby tone quickly corrected that assumption.

“Did you go number one? Did you? Or two? What surprise awaits me, here, Georgie?”

I leaned against the doorframe, smiling.

“Now, I‌ understand that a growing boy needs to go. We all do, it’s very normal. But I‌ just need you to prepare me, alright? How bad will it be once I‌ open this up?”

I considered sincerely going downstairs, focusing on the diplomatic aspect of making friends with the more important people, the ones we were there for, his brother and sister-in-law. But, peering into the room again, I‌ saw Harry lean his tall frame closer to the baby, holding him still with one hand, trying to reach a far away drawer with the other.

“Need help?”‌ I asked, stepping back inside.

He jumped slightly, but smiled when he saw me. “Oh, I‌- I‌ thought you left.”

“I think you could use the help.” I‌ reached for the drawer he was going for, but looked back at him, questioningly. He nodded, so I‌ opened it, and found him a new nappy.

“Alright, team work it is.”‌ He said, “Keep him distracted so he doesn’t move as much.”

I tried to distract George with a tiny, plush koala nearby, and uttered the first words that came to mind.

“Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?”, I sang, dangling the koala from side to side, to the rhythm. “Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines… what?!”

Noticing Harry had stopped moving, I looked back at him, who was merely staring at me.

“What?! You said to distract him.” I‌ justified, defensively.

He shook his head, focusing on the task at hand again, with a renewed grin on his lips.

“Don’t forget the cream.”‌ I‌ said, before he could close the tabs.

“Right.”‌ He nodded. “I‌ knew I‌ was forgetting something… Why are you good at this? Have any secret children the press can’t find out about?”

I‌ smiled at George, still dancing the little koala. “No, just two younger siblings and a bunch of little cousins I was constantly pretending were dolls.”

He chuckled, and closed the little adhesive tabs on the nappy, fiddling with the straps of his onesie now. “Where do these-?”

“Here.”‌ I said, handing him the koala, and finding the right buttons to close. “There we go.”

“Nice. What do we say to the pretty lady, Georgie? Say thank you.”

I‌ smiled, at both of them, but kept my eyes on the baby. “You’re welcome.”

Harry started putting the cream, and tissues away, as well as moving to throw the dirty nappy in the trash can, so as George got fussy again, I‌ picked him back up, and started singing Frère Jacques again, slowing down the melody as I rocked, hoping the baby would calm to the moves. Looking up, I noticed Harry was frozen in place, one hand in an open drawer, looking at me with the softest of eyes. There was something else in them, too. A kind of yearning that was almost blinding.

“What?”, I asked.

He smiled, to the floor. “Nothing… You’re good at that.”‌ He shrugged. “How much younger are your siblings?”

“Louis is three years younger, and Lourdes is eleven.”

“Wow.”

“I know.‌ My parents frown upon the word ‘unplanned’, so instead we say she was a ‘surprising blessing’.”

He laughed, not a giggle, or a chuckle, a proper laugh now. It was as surprising as when he laughed at my jokes the day before. Chris used to only chuckle at my jokes, usually with merely a nasalized sound to let me know he heard it.

“I‌ always wanted to have a sister.”‌ He confessed.

“It's overrated. Mine mostly sends me videos of her ice skating practices, which all look the same, asking me for opinions which I do not care enough to have.”

He laughed again. “I sympathize.”

“How?”

“Well, she values your opinion. So do I. Why do you think I ask so many questions?”

“A lack of boundaries? Disregard to protocol?”

He laughed louder now, throwing his head back. The sound startled George, and made me blush with timid pride.

“Wow! Look at you. Throwing diplomacy out the window, are we?”

I sighed.‌ “You're right, I apologize… I'm just… not in the best mind space.”

“No, that was a compliment.” He smiled, looking at me now. “I like it.”

There was the gentle yearning again… feeling almost inappropriate in front of a child.

“So what did Louis do to put you in this bad mind space?”

“I‌ never said it was bad, I‌ believe I said ‘not the best’. And what makes you think he has anything to do with it?”

He grinned. “Other than the fact you’ve been staring daggers his way since you’ve arrived? Let's see... You have this... Whiff of annoyance about you, which is worse than when I was bothering you yesterday, and you chose to be here with me and George and his dirty diaper instead of going back downstairs and enjoying tea with the others.”

“I like babies.”‌ I‌ shrugged.

“Yes, and I would think that might be it, but the poo I think damages the effect, doesn't it? I know it can't be me that kept you here, since you don't like me...”

“...I like you.” I said, giving it no further thought.

“You do?”

I shrugged, mindlessly.

“Wow… if you keep flattering me so much I might fall in love, Mary.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I‌ corrected, on auto-pilot. “Marie.”

He smiled. There was a silent pause as I walked George around the room, his eyes following each new space carefully.

“Truth.” Harry said.

I looked back at him across the room. “Pardon?”

“Yesterday, one of the last things I‌ said was that you should ask me something. And you asked, truth or dare? Well, I’m answering. I‌ pick truth.”

I took a few seconds to breathe deeply and appreciate three things; one, he seemed to remember our conversation yesterday in staggering detail. Two, his eyes did this… thing when he smiled, they squinted into tiny crescent moon shapes and it highlighted the blue of his irises. And three, in the rules of this game he seemed to be up to playing, I could ask him anything.

“What do you want from me?”

The silence that followed was even longer than mine. I had to look away from the way he stared me down this time, it was too… personal. Too transparently enigmatic.

Eventually, I sat down in a rocking chair by the window, George on my thigh playing with the little koala. Harry walked over to us, slowly.

“By all means, take your time.” I teased.

“I’m just… trying to assess which answer you are ready for.”

My head snapped in his direction, almost in outrage. “There’s not supposed to be different answers. Only the truth.”

“Spoken like a lawyer.”

“It’s what you picked!” I rolled my eyes. “Well, what is it? What is the truth?”

He sighed, sitting in a matching footstool in front of me, uncomfortably close.

“There are levels to this truth, and for our blooming friendship not to perish, I think it’s important I don’t tell you something that would make you think less of me.”

“And I’m talking like a lawyer?” I asked, making him chuckle.

I weighed his words carefully, trying to understand the diplomatic euphemisms employed, but not allowing my mind to go too crazy with it. It was too far, too soon, but did he mean I would be offended by his honest answer?

Eventually, though, he graced me with an answer.

“I want to know you.”

I looked back at him… the yearning was still there, but it had a glint of determination mixed in now.

I attempted to analyze his answer like a lawyer this time.

“To know who I am as a person, or to know what I look like naked?”

He barked out such a loud laugh now that George dropped the koala to the floor. The sound echoed around the room like a thunder, but it felt like it was echoing inside of me as well, warming me up from my stomach out. I couldn’t help but smile.

“No, no, Mary. You already asked your question, now it’s my turn.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “We are allowed follow up questions. It’s the rules.”

“Not the British rules. And we are in Britain.”

I leaned forward, determined. “Truth or dare has universal rules.”

“Enough lawyering, it’s my turn!”

He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees; I suddenly felt very much like I was in court, and I wondered - as I had a handful of times since seeing him that afternoon - if he was finally going to ask the one thing I told him the previous day he did not know about us: how/when we met.

“Truth or dare?”, he begun.

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my legs, but still swinging them side-to-side to appease Gorge in my lap.

I considered picking dare, and avoiding giving him the power to simply ask me how we met - which I’d have to answer; It’s the rules, and as a lawyer I had a duty to the law. But I also, in a way, or if I’m being honest, in all ways, wanted him to ask. So I smiled, looked him in the eyes, and said:

“Truth.”

“Why are you upset?”

The question came so swiftly and quickly I barely noticed it had happened.

“What?”

“Why are you upset? What did Louis do?”

I‌ looked around the room; I had frozen in place, so George got a little restless. Uncrossing my legs, I started bouncing him up and down on my knees.

“I’m not- I just…”‌ I shrugged. “It’s nothing. Siblings fight. Do you not fight with your brother?”

“Almost exclusively, but that’s not the question. It’s my turn, you picked truth, and I want to know.”

I sighed. “It’s… complicated.”

He nodded, leaned forward and picked George from me, sitting him in his own lap.

“Go on.”

I‌ took a deep breath, looking around, though mostly in, and let it out slowly.

“I‌ heard Louis telling you he wants to stay in Scotland to get a Master’s Degree.”

“And… you don’t want him to? Wait, you were already upset when you got here. That’s not it, is it?”

“Now we’re allowed to ask follow up questions?”

He grinned. “You don’t have to tell me… I‌ was just, I‌ don’t know, trying to help.”

I got up, and started walking about. I traced the outline of a giraffe illustration in the wallpaper with my finger, slowly.

“I don’t think he truly understands his… Place. In all of this.”

“This being?”

“Us. The Royal House of Castillon. The Crown. The Monarchy. The firm. The family business.”

“Ah. Of course. And you think he has to?”

I‌ turned around to look at him. “What I think is unrelated to the facts. And the fact is he is the heir. And he’s not acting like one.”

He shrugged. “He’s young.”

“He is almost twenty-two. And when he is here, taking care of his life, enjoying his freedom, which trust me, I understand, who do you think they call when they need someone to go to a ceremony or a service, or-”

“A royal tour?”

“Exactly,” I‌ dropped my gesturing hands to my sides, deflated. “Me. It’s not that I don’t like the work. I‌ do. But… I have a life, too. I have a job. And I know I’m not a fancy, cool, lawyer. They’re not writing Law And Order episodes about corporate law!‌‌ But my choices should matter too, should they not?”

“They should.” He nodded.

“And I‌ understand,‌ I do! I, too, went to school abroad! Louis had to stay home for boarding school, because he’s the heir, but even that I did abroad! And then later I‌ went to University in America, and I did get a postgraduate degree there, too, though mine was a shorter program. But I came home soon after! And you know why?”

“Why?”, he asked, diligently.

“For him!‌ Because I knew my parents needed help and I thought if I was around to help, they would allow him more time for his studies, you know? To enjoy his life before he has to dedicate it to the country, forever. And‌ I had job offers in America! I could have stayed there, where no one knew my name, but I didn’t. I‌ could have gone into human rights law, but I didn’t. So he’s not the only one who knows what it’s like having to make sacrifices for this family. But right now, I’m the only one doing that. Not him. And how is that fair?!”

Thankfully, he didn’t attempt to answer me. Instead, he allowed me time to slow my breathing and look back at him at my own pace.

“Have you… thought about maybe talking to your parents about this?”‌‌ He started, his voice gentle. “Tell them you want to dedicate yourself to your job.”

“Yes. My father promised as soon as Louis is back from University,‌ I’ll be allowed time to dedicate myself to my job.”

“That explains your anger at his plans for the future…”‌ He sighed.

“Is that it? No advice? Words of wisdom? Mockery of my outburst to offer?”

“Was that an outburst?”‌ He asked, brows raised. “God, you’re polite.”

I‌ giggled, walking back over.

“I‌ mean,”‌ he started, “I‌ get it. There’s a lot we wish we could do, but we can’t because of our position… And knowing your ticket to a slightly more normal life is so close, yet so far must be frustrating.”

I brushed my fingers through George’s fine, blonde hair. “But?”

He sighed again. “But I… Well, at the risk of ruining whatever chance I‌ have here, I don’t think there’s much need to really worry.”

“How so?” I asked, purposely ignoring his remark about his chances.

“Well… Is it really that big of a deal if he stays there longer? I mean, I‌ know it’s not ideal but you should just… tell your family you’re busy when they ask. You’re allowed. You’re an adult with a proper job, which is more than any of us can really say.”‌ He added, humorously. “The monarchy will survive, I’m sure.”

“And what if by never holding him accountable to his responsibilities he simply never learns? What if we let him stay and he just… doesn’t come back until it’s too late to really learn what he needs to?”

“Well…” He lowered George to the rug, and handed him the koala. “You know what the best thing about being the spare is?” He patted the seat in the chair I had recently vacated, and I sat down in front of him again. “It’s not our problem to solve.”

I‌ considered this. He wasn’t… wrong, per se. But it sounded so utterly bleak. I recalled the way he described my job in relation to anyone else in a monarchy just then, my ‘proper’ job.

“You don’t think our place in this is important?”

“There’s that word again, place. You said your brother doesn’t understand his place, but… do any of us? What is our place, Mary?”

“Marie.”‌ I corrected, absentmindedly. “And, you know what I mean… our place in the country. In our royal families. In the… universe.”

“We’re the plan B of an Old World symbol of power that no longer has any power. I‌ can’t blame your brother for wanting a more useful use of his time, and I can’t blame you for it either, because you’re doing the same thing.”

“The Plan B?”

“You know, the… center pieces. The garnish. The embellishment. This whole tour, the reason why you and your father and brother are here, is about the immigration crisis, isn’t it?”‌ I nodded. “Your country is a little too loose on their policy and because you have a point of entry to Britain, our politicians are blaming you for our growing numbers of immigrants.”

“First of all, our polic-”

“But really, think about it,”‌ he went on, ignoring me, “what can we actually do about it? My grandmother, your father, my father, and maybe even Will and Kate, they have some power to strengthen diplomatic ties and the show of friendship may shame our politicians into figuring their shit out.‌ But us, you and me? We’re really just here to smile and look pretty, aren’t we?”

“I’m… learning about Catherine’s work with children to bring some of the experience back home.”

“Yes, admirable.” He nodded. “But, again, and not just now, but overall, in our lives? What’s our role? Isn’t it just to give them something to brag about? Look at Harry in his military uniform, two tours of duty, who’s to say that the royal family haven’t made sacrifices for the country? And look at Mary-”

“Marie.”

“…In the news, they’re saying she won a case!‌‌ She’s a lawyer! How impressive are the members of the royal family!”

“Have you always been a cynic?” He chuckled, shyly. “Do you really not think what we do is important?”

He smiled. “I‌ just try to be as honest with myself as I can. And that begins with knowing that my, how did you put it? My role in the cosmos is to give the people a show. As the spares, that’s all you and I can do. Chose a good partner that they’ll enjoy building up and then destroying, hopefully a pretty wedding or cute babies one day, and if we can help some people along the way, all the better. It’s… it’s a good endeavor. We can help a little, I think. But… important? I don’t know. I can’t be sure I’d use that word to describe anything we do.”

I nodded, slowly, taking it all in. It was a… gloomy thought, and not entirely untrue. With one caveat.

“That uniform you mentioned, the two tours… were they fake?”

“What?!‌ No.”

“So you did go to war?”

“Twice.”

I‌ nodded. “And the people you went with, they were remarkable, weren’t they?”

He smiled, looking at his nephew slightly lost in thought. “Yes.”

“They wear the same uniform you do. Aren’t they important?”

He looked at me. “It’s… it’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? Do you think the people we help, the people that benefit from the organizations we help as best we can, whose lives are touched by our work one way or another, somehow, the people you helped in the army… do you think they’d agree with you that what we do isn’t important?”

He opened his mouth to speak, waited a couple of seconds, and closed it again.

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was, that the silence was nicer than it should be; that even though in the past it had felt invasive or abrupt holding someone’s look for too long, this time it felt nice. It felt like being seen.

George squealed loudly across the room, throwing a toy cube, and our daze was broken.

“We should take him to his parents.”

“Yes.”‌ He said, and we stood up at the same time, being caught off guard by how close we were.

I slipped away, swiftly, caressing a hand over my arm to smooth the chills there, and he went over to pick up his nephew, who whined a little as he was separated from his toys.

“It’s okay, buddy, we’re going to go find mummy and daddy.” Harry told him, in a sweet, gentle, baby-voice. “If it’s boring downstairs I’ll play with you, alright?”

He was so excruciatingly sweet with the baby that I could feel it right in my gut, this… whatever it was that roared as I watched them.

Wherever his place in the cosmos was, I couldn’t help but wish it was close to mine.

--- --- --- ---

Margueritte’s outfits!

[A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters, I hope you liked it too! Please let me know your thoughts? Feedback is always welcome! Shoot me a message, or like this chapter, either way, thank you SO MUCH for reading!]

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