Inside Darling (Darling #1) [complete]

Chapter Eleven

" C O M E   I N ," the prince faintly heard his mother's voice call through the thick mahogany door.

He straightened his surcoat before twisting the door handle. Once inside the queen's quarters, the fumes of oil paint hit his nostrils, instantly rolling him over with a wave of dizziness. The feeling was only temporary and was washed away as familiar warmth enveloped him.

As a boy, he loved the smell of paints as he sat at the base of his mother's easel as she delicately stroked the canvas with color. He would often read a book or draw something of his own with ink and a feather. The drawings he'd do were hardly decent, but his mother's smile never faltered as she complimented his work.

Thatcher enjoyed spending time with his mother just as much as he enjoyed it with Louelle. Both of the women in his life caused him ease and tranquility outside of the hectic duties of being the crowned prince. To be with them was not a chore. Those moments had put a pause on his life. He sometimes felt as if he'd been living a double life. While doing his princely duties, he was required to behave a certain way. Meanwhile, when in the presence of his mother or Louelle, he was able to allow the façade to fall.

Since the ordeal in the king's study, the prince had hardly spoken a word to Queen Dione. At meals or in passing, he'd politely greet her. He'd always been under the impression the queen would have always taken his side in battles against King James.

He was reminded of the reality of things on that torturous day - the day when he had been forced to court a lady in which he had not been interested in - the day when his Louelle stormed out in an emotional fury - the day when his mother stood idly by, a frown on her face while her lips remained sealed - the day where his true future queen shut the door in his face before he was able to say those three meaningful words.

Thatcher would not have gone to intentionally see his mother - not while he was expected to play along with the situation forced upon him. Certainly not while his emotions were running all over the place. Although he was not purposeful with seeing the queen, he knew he must have when a guard called for him while he was on his way to fetch Maryann for their walk.

Their "first date" as Maryann had put it.

He'd grown tired and caved in after Maryann's attempts of throwing herself at him. After breakfast, she had cornered him while he tried to flee from her as quickly as possible. She requested a walk in the early afternoon. Because the king was watching their interaction and he did not have nearly as much care for Maryann as he did Louelle, he reluctantly agreed. With the intense gaze from the king on the two - no, on him - he knew if he did not accommodate, he would once again meet with the horse whip.

Thatcher did not wish to keep Maryann waiting long, aware she may have informed the king of his tardiness, so he quickly spotted his mother painting in her usual spot; in front of her window facing the gardens.

"Hello, mother. You called for me?" he spoke in greeting.

Queen Dione did not shift her gaze from her painting as she addressed her son, a fond smile stretching on her lips. "Ah. My dear, Thatcher." She dipped her paintbrush into the glass full of murky water. "Have a seat and have a talk with me."