She Who is King

9 | sung as ballad

England

CAMILLE HAD requested I meet her for tea. I wanted to run into Arthur on my way to the gardens. I had still not completed my list.

My coronation was being moved up.

And I still didn't know if it was appropriate to allow people to call on me as I was currently doing.

All in all, I was a mess when I walked through the gilded corridors and muted halls. It seemed to be too much for one day; for one hour.

Lord have mercy this headache was going to kill me.

Halfway out the door into the fresh air, I turned around and walked into my room. I decided I didn't want to talk to anyone. I needed to sulk in silence, to let my anger fester, before I could attempt civilized conversation with anyone, no matter how comfortable I may be around them.

My decision was for everyone's own good.

When I reached my room, I closed the door behind me and flopped onto the bed, burying my face in between the lacy decorative pillows Rose insisted on putting on my bed.

The walls were closing in, my head was pounding, the world was spinning, spinning, spinning...

I lifted my head and took a deep, shuttering breath. 

My heart beat slowed.

I calmed down.

A deep sense of wariness flooded my bones, causing me to feel like I was weighted down.

I flipped onto my back and looked up at my chamber ceiling, waiting to feel a sense of relief, of being fine.

But I wasn't and I didn't know if I would ever be fine.

I had to hold on to the hope that the people around me would not like to see me crushed underneath the stress I was harboring.

Deciding I couldn't lay still anymore, I got up and paced my room. If they were moving my coronation up, I would do them one better. I would plan and execute a coronation worthy of a king, and perfect for a queen. The people would forget their doubts the second they knew I had been running the country for the past couple of days, and everything would be fine.

On the flip side, I would be marched straight to the gallows and hung for impersonating a male.

To escape the confines of my room, I wandered the halls until the bell tower rang four, at which time I hurried to the parlor Camille had asked to meet me in.

When I entered the green themed room, the princess herself was already there, the scent of roses having found a home in the parlor's thin air.

"Reine," she greeted, a smile on her lips.

"Camille," I greeted warmly, putting on a mask of happiness. "How wonderful to see you again."

Today, Camille was wearing a deep blue dress with a bright yellow sash. She was unapologetically bold, and every time she moved, the smell of roses grew stronger.

She stood quickly to hug me before resuming her position on the sofa, in front of the tea tray.

"I didn't know how you took your tea so I had the maid fetch a little of everything," Camille said, gesturing to the tray.

"Thank you."

"Of course. It is what friends are for." 

She winked.

I began to relax. I was in the presence of one of the people who could most relate to my predicament, and I needed advice from a fellow woman in power.

Camille watched as I added milk and sugar to my tea, watched as I stirred, and watched as I took a sip. It was a little unnerving, having her observe my motions as though I was an animal she was studying.