𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑡𝑜𝑛. ʙʀɪᴛɪsʜ ʀᴏʏᴀʟ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ

44 • a return to the exhaustion

SIX MONTHS LATER

May, 2013.
Buckingham Palace,
London .

HER HEAD WAS SWIMMING. The sounds of peoples voices had mixed together, floating around her, encasing her in them. There was a dull throb somewhere around her left temple, growing, stretching slowly as the voices dragged on. Absentmindedly, her slender fingers reached up to press against the pain, almost as if she was trying to push it away. Fingertips pressed in, the blood draining from her nails as she increased the pressure.

Someone coughed in the distance and it brought her attention back to the voices. Blue irises, replicas of the ocean, moving towards the new sound, eyelashes dusting her skin as she blinked, forcing her eyes to focus on the images in front of her.

Men in suits.

Lots and lots of men in suits. There always was. Like their tight lipped, grumble of voices, they surrounded her. Surrounded them all. Sometimes it was welcome. Often it was necessary. Occasionally, and very only occasionally, she wished they would just melt away. Leaving her alone, surrounded only by their grey suits that were left behind.

This was one such occasion.

"And you're happy to go to Horseguards? Her Majesty has given her approval for you to do just the balcony appearance if the carriage is too much..." There was a hint of disapproval in the mans voice that could be detected a mile off. As if the prospect of her only completing half the engagement was completely and utterly preposterous. Which it was really in Bella's mind, but not for the same reasons that were running round the Queen's Private Secretary's head sat before her.

His thoughts were of duty. Of sacrifice. And surely if she could manage the balcony, then what was a little trip down the mall in a carriage?

Bella's thoughts though were of how ridiculous it would be to spend an hour putting her makeup on, another hour having someone do her hair before having to squeeze a hat onto her head that she just knew would give her a headache, put on a nice dress and then trot down to Buckingham Palace only to stand on the balcony for 7 minutes and then turn around and go back home. Now that was truly preposterous. No, if she was going, then she would do it properly. Bumpy carriage trip down the mall included.

"Of course I'll do it." It always took her a minute to recognise her voice. To place the sharpness in her brain, to figure out who it was that held such an edge and acidity.

She wasn't bitter. Not necessarily. But some of the sunlight had drained out of her, and the dawn was yet to break, leaving behind the cold, breezy ink of the early morning hours. It was worse now the aphasia had improved to the best it would get. Now there was no silence to soften the blows of ice that fell from her lips. They came battering out, punching and kicking those close enough to hear.

Sometimes people blanched, as the men surrounding her had. Sometimes people laughed, their own faces warming and softening at what Rose had coined her 'being honest, not rude'. Other times, they walked away, unable to live with the punches that pummelled out of her.

That was when it hurt the most. That was when the blows got even harder.

"Good," she released her bottom lip that her teeth had clung onto upon thinking about the person who had walked away as the man spoke again. His head dropping to the left slightly to flick through the pages in front of him, conveniently managing to ignore the icy gaze that had landed on him as he continued the meeting. "You will of course be in the first carriage with the Duchess of Cornwall, Cambridge and Prince Harry..."