Cicatrice

Chapter VIII

QUEEN ESTELLE BELSHAW

The coronation ceremony was finally over, but I had yet to face the after-party held at the palace. Only the finest royal socialites were invited, and I wasn't sure if that were better or worse. 

I didn't feel much different being a Queen, but now, father was nothing. He wasn't a Prince or a King, and it didn't quite sink in that I had taken over his place.

Just after midday, the carriage delivers me back to the palace. As I approach the people's line of sight who are still waiting outside, they wave their white handkerchiefs and cheer for me. They were supporting a princess when I departed. They were now supporting a queen.

As I get carefully escorted from the carriage, Marguerite greets me in the palace foyer, where she leads me to the banquet hall. This is where a buffet full of delicious delicacies was laid out,  as well as magnificent twinkle lights and beautiful frescoes plaster and swirl around the ceiling. A small orchestra played on the wooden stage, dressed in all white suits. They keep playing, but everybody else comes to a halt when they see me enter the room, including Eddie who was currently serving guests.

With my heart falling to my stomach, my widened eyes pan across the room, a few seconds feeling like hours. "Please welcome your new Queen of France, her majesty, Queen Estelle Belshaw!" The event's host, Sir George, calls out.

As they all applauded for me, I couldn't have felt more mortified, and my face couldn't hide it either.

"Congratulations on your coronation, your majesty!" a familiar female voice calls. I turn behind me, realising it's Princess Agnes, who was a part of the Polish royal family. She curtsies to me, her big brown eyes smiling at me.

When I was younger, King Michael would be gracious enough to let my father and me stay at his palace during our yearly trips to Poland. Agnes and I would remain distant friends after that, although we had not visited Poland in a while, and I was not aware that she would attend my coronation.

"Agnes! My, what a surprise, thank you for coming!" I smile brightly, greeting her with sincere joy, pulling her in for a much-needed hug. She still smelt sweet like sugar, just how I had remembered.

"I would be mad to miss your big day, your majesty. How does it feel?" she gasps, her eyes lit up with wonder as if she were starstruck by me. It was at this moment that I remembered our conversations under the stars, where she'd wished upon shooting stars to become the next queen.

"It feels wonderful," I lie through gritted teeth. I was aware that if I had been honest, she would have given me every justification for my error.

I catch a glimpse of Eddie almost dropping a platter full of black olives out of the corner of my eye. I say farewell to Agnes while curving my lips, making my way up to him as he runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair.

"Had they not trained you up before you became my servant?" I question with furrowed eyebrows, startling him.

"Why, of-of course your majesty," he stutters, his blue eyes stretched to the size of the moon, and a small smile on his pink lips. I could tell he had been nervous, being in an environment full of people who were socially superior to himself.

His face was pale, with little stubble on his chin. Although his eyes pierced my innermost soul, I felt as though I had known him all my life. He was dressed in a black suit and had straight mid-length hair. Father has taken great efforts.

"You look incredibly lovely tonight, your majesty, congratulations on your coronation," he murmurs, pursing his lips before serving more socialites. Even though I were flustered by the compliment, I couldn't help but feel Eddie had turned stone cold - as if he had completely forgotten our bonding a few days earlier.

"Queen Estelle! Looking magnificent tonight, as always. May I be the first to say congratulations?" he bellows, and I sigh quietly, turning around to face his conceited face. "You have my thanks, Malcolm. What brings you here tonight?" I speak confidently as if I could out rule his bigheadedness.

"Shall we speak about it over a glass of wine?" he smirks, taking my gloved hand. I let him lead me over to the red and white beverages that sit pretty on a wooden table. I wasn't sure if he was doing it on purpose, but I felt nothing like a queen by the way he treated me, and it wasn't in the way I liked.

We sit down on the stools. "Excuse me!" he shouts, gaining Eddie's attention who was wiping a bench down with a white rag. "Yes, sire?" he asks timidly, and I feel my insides curl with cringe. It was like Malcolm was trying to prove a point that he was superior and Eddie was nothing but an English servant. "Pour us a glass of Fleur Petrus, will you?" he cocks his head, furrowing his dark eyebrows.

I didn't even like Fleur Petrus.

Eddie's lips curl into a small smile. "Of course, sire," he whispers, popping open the glass bottle and beginning to pour the liquor.

"Your majesty, I would love to take you out sometime, where there aren't so many people," Malcolm's eyes glisten as he leans into me, I can almost smell his breath. "Do you think that could be arranged?" he questions, a simper on his lips as he softly bites it.

I notice Eddie staring at me as he keeps pouring the glass, almost overflowing. He looked distasteful – as if he knew how much Malcom was a phoney as much as I did.

It came no surprise to me that Malcolm was asking me this. Of course he wanted me to be his– I was the queen after all.

But would I stop it?