Behind the Royal Mask

Switching Places

Warning: Physical abuse  ahead

Beatrice was disgruntled at the encounter with that noble disguised as one of them. How dare he think that he could step in to 'help' when nobles themselves were the reasons for such poor conditions. She clenched her fists on the memory of his smooth yet commanding voice, as if he expected that his words alone held enough power to get things right.

She refused to let her thoughts linger on the memory of him standing between her and the wealthy man, his back turned towards her as if shielding her from the man. As if he had any right to protect her.

She shook her head. She couldn't afford to be swayed by a pretty face and lofty words. No noble—no matter how charming or well-spoken—could ever change her mind. They were all the same. Greedy. Selfish. Responsible for the death of her brother twelve years back.

The memory flashed through her mind, sharp and painful as if a fresh wound. Her brother was only six years old that day. He had such wide and innocent eyes. They had gone out to buy groceries for the house. Beatrice had asked her brother to stand there while she bought some bread. But he had spotted a carriage of a Lord who was shouting at a poor man. This had angered him and he had picked up a stone to throw it at him.

"Evan!" Beatrice had cried, to stop him. But it was too late. The stone had already connected with the Lord's forehead.

Within seconds, the noble guards were on him, dragging him to the ground. Beatrice had screamed and run towards them, but was thrown away by one of them. They didn't care that her brother was just a child and had beat him with no pity. His small frame crumpled under the force, his cries growing weaker with each strike.

Beatrice had fought, clawing at their arms, begging them to stop. But the noble had only smirked, a cruel glint in his eye, as if the death of a commoner's child was beneath him.

By the time they were done, he was a broken mess on the ground. He took his ragged last breaths in pain.

Beatrice squeezed her eyes, trying to block out the images. She was unaware of a tear that escaped from one of them.

"Bea... are you alright?" Derin asked, who was standing behind her. She wiped the stray tear and nodded her head.

" 'M Fine," She forced out.

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed behind them and turned to find two guards approaching them with stern faces.

"Are you Beatrice Thorne, daughter of Donovan Thorne?" One of them asked.

"Yes, I am," Beatrice said cautiously, her heart racing.

"You are to come with us. Lord Haverton wishes to see you," the other guard said. Beatrice's heart dropped at this. She was given no chance to ask any questions. She was grabbed by her arms and the guards started dragging her towards the estate, where her father had went some hours earlier to get the land deeds.

Derin had tried to follow them but the guards had shoved him back with eyes hardened with authority.

"Stay back, commoner," they had said.

As the guards led her through a grand estate, Beatrice forced herself to stay calm. Finally, they entered a lavish room in which Lord Haverton sat on a lavish chair with a predatory smile on his face.

In the center of the room, Donovan was tied to a chair. Blood was dripping from his forehead and his eyes were closed. Beatrice felt her breath hitch in in her throat at the sight. Her lips trembled, and she struggled in the hold of the guards.

"Father!" She cried, pushing against the guards. Donovan stirred a bit and pushed his head up to look at his daughter. Looking at her restrained sight, his eyes widened and he tried to break through the ropes.

"Let her go, Haverton," Donovan demanded, his voice hoarse but fierce, "It is I who broke into your estate. She had no part in it."

"Oh but, Donovan, you must know that there is always collateral damage in matters like this. In fact, I am delighted by her presence. She has a greater purpose to serve today - a chance to finally become useful," Lord Haverton chuckled darkly, throwing his head back with a sense of superiority.

"Useful?" Beatrice shot back, her eyes glaring up with indignation, "I would rather die than play your twisted games, Haverton!"

"You will play, Beatrice," Haverton laughed, his voice cold and mocking, "It's either that or I expose your father and the Vigil and get them executed. And if you think I won't do that, I assure you, I will not hesitate."

Beatrice exchanged a desperate glance with her father, her heart racing fast.

"You're a monster," she spat at Haverton, aware of the fear gripping her.

In this world, power is everything, my dear," he replied, a sinister smile creeping across his face. "My daughter is set to marry Prince Caelon, but she has no desire to do so—what with his dreadful reputation. I refuse to let her spend her life shackled to such a man. So, I want you to take her place. She has been in Spain for the past ten years, unseen by the public. While you may not possess her beauty, you will suffice for my purposes."

"Never!" Beatrice snarled, shaking her head defiantly. "I won't be your pawn!"

"You don't exactly have a choice," Haverton said, nodding at Donovan, "You have a minute to decide before I make my next move."

"Beatrice," her father rasped, "Don't let him use you. We will find another way."

"You will be dead before you do that," Haverton said in a bored tone.

Beatrice's heart twisted painfully at the thought. She had to think quickly, to find a way out of this nightmare. "And if I agree?" she asked, the question slipping from her lips before she could fully process it.

Haverton's smile widened, sensing the shift in her tone. "If you agree, you'll play the role perfectly and secure your father's safety. And who knows? Perhaps you'll discover a way to turn the tides in your favor."

She glanced at her father once more but he was shaking his head slightly, as if reading her mind. Then she turned back to Haverton and said in a loathing tone, "Fine, you sick bastard. I will take place of your daughter. But I have a condition."

Haverton narrowed his eyes, intrigued. Leaning forward, he asked, "What would that be?"

"I want a guard of my own," Beatrice replied, thinking of Derin. She already had a plan churning in her brain, a way to make the best out of this twisted game.

Haverton studied her for a moment, calculating. Then, with a reluctant nod, he conceded, "Fine. Now, let's get you ready for your new role."

Author's Note:

Hey, readers! 🌟

Welcome back to the world of Beneath the Royal Crown! I hope you're enjoying the twists, turns, and a healthy dose of suspense (and maybe a little heartache) along the way.

Beatrice is about to step into a role she never wanted, and I can't wait for you to see how she navigates this tangled web of intrigue.

So grab your favorite snack, settle in, and prepare for more adventure! And don't forget to let me know your thoughts—who do you think is the bigger threat: Lord Haverton or the political game itself?

Happy reading! 🥳📚