Rule of The Monarch

Two: Tea With Dragons, or Rather Not

31 July

It had been an hour since they discovered the maimed corpse and though there would be no tea at the palace, the Carltons, Hemingways and the royal family were all gathered in the parlor with no fuss. The silence seeping out of the room was so odd, servants ran past the double doors. Honestly, Heather couldn't blame them. The three families were abysmal when put together and she'd much prefer to be anywhere else. But there was a dead body found and a crime to solve.

'Are you all right?' Christopher leaned in, visibly disturbed from the uncomfortable glances tossed around the room.

'Yes, I believe I'm quite fine. It isn't the first corpse I've laid eyes on.' It seemed the odd evenings she had spent watching her father in the basement proved useful after all. Lord Carlton was not in the position to dissect the dead but he'd accepted performing autopsies when no one else could. It was a rare but not impossible sight that fascinated her. This time however, her father was basking in the tense silence keeping them company. Leaving a stranger with her dead aunt.

'Are they always this quiet?' Christopher whispered again, perhaps more content spending his time with charcoal and paper.

'No.' She hesitated. 'Well, usually you can hear their thoughts, read their minds through their faces. I think it might be the stress.' She mirrored her cousin's shy grin, knowing the others couldn't hear her.

'Well, shall we finally put this behind us then? Become a united front?' King Henri said.

'Leave it behind?' Her father's voice was near bursting. 'With all due respect, sire, you can't possibly expect me to befriend him,' he said the word as if it were a snake poised to attack. 'A woman has just died in my estate. Is this really the time to make friends? For all we know, Hemingway could have done it.'

'I've just arrived you idiot!' Lord Hemingway's snappish tone caused them all to flinch. 'You could have commited the crime yourself.'

'Mortimer darling, I don't think you should—'

'And why on earth would I do that?' Lord Carlton replied with equal bravado.

'You certainly have no problem accusing people. Who's to say you aren't capable?'

'As much as I'm flattered Hemingway,' his tone implied quite the opposite. 'I will not be called a murderer in my own home.'

'I'd gladly call you one anywhere else.'

'Gentlemen!' Henri barked. 'You're men not boys. Act your age or I'll take away your titles,' he huffed as the two hung their heads. 'Is this the sort of example to set for your children? For the citizens? You're Carltons and Hemingways. You're both of royal blood.' Heather tuned out his speech after that. It was only a variation of the same lecture he used every week. She didn't understand why they couldn't stop the bickering. If anything, to stop the nagging. But she couldn't blame them either. If she laid eyes on the Hemingway's son, Heather Carlton would be the first tried guilty of his murder. It was unfair for her to endure the torturous meetings while the boy spent his Thursday evenings with whatever he pleased.

'Heather?' Christopher looked at her expectantly. 'Where are you going?'

'Anywhere else,' she said simply. 'I'll see you in the library when this is over.' She whispered and left as swiftly as she could.

'Nothing but a pain in the arse.' Heather decided as she rushed past the dining room. Then she stopped. She was at the basement steps, coincidentally, after walking without any destination in mind. 'Bloody distraction.' She muttered crossly as the curiosity within her fled. She had no business at the autopsy— and her aunt was at a hospital for assessment. It was nothing, in short, but a waste of her time. She spun on her heel with the thought of writing to Alya and instead stopped short of colliding with a boy. At first glance, she would deem him respectable, perhaps a man of rank, but the unmistakable family signet on his finger sent hate coursing through her veins.

'Ladies should really watch where they're going.'

'And who are you to tell me that?' She demanded, brushing imaginary dust off her skirts.

'Astor Hemingway,' he tipped his hat. 'And you are?'

Who else? Heather cursed internally. 'Carlton.' She extended her hand to which he shook with surprise. 'You're the one who should look where you step. I don't need to be further degraded by a cliche love story.'

'Maybe young ladies shouldn't loiter halls. It really is rather rude, Miss Carlton.' He looked at her as if she were a challenge he were about to win.

'Well, is there a reason you've finally come to these horrid tea parties or is this the only time I'll be graced by your condescending presence?'

'There's no harm in wanting a scandal with buttered scones,' he flashed a devilish grin.

'Don't you have somewhere to be Mr. Hemingway?'

'Don't we all?' Heather scowled at that.

'Spare me your philosophical thoughts and banters,' she turned to leave. 'I have nothing to prove to you.'

'Then I wish you good day, Miss Carlton,' he tipped his hat as she walked away. 'I hope we never meet again.'

'As do I.' and she truly meant it that way.

•••

Our journey finally begins! How do you like it so far? I'd love to hear something from you guys. Either a comment or something you'd like to see in the story? Thank you for reading, comment and vote! Don't worry, my author's notes wont be too frequent. I dont want to ruin your reading experience.

Liz C.