Rule of The Monarch

Eight: Dnuownamnug

11 September

'Heather?'

'I know, mother.' She rolled her eyes, holding the telephone to her ear. 'I'll only be a few days.'

'What about your etiquette lessons?'

'You've had me take them since I turned twelve. What is there left to learn?'

'Alright,' Imelda gave a resigned sigh. 'But the Hemingway's are looking for their son. If he's run away, you'd assume the throne immediately.'

'I'm sorry to burst your bubble, mother. But Mr. Hemingway is here in Ealdor with me,' she smiled, imagining the scowl Lady Carlton would wear.

'What are you doing with a boy in another city? You realise people will start to talk, Heather. And what about your betrothal to the Count?'

'For the last time, I have no interest in Lord Taylor and we are not courting.' She huffed. 'Mr. Hemingway is helping me look for Christopher. I know he's here, mother. Let me look for him.''

'The police are looking for the prince. He's a national priority.'

'Not now,' Heather said pointedly. 'Uncle Henri is dead. They're sure to put their efforts on other, more important cases. And Keydon hasn't recognised me for the past five years. Who's to say they will notice Christopher?'

'Just come home heather--'

'This is my home. You promised you would let me live as I've learned to.'

'Heather,'

'Send my regards to father.' With a muted goodbye, she set the phone back in its place. Etiquette lessons. Heather scoffed. There was no point in them. She wasn't going to take the crown, whether or not they picked her. She didn't want to, so she wouldn't.

'Heather?' Astor was standing halfway between her and the kitchen, holding her notebook in his hands. 'Who was that?'

'My mother,' she stated. 'She disapproves of your stay in my flat. All the more reason I welcome it.' She grimaced. 'What are you doing with my private property?'

'I was... I,' he stood there awkwardly, holding the book up in midair. 'I wanted to know about Jonathan Carlton.'

A dull thudding filled her head. She didn't know from where or why. Jonathan Carlton. She remembered the name, she remembered him. When they were younger, playing around the family estate. Chasing each other around the willow tree. Wielding wooden swords and challenging each other to battle. He taught her how to fight, that much she could recall. But every memory seemed distant, almost a shadow of what was. He was her brother was he not? So why couldn't she remember anything past their fencing and their mischief?

'He's my brother,' she said slowly, her mind still lost. 'He turns 27 this year. We used to do everything together. Although he always said he hated me.'

'He sounds nice.'

'He was.' She smiled.

'Well what happened? Your father looked ready to kill at the mention of his name.'

'He's gone.' New memories poured in, these ones sharper than the last. Of shouting matches between Jonathan and her father. Of her mother sobbing in the middle of the night. 'About ten years ago.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I don't remember him all that well. Now get your coat,' Heather said, tying a scarf around her neck. 'We have somewhere to be.'

'Another old friend?'

'Something of the sort.'

Who was Jonathan Carlton? If he was as wonderful of a brother as she'd remembered, why was he gone? Heather knew if she asked Lord Carlton, he would say the same things she's heard. 'He's irresponsible, a disgrace to the family name.' Lady Carlton didn't share the same thoughts. The mention of Jonathan brought tears to her eyes, although Heather wasn't sure what they meant.