Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLEoS2SElSQ
Honey, make this easy
“It Will Come Back” – Hozier
You lay in bed, your eyes fixed on the ceiling above you in the dark. You aren’t sure exactly how long you’ve been awake. Your mind continues to bombard you with constant thoughts on anything and everything that doesn’t give way to slumber.
You groan in irritation as you hastily flip yourself onto your stomach and bury your face in the cool, soft pillow. You clamp your eyes shut, hoping beyond all hope that you can just will yourself to sleep, but closing your eyes only leaves more room for your mind to assault you with visions of all that has transpired over the last 48 hours. It all comes to you as a clichéd flashback providing brief glimpses of the moments weighing most heavily in your mind.
The sound of Lady Penelope’s confession of hiring the photographer, the feel of your stomach dropping as she explains Bastien’s involvement, the sound of a baby crying as you watch Savanna scurry off to tend to him, the look on Drake’s face as he pulls away from you after that heated kiss… You roll onto your side, your fingers coming up to brush your bottom lip. For a moment, you swear you can still feel the heat of his lips on yours and his body pinning you to the wall. Your mind ruins the moment, bringing the memory of Liam confessing his abdicating the throne for you.
You finally sit up in bed and throw the blankets from off you. “This is pointless,” You mumble to yourself as you turn on the lamp beside you and wince slightly at the light filling the room, waiting for your eyes to adjust. Maybe a walk will help, you think to yourself, pulling on a pair of jeans and a shirt that looks mostly free of wrinkles. If you weren’t so annoyed with Bertrand you would find amusement in the thought of the hissy fit he would throw if he saw your attire. His slight on you by selling the pictures from New York to the tabloids, and the paternity of Savanna’s son are still upsetting.
After you finish getting yourself ready you crack your door to peek out into the rest of the dimly lit train. You don’t think anyone would be patrolling down by your sleeping quarters. After all, you aren’t a lady-in-waiting or the future queen. You feel a small pang of guilt in your chest for having no intention of becoming the latter. King Liam still isn’t aware of what has been going on behind closed doors or that your intentions of ruling Cordonia by his side are all but nonexistent.
You slip out of your room and quietly make your way down the main car. You briefly wonder if it would be frowned upon to sneak into Maxwell’s room just to have your best friend nearby. After all, you have told him at least twice that you fell for someone else at court. Maybe it was time to tell him the truth just to get some semblance of relief from everything you have been keeping to yourself. That thought quickly slips by. You can’t bring yourself to tell him and add to the insurmountable stress already weighing him down with Bertrand, Savanna, and the royal court.
The door to exit the train seems to be momentarily unguarded. You stealthily move towards it, making quick work of opening the door and stepping into the frigid night as you pull your coat tighter around you. You aren’t sure where you’re going. You wander around aimlessly into the heart of the city. It almost feels like home with the late-night bars, clubs, and bistros on the main drag. Being outside of Cordonia where no one knows of you or the scandal surrounding you is a relief. A small bar farther down the strip grabs your attention. It reminds you of the bar you had worked at back home. It reminds you of a simpler time when everything made sense and life was relatively uncomplicated. The worries you had so long ago feel trivial compared to now and part of you wishes you could have that back.
When you step inside a faint smile crosses your features as the warmth, sounds of clinking glasses, and low buzz of conversation wash over you. You’re thankful to see that your attire isn’t an eyesore as the patrons around you all seem to be dressed in the same fashion. It all feels so familiar, yet so different at the same time.
The man at the bar smiles brightly at you as you approach. He says a few things in French causing your smile to waver as you shake your head and give him an apologetic look. You suddenly feel embarrassed that you hadn’t bothered to learn but a few phrases in French, none of which would work in this moment.
“You wouldn’t happen to speak English, would you?” You ask with an attritional smile.
The bartender lets out a soft chuckle and gestures for you to take a seat on the stool in front of him. “Of course. What can I get you?”
You let out a soft sigh of relief as you perch yourself atop the barstool. “Whisky neat, s'il vous plait.” You pause for a moment. “I think that is right.”
“Oui,” He responds with a grin before turning to start making your drink.
You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket and pull it out. It’s a text from Hana. You don’t bother reading it. You don’t want to think about things back at court. Instead, you lock your phone and glance back up as the bartender sets your drink down in front of you. As you move to pull your wallet from your other pocket he shakes his head.
“It’s already been taken care of.” He nods over to the left of you. You glance over and feel your heart skip a beat as you see Drake lift his glass towards you with a smirk.
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