𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

SEVENTEEN

|Solid Ground|

There's this moment when everything just sinks in. You always see it in movies or read it in books or even hear it in stories. When the world just stops and every object and every human just blurs into white. Where the voices fade into static noise. My mind wouldn't even focus long enough for those few seconds to find me. 

Instead, my feet are slipping over the tiles as I follow the stretcher being drawn out of the Emergency room. Surgery. They are pulling him straight into an operating room.

Marie is outside speaking to his family and she asked Bobby to contact his connections to keep reporters at bay, at least until we know exactly what is going on. Everything is spinning. My thoughts, the ground. If Peter wasn't with me when the ambulance arrived I don't know what any of us would've done.  

There must be some sort of protocol for serious situations like this. But I think in the moment of it all, no one had any clue how to handle the issue at hand. Marie was calm as always, jumping straight to action as soon as he was pulled from the ambulance. Peter was quick to take charge as well, he handed me his blazer and checked to see if I was okay before informing the on-call doctors that he would take lead on all further medical-related decisions and so on. 

With the stretcher coming to an abrupt stop I realize that I'm not allowed to follow them from here. There's an uncertain silence as the doctors turn to me, giving me a brief instant to say goodbye and see him for the first time. Except Peter steps to the front, blocking me from whatever horror the bed shows.

"You're not seeing him, not like that." I look down at his blood-soaked shirt and I swallow down a strong sense of terror. So much blood- his blood. My eyes burn, not from the tears. Not from the sharp light. Rather the fact that my fear creates physical pain. The fear that this might be worse than they are letting on to be. Fear that his wounds can't be treated.  The fear of losing him. Peter leans forward and hastily kisses my forehead, not touching me with his blood-stained hands. "I'll do everything I can, Mara." And I know he will, even though we were kind of fighting before the chaos. Even though I couldn't trust myself, I trust Peter.

I just hope- with everything in me- I hope that it would be enough.

I watch as the doors close in front of me, taking my prayers with them. Taking Xavier with them. I feel two small arms wrap around me from the side and Marie's perfume fills the stiff air. I grasp onto her as my body begins to tremble. It's like the floodgates have burst and the water is taking down everything in its path. And I feel it. Behind the fear and the pain, I feel it. The cold hard surface of realization. I don't know who I was trying to fool, maybe even myself, but as Marie pulls me closer and tears stain her sweater I finally have to accept it.

I'm done falling.

I waited in that awfully unwelcoming waiting room the entire time. Even after the surgery had finished I wasn't allowed to see him, considering I wasn't related to him. I listened to Marie answering call after call, from family and from the press and even from Max and the staff. Everyone had so many questions and so many concerns, including me, but as the hopeful faces of at least four doctors met us in the filled room everything seemed to fade.

The surgery was short, which made me feel a little at ease. Lacerations to the chest, cracked rib, broken arm and he might have a concussion. Peter said a lot more than that, but I stopped listening as soon as he said that he was going to be okay. He is still sleeping off the anesthetics, but I had to see him.  Even if he couldn't hear me or talk to me, I had to see him to finally face the reality of him being okay.

Yes, he still had to recover. Yes, there were a lot of hills to climb once he woke up, but he was going to be fine. I wanted to scream with excitement and jump for joy. I wanted to run through the hospital and shout it into every room. I nearly lost him and this time it wasn't my decision, it wasn't my choice. It was unplanned and unexpected and in a blink of an eye, it could have taken a horrific turn.

So I walk. In uncomfortable heels, with frizzy hair and a slightly shifted dress, I walk towards his room. Marie obviously had connections in higher places for she had somehow convinced everyone to let me see him. It's one o'clock the next morning and the hospital is quiet except for my steps echoing through the empty halls as I mentally prepare to see him.

There are two guards at his door and another walking up and down the hallway. They cleared almost half of the ward to allow some privacy for his Highness.  A doctor and a nurse have been put on call for him to be checked every hour. His family is even on route to the hospital and will be with him as soon as their private yet lands. He has everyone in a spin. The best of the staff is at his call but all I have to offer is myself- my worried expression and red eyes, as I stand at the side of his bed. The two guards step outside as I close the door. 

The room is dark. The air is thick and in the center, I find my mangled breathing. His body moves slightly as the machine makes rhythmic ticks, indicating when he breathes. A blanket covers him up to his waist and a large part of his chest is covered with thick white bandages. His armrests on a pillow as to remain slightly elevated inside the dark blue cast.

My hand falls into his hair as I feel the need to touch him. No long curls that fall into the crook of his neck, instead my hand sifts through the little strands of what seems to be a comb-over. His face is pale and little red lines scatter onto the smooth surface, like thin brush strokes on an abstract art piece. His eyes are shut tightly. Without disturbing the movements of my hand I focus my gaze on his lips. His slightly tilted lips. I take a few minutes to look past the remnants of the accident.

The last time I saw him I was saying goodbye to the sweet Prince who showed me what it's like to want to be more. Now, as I watch him motionless in this obviously uncomfortable bed, I'm saying hello to him once more, to the King of Whitebridge. To the man whom I might love.

None of this makes sense. Why he is here. Why he stole his guard's car and charged into unknown traffic. Why he didn't try to tell me that he'd be here. Why did he cut his hair? Although the lack of information is clouded by my sudden pleasure in him being here, to begin with. He is here in this awful little town and he is laying right in front of me as his lips form more of a smile, letting me know that my gestures might have woken him up.

With almost shaking hands I interlock my fingers with his and the coldness catches me by surprise, but I don't pull away. Instead, I stand in slight shock as his fingers dance over mine, tugging at the tips.  His eyes don't open and he doesn't move anything more than that.

"Amara?" His voice is gruff and grim and it distorts his accent. But it is still him. I smile as I tighten my grip around his hand.

"Xavier..." 

||

So Xavier's in Eastwood, why?

What's going to happen with him when the news gets out?

Did he abdicate the throne is this just a little road trip?

||

Vote. Comment. Share.

||

Love.

||