A/N: Sorry for the long-ass wait. My life has been exceedingly hectic these past few months as I was working on my seminar presentation which overall determined whether or not I would be allowed to graduate from my pharmacy program. I am grateful to say that I passed, and am beyond happy to have it behind me. Now all I have to do is pass all my clinical rotations...Anyway, thanks for all the continued love and support! You guys really keep me going during these dark, studious times :) and to reward y'all for your patience, I've decided to participate in NaNoWriMo with the goal of finishing this story! That means many updates this month (hopefully)! Yay! I hope you enjoy!
And the Final Rose Goes to...
Gen felt numb.
Everything was numb.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make herself speak. Couldn't make herself move. Couldn't make herself react in any human way. It unsettled Papa when he had to literally push her across the tarmac and into the awaiting jet. Neelam and Heather both shot her worried looks from across the aisle, as if waiting for her to self-destruct. The boys waited on it too, everyone oppressively quiet as they counted down the seconds until some kind of reaction.
It never came.
Gen didn't know if it would ever come.
Everything was numb.
The entire plane ride, the car ride to Versailles, the mess of staff and siblings waiting for her at the front steps waiting to dash immediately to the funeral - nothing felt real. It was like Gen had her head under water, everything murky and distant. Like she was watching a movie of her life instead of participating in it.
Her entire life was spent examined under a spotlight and yet, never had she had so much attention focused on her at one time. Never had she had so many eyes trained on her, watching her every move, keeping some kind of unspoken vigil over the broken, mourning girl. Except she was none of those things. She did not know how to be those things or feel those things. She had never been taught the concept of loss, not when she had been given anything and everything she had ever wanted her entire life.
When you were royal, everything was replaceable. You lose something, you get a new one. You break something, you get a better one. Not even Gabbi, with her heart broken from a fall down the stairs, was gone; a brand new heart beat in her chest, shiny and strong.
Nothing was ever truly gone. Until now.
Gen didn't know how to handle it.
The most unsettling thing of all was seeing her mother break down.
Camille de Sauveterre was a rock. A gentle, compassionate woman, yes, but a rock. She never wavered, never faltered, and was always the strongest person in any room. Throughout Grandmère's entire illness, she never once let herself be taken over by distress. But now, watching her mother fall into her father's arms as soon as he stepped over the threshold, Gen was beginning to realize that her mother was not as strong as she wanted her children to believe. Perhaps she had been numb this entire time as well.
Gen wanted so badly to know how to fix this, how to fix her. She wanted so badly to help, to comfort her mother just like all the times her mother had comforted her. But things were different now. The last time they spoke Gen was shouting at her, saying terrible things. There was a rift between them that didn't exist before, that Gen wasn't sure how to cross, if it even could be crossed. It hurt more than she wanted to admit. It hurt to know that her mother was hurting and that the presence of her oldest daughter would likely cause more bad feelings than good.
So, Gen stayed away. She remained on the opposite side of the cathedral, pulled the black cage veil on her pillbox hat down, and kept clear of her mother who didn't even hug her hello.
The twins were silent and somber, though Delphine - the picture of mourning - looked much less afflicted than Evangeline, who felt everyone's pain even if she wanted to or not. Beau was a splotchy, weepy mess curled up in a ball on the stairwell, rocking back and forth in Marcel's arms. Gen had no idea that Grandmère had meant so much to her younger brother, but apparently they were closer than she thought. Everyone had their secrets, it seemed.
The only one missing in the sea of black was Louis. He was too young to understand the implications of death, and didn't quite get why everyone was so sad. He didn't understand that the old lady who lived down the hall wasn't going to be coming back again. So, he had been left in the care of his nannies. It was for the best. Funerals were no place for children.
If the funeral was shitty, then the reading of Grandmère's will was even shittier.
It was bad enough that everyone was sniveling and crying in a large cathedral where there was plenty of space for Gen to ignore her surroundings and process things at her own speed. Shoving those same sniveling family members, half of which Gen could not currently stand to be around, an hour after the worst moment of their lives into a small meeting room bleeding with tension so thick it could suffocate alongside nosy, overly-involved counsel members was worse. So much worse. Especially because Maman wouldn't speak to her and Beau was too busy having his tenth mental breakdown of the day to be of any support.
Gen was on her own. What else was new?
She settled into the large leather seat furthest towards the back of the room, kicking off her patent leather heels and pulling off her hat and tossing it onto the table. Her hair had been pulled austerely back, bobby pins digging into her scalp. Gen extracted them one by one, piling them in front of her as her curls spilled onto her shoulders. Normally, such behavior would be berated by a gentle tap to the shoulder or a firm look.
Maman didn't even glance Gen's way. She didn't have time to care if Gen was coping, but had time to change out of her funeral dress into one of her skirt suit/dress things - a grey tweed number with matching jacket. Ridiculous.
"Settle down, settle down everyone," the mediator said, raising his hands in a placating motion.
It was, quite frankly, ridiculous that Grandmère had left a will. Most of what she owned was property of the state and the royal family as a whole. Everything she had would become Maman's, naturally, and then Gen's as soon as Maman signed the abdication paperwork. All that was left to divvy up were a couple tea trays and maybe some old ballgowns.
Gen kept her mouth shut, sitting up straight in her chair with her eyes focused somewhere over the wrinkly old man's left shoulder, begging time to accelerate so she could go back to her room and finally begin to process what was the start of the rest of her life.
"Alright, we shall begin," the mediator announced, clapping his hands together and opening the briefcase he had brought with him. A flurry of papers were spread across the mahogany table. "Ladies and Gentlemen, here in lies the final will and testament of Sa Majesté, Daphne de Sauveterre, la Reine de la France."
A long litany of titles and compensation were rung out to Grandmère's most trusted advisors. Small sums in comparison to the salaries the bastards were raking in, but definitely more than a Christmas bonus. Gen wondered if the old woman was trying to do some charity in her last hours in a last-ditch effort to seal her spot in heaven. If so, there were much more worthy causes than the one-percent.
The staff that served her in her last years were to receive full pension for the rest of their time at the palace. Her personal guards were to receive the same benefits. Even Dante got a spot in the will - his reward causing everyone in the room's jaw to drop. No one expected his name to come up, so he wasn't there to collect. Gen would have to make sure no one poached his prize before she got the chance to tell him.
"To my granddaughter Evangeline, I leave a small collection of first edition classics. Treat them with care, and pass them down in time."
A chest was pulled out from under the desk and rolled over to a waiting Vange who cracked the lid open with the utmost care. Her eyes bugged out as she ran her fingers over the old spines, awestruck.
"To my granddaughter Delphine, I leave my set of rubies. These have been passed down from de Sauveterre women for generations. Wear them with pride."
Another moderator came to Delphi's side and displayed a large jewelry box. It opened with a stiff snap, revealing an opulent set of ruby earrings, a bracelet, and necklace. There was a tiara to match somewhere. It wouldn't be a proper parure without one.
Papa, Beau, and Louis all got indiscernible amounts of money since it clearly was difficult for the old woman to have thought of something unique to get her male family members.
"To my daughter, Camille, I grant the rest of my worldly possessions. All that is mine, is now yours."
Maman nodded her head tersely, not overly impressed nor disappointed with what she was given. Not that she wanted anything except her mother alive, but she couldn't have that. Anything else would fall flat in compensation.
"Finally, to my granddaughter Geneviève, I grant my blessing to rule. May this nation rise to greatness under your guidance."
Knowing what was coming did not prepare Gen for hearing it out loud. Her heart stuttered uncomfortably in her chest, her throat tight.
She was going to be queen.
The mediator cleared his throat and stepped away from the center of the room, leaving a silence even more oppressive than the one before. Delphine's face was as red as her hair. She looked like she was going to explode, and Vange scooted discreetly away from the ticking time bomb.
"Counselors, thank you for your time," Maman said after a moment, standing and inclining her head to all the suits. "Would everyone please clear the room. I'd like to speak to Geneviève in private."
Everyone filed out obediently. Delphine looked like her temple was going to explode from the fact that something important was going on and she couldn't stick her upturned nose in it. Gen couldn't even savor it because she was too busy having a mild panic attack over the fact that Maman had just used her full name. That rarely ever happened, and the fact that it was being used now...well, that was terrifying.
When she was sure they were alone, Gen exhaled. "You wanted to speak to me?"
"Yes. You are aware, no doubt, that the line of succession must be secured as soon as possible," Maman stated, and Gen nodded in agreement. "With the former queen's official seal of approval, the Council and I are moving forward with expediting the arrangements. Notre Dame should be prepared for a coronation by the week's end."
"That's good news," Gen said, leaning forward in her seat. "If that's what you wanted to tell me, why clear the room?"
"That's not all," Maman continued, her words clipped and businesslike. "You do recall the stipulation of your coronation?"
"How could I forget?" Gen replied, too much distaste in her tone to go unnoticed if her parents' frowns were anything to go by. "Don't worry. I've already narrowed down the selection pool. There's only a few left once those two leave."
"No one is going anywhere. Lochan Bellerose and Arlo Moreau are to remain at the palace until further notice," Maman instructed in a no-nonsense tone.
"But I dismissed them."
"I understand that. But I have more respect for my mother's memory than tarnishing her memorial with your Selection drama," Maman snapped. Gen flinched. She was not sure if she her mother was being purposely cruel or not, but either way that cut deep. "Speaking of which, you will have to conclude that soon if you want your inheritance."
Gen was stunned and left gaping like a fish. She was going to get whiplash from her mother's moods, she swore it.
"You just said you didn't want any part of my Selection drama."
"It is about perception, Geneviève. Kicking potential love interests to the curb like stray dogs is one thing. Picking a future ruler and partner is a matter of national security," Maman said decisively, pushing her papers aside and folding her hands neatly on the table. She fixed Gen with a serious gaze. "Do you have any idea of who would make a suitable match?"
"It's been two months. I've known these boys for two months," Gen said incredulously. Was this really happening?
"Yes, and that's two months more than many other royal marriages get," her mother pointed out, not playing Gen's game. Gen was not going to finagle her way out of this one. She was stuck. "Your Papa and I think that the Travert boy would make a good match. It's obvious that he adores you. DuBois or Boniface are decent choices; they already have the public's admiration and their medical careers give them potential - nothing too attention-grabbing, but admirable and shows strength of moral character. Your Grandmère obviously seemed fond of the Sial boy as well, though I'm not sure what he's bringing to the table other than good looks and a knack for putting himself in harm's way."
Once more, Gen was left speechless. This really was happening. Holy shit.
"Are you giving me your blessing? Or is this an order from my sovereign?"
Maman let out a tense breath, her eyes briefly fluttering shut in the way they did when she tried to keep her patience in check. Gen didn't mean to be difficult. Not now. But it was just so hard to keep playing nice when everyone kept fucking with her life.
"You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to a Selection. I don't care who you pick; they're all decent choices. Just finish it, and finish it soon. By the end of the night, if possible."
Gen choked. By the end of the night? She was supposed to have a fiancé by the end of the night?
"You support this?" Gen asked, looking at her father imploringly, a last ditch effort to cling to any remaining sanity.
"I support you, and whatever decision you may make," Papa replied. He framed her face with his hands and gently tipped her head up so he could place a kiss to her forehead. His beard was a little scratchy, but it was a comforting gesture.
Too bad it did nothing to steady her crumbling foundation.
The door opened on the second knock.
"Gen, I'm so sorry about la reine," Dante immediately apologized, always the gentle giant. "This can't be an easy time for you."
"No, not really, but I appreciate it," Gen replied, brushing off the awkward stiltedness that came with every interaction now. "Can I come in?"
Dante nodded and opened the door wider.
She pushed her way into the room and he shut the door behind her. If Dante was surprised to have a private audience, he didn't show it. Instead, his eyes followed her across the room all the way to the couch in the sitting area. He didn't sit with her, not at first, standing up and fiddling with his hands like a giant awkward duck. Gen finally sighed and patted the cushion next to her. She didn't want to do this with him so far away.
"Can't be easy for you either. You guys got pretty close there at the end."
"Yeah," Dante said and nodded, scuffing the hardwood with his shoe on his way to the couch. "Yeah we did. But it's not the same. She wasn't family."
"I believe we choose our family. And Grandmère definitely chose you. You were a better fake grandson to her than I was a granddaughter," Gen said, and though she meant to sound self-deprecating, there was too much raw guilt to brush off. It was a fact, plain and simple, that Gen was a terrible human being to her grandmère while the woman was alive. Now she'd have to live with that for the rest of her life. At least the old woman had Dante. In the end, she had one friend. "She uh, liked you a lot. Enough to leave you in her will."
Dante raised an eyebrow, taken aback.
"Really?"
"Really. She's giving you a castle."
"Ha! No seriously," Dante brushed it off as a joke, but the longer Gen stayed silent and stoic, the more Dante sobered. His face became long, his eyes wide, and for a second Gen thought he was going to pass out. "Seriously?"
Gen nodded.
"It's not just a castle. It's the land that goes with it, actually - a whole forest and the canal and a some hunting grounds. It's just outside the city, about fifty kilometers away. The royal family has held onto it for forever, but now it's yours," she said, mustering a small smile. "Congratulations. You've just become the next Marquis de Rambouillet."
"I...I don't know what to say..." Dante stuttered.
This was too much. It was obvious it was too much. It wasn't fair for Gen to overwhelm him like this, to come out of the blue and turn his life upside down. It wasn't fair for her to ask what she was going to next.
"You don't have to be the Marquis de Rambouillet," Gen said and swallowed down the swarm of bees swelling in her throat. She could do this. She could say the words. "You could give that to your chachi and be le Roi de la France instead."
"L-le roi?"
"Well, Prince Consort technically. But yeah," Gen nodded, the swarm getting angrier, choking her up but not for any of the good proposal reasons. For the terrified, existential crisis kind of reasons.
"Are you...are you proposing to me?" Dante asked, and Gen didn't think it was possible for a middle eastern guy to be that white but somehow in that very moment he made paper look tan.
"I am. If you want it. If you want me. Can't blame you if you don't."
The I sure as hell wouldn't goes unsaid. As does the litany of please don't want me, please don't want me, you deserve better, please don't want me.
"No! It's not that. It's just - " Dante cut himself off, completely in over his head. He wasn't the only one. "Are you even in the right headspace to think about marriage? Your grandmother just died. You've just been dumped an entire nation - "
" - both things I've known were coming for a while," Gen brushed off. Like it was nothing. Like this wasn't the single most terrifying, important decision she had to make in her entire life. "I can't rule that entire nation without someone to rule it with, and I want that someone to be you."
"We've been on one date!" he exclaimed, pulling his fingers through that long dark hair like a wild man. "We barely know each other!"
"But it was a really great date, and I'd love to keep getting to know you," Gen argued, though with not nearly the amount of passion that Dante had.
"Gen you have no idea - " Dante stopped himself, swallowed, and looked like a lost puppy. "You have no idea how much I want this, but are you certain? Are you sure? B-because the last thing I want is for you to change your mind or end up hating me or - "
"I'm sure." No I'm not. "Absolutely positive."
Dante did not look convinced. Gen could not blame him. She wasn't doing the best job being convincing. Sighing, Gen got up from the sofa.
Time to put on the A-game.
"Listen, I know this is rushed, okay? I know this is a lot to take in and that this might sound crazy, but you are an absolute gem of a person - a diamond in the rough. You're kind and sweet and have the absolute best taste in sweaters. You got my Grandmère of all people to love you, and to say that woman was unlikeable was putting it nicely, and if she were here today, she'd agree." By this point in the speech, Dante had stepped further into her space, now less worried and more captivated. Gen reached out and took his hands, staring at the ridges of his tanned knuckles. "I think you can make me happy, that we could be happy together. At least, I'm willing to try. And who knows - maybe the rest will come in time."
It wouldn't, Gen already knew. But Dante didn't know that. And maybe it was cruel to let him hope, but she'd given up on hope a long time ago.
"So, what do you think? Willing to give this a shot?"
"I don't have a ring."
"That's okay," Gen huffed out a laugh. "We can go pick one out of the vault later."
"Okay," Dante agreed, dazed, his calloused thumb running over the bare skin of her left ring finger. Gen shuddered, thinking vaguely about how her hand would look with the added piece of jewelry. She normally didn't wear anything on her hands at all. It would be strange to see, an unfamiliar weight.
Dante leaned in slowly, those brown eyes holding her own blue, their foreheads brushing together, and then he kissed her - sweet and tender and all the things that should have set off a thousand butterflies in her stomach and made her knees turn into jelly. She should have swooned into his arms like the princess who had just found her Prince Charming, just like in the fairytales. Instead, she felt clammy and dizzy and altogether a wreck as the swarm of bees stung painfully at her throat.
When it was over, Dante looked dazed. Like he wasn't sure if this was a dream or not. For Gen, this was a nightmare. But what else could she do? This was her future, this was her fate. It could be so much worse than a beautiful young man who looked at her like she had hung the moon.
Gen smiled back, and hoped that one day it wouldn't be forced.
