Page 6 of The Royal Art of Revenge

He nudges me, holding open the door. “So you keep saying. He must be one hell of a man since you keep turning me down.”

“You’re so lucky I don’t mix my personal business with my professional life, you menace. By the way, you’ve created a great environment here. Everyone seems really happy, and it’s got a great vibe.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to hear.” He beams at me as we step outside. “It looks like it’s going to rain. Can I get you an umbrella from inside?”

I wave him off. “Thanks, but it’s fine. I don’t have far to go.” I tuck my jacket a little tighter around me and nod at him. “I’ll let you know when the gallery is ready for everyone to access.”

“Sure. Speak soon, Harri—Hannah.” He holds up a hand in goodbye, and I dip my head, hurrying off in the direction of the park.

I don’t want to go home until I absolutely have to, and there’s nothing better than sitting in the park to pass the time. Portrait photography may pay my bills—or pad my savings account, as it is—but nature photography is where my heart truly lies.

The mundane.

The ever-changing.

The everyday.

The things we take for granted, like the spring blossom and chirping birds, like overgrown grass and gently moving clouds.

Capturing a moment that I know will never exist again brings a peace to me I can’t put into words.

I step through the gates into the Royal Central Park and breathe in the fresh air. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, wrapping me in a fleeting moment of peace. I remove my camera from my bag and point it upwards just in time to catch the sun’s rays filtering through the thick canopy of the oak tree.

A bird chirps from somewhere nearby, and I pull my camera down from my face to find it. My eyes scan the branches of the trees around me until my gaze falls onto a small bird singing away on a branch. I move carefully so as not to disturb it and raise my camera once more.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

The ache in my hand fades away to nothing as I fall into a comfortable rhythm of taking photos. The warmth the repetitive action brings me wraps around me like a blanket, and before I know it, an hour has passed.

I stop by one of the little huts that sells hot drinks and get a cup of green tea. It’s not the warmest day in the world, being early spring, and my fingertips are starting to chill. I’m just not ready to go back to that place I call home, and I’d rather freeze for a little longer.

I sit on a bench, smiling warmly at an elderly gentleman on the other side, and set my bag down by my feet. Heat from the tea seeps through the cup and warms my hands, and for a moment, that’s all I do.

Sit, enjoy, and feel.

After a while, the elderly gentleman gets up and moves on, leaving me alone on the bench. The sun is even lower in the sky now, giving a hint of a yellowy orange glow to the previously clear blue above me. I set my cup on the bench next to me and retrieve my camera, slowly raising it to snap some more pictures.

Then, I sigh.

The lower the sun gets, the colder it gets. The colder it gets, the closer I come to having to return to that house. To Jasmine’s jealousy, to Rosalyn’s machinations, to my father’s wilful obliviousness.

Even the household staff barely acknowledge my existence. Why would they? None of them care about me. Jasmine is the one they’ve seen grow up, not me.

I’m nothing compared to the future crown princess.

I am but a mere inconvenience, a threat to her ideal future. There’s no reason for the staff to care about me, either. There isn’t a single member of staff I recognise from my early childhood, and I don’t have to be a genius to figure out what happened when Rosalyn moved in.

Every trace of my mother has been wiped from the place—the old staff all gone, photos locked away. Even the mere mention of her name is forbidden.

Maybe I should just get a hotel for the night. Tell them my work is running late, and I’ve decided to book a room somewhere.

No. That’s more hassle than it’s worth. Last time I did it, Rosalyn sent someone to keep an eye on me to make sure I wasn’t lying.

Sure, I could pay them off, but I have better things to do with my money.

Like use it to ruin her life.

With another sigh, I set my camera in my lap and pick up my tea to finish it. It’s long gone cold, so I abandon that plan and get to my feet and tuck it into the bin a few steps away, then gather my bag from the ground. At the very least, I can get dinner somewhere and take it home so I don’t have to sit at the table with them.