Crowned Cameron – Public Opinion

So here we were, new parents, still trying to get into the jive of it all.

And I know Charles, Geneviève, and the rest of the Beaumont dynasty were getting their first real taste of what it meant to have a Cameron in the family. Camerons do not do quiet, detached, or traditional royal parenting. We do loud, emotional, hands‑on chaos. And now Bellacorde was learning that in real time.

First, I hated the new marital apartments. They were beautiful, of course — polished stone, gilded moldings, the faint scent of lemon wax and old books — but they weren’t me. They felt like a museum exhibit curated for someone else’s life. Luc took one look at my face, kissed my forehead, and declared we were moving back into my old suite.

Charles and Geneviève tried so hard to talk him out of it. They used every argument: tradition, optics, protocol, the architectural flow of the east wing. Luc was deaf on both ears. He simply carried our daughter’s bassinet into my old rooms until the nursery could be moved to one of the rooms near us and that was that.

I’ll take the win. My suite has a small balcony with the best view — Bellacorde’s beautiful old downtown rolling down the hills toward the harbor, the indigo sea stretching out beyond it, morning mist rising like breath from the earth, lavender drifting up from the gardens below. At sunrise, the whole valley glows gold. It feels like standing inside a painting.

Le Salon d’Écriture — which is a fancy name for my home office — was just a few steps from my door, tucked behind carved walnut doors. It always smelled faintly of ink, old paper, and the roses Luc insisted on keeping in a vase by my desk. The windows opened to the courtyard fountain, so I could hear the soft trickle of water while I worked. Because of the move, the royal nursery was relocated to that wing too, just one floor above the royal study, which meant Luc and I could slip between our spaces easily, like two students sneaking between classrooms.

And our daughter… normally, royal parents are very hands‑off. Children are raised by nannies, tutors, and tradition. Camerons are not like that. I wasn’t like that. And Luc, bless him, followed my example without hesitation. He wanted to help raise our kids — diapers, feedings, late‑night pacing, all of it. So yes, fun times with the royal grandparents, who were trying to reconcile centuries of protocol with the sight of their Sovereign Prince wearing a spit‑up‑stained shirt at breakfast.

Mom and Brad came often, and of course they sided with us every time. Eventually Charles and Geneviève gave up, resigned to the fact that their granddaughter would be raised by her actual parents, not a rotating staff of palace professionals.

Then came a distraction with my brother Nathaniel — the golden boy, quiet, obedient, steady, sweet — suddenly experiencing his second puberty or something at the ripe old age of eighteen. He had somehow met and fallen in love with a local girl, a poor girl on top of that, who was raising two of her siblings since the rest of their family perished in a housefire years ago. I remember the headlines. What a tragedy.

Make no mistake, Luc is composed and always in control. Until he isn’t. I’ve only ever seen him break royal code a few times, and let me tell you, he isn’t some lightweight who cries at a broken nail. He faced down my daddy, the gritty horse rancher, the biological one, not sweet Brad, my bonus-dad — not great, but few people would and live to tell the tale. Even Daddy realized there were two versions of Luc: the royal and the fiery Bellacordian who swung a sword as well as some medieval knight.

Elodie was all fiery, and while it took a moment to wrap our heads around it, Mom, Brad, Luc, and I agreed she was perfect for Nate. She balanced out his quiet side with some much‑needed fire to keep things interesting. It reminded me of Mom and Brad — she kept the spark alive between them, and he kept her from exploding. Unlike Dad, who had always exploded with her, which was why things never worked out between them. And I had the fire from both sides. Sounds fun, doesn’t it, but it is not, it makes everything expert-level hard, especially when you’re trying to portray a queen, by any other name.

That’s what we were — the king and queen — even if the titles didn’t say so. At some point, one of Luc’s ancestors, a century or so ago, decided those titles were too presumptuous and carried too much cliché and scandal from other royal houses. So the more humble‑sounding Sovereign Prince and Princess were born as new titleage, but everything else stayed the same. The power, the responsibility, the expectations — all unchanged. Only the wording softened, like a polite veil over the truth of what the monarchy really was.

Speaking of veils, while watching my little brother’s little love story develop was fun, cute and distracting, didn’t help with my own current problem.

How am I going to put this delicately?

After the birth of our beautiful baby girl, my hormones were out of whack and running wild. Seriously wild. I heard all the doctors and their recommendations — especially since I’d had PPROM with Aurelie, had been on strict bedrest for almost the entire third trimester, with a brief reprieve to attend my brother’s and Uncle Cody’s weddings. After the ceremony, I had to bid farewell and was ushered back to the airport under constant supervision of the royal physician. And then I had a natural birth with a failed epidural. My first baby did not come easy. And no, before you guess, my problem wasn’t post-partum depression, oh, I loved my baby girl so much. And her father even more than ever, I think.

You’d think all my body would want was rest, but no — my body and I were ravenously hungry for Luc.

It was like a switch had flipped: “mate with husband immediately.” I couldn’t stop myself. I nearly tore his clothes off whenever he finished his duties for the day and came to our suite. I think it got a little too much for him sometimes. He had broken royal code again and was in the delivery room with me, at my request and against his father’s stern recommendations. Luc had been there firsthand to live through all my drama. I think he wasn’t feeling so sexy around me with all that floating through his mind.

Me, on the other hand… oh boy. I am not proud to admit I snuck into the shower after him to practically force myself on my poor husband, who was running late for a very important meeting because of it.

And that wasn’t the only time. While Charles was technically retired, he was also Luc’s most trusted advisor, but more than once he pulled Luc aside because of hickeys — since apparently we were both in high school — or my lipstick on his white collar or his shirt buttoned crooked. Charles was no idiot, no matter how antiquated he might sound sometimes. He knew exactly what was up.

Well, since Camerons apparently like to play with fire, and since you cannot be on birth control so close after giving birth, especially when breastfeeding — which I stubbornly insisted on — I’ll just say it this way: we were supposed to supply two heirs minimum, three ideally.

And now I had the sneaking suspicion we were halfway through that homework.

Yes. I had more than plenty reason to believe I might already be pregnant again.

No, of course not planned.
And yes, I know how this looks.

Honestly, I kinda thought you couldn’t really get pregnant so fast after having a baby. My bad. Maybe I should have studied medicine after all. And while I adore Brad and Uncle Connor and my cousin Chris, that’s not necessarily something I would bring up with them. “Hey Uncle Con‑Bear, ever since the pretty harrowing late term of my first pregnancy and rough birth I couldn’t stay off my husband, should I be concerned?”

So, I went to Eloise, my best friend, who nearly had two heart attacks and exploded into worst‑case scenarios. I wanted her to get one of her staff to get me a pregnancy test but she insisted I go see a doctor immediately.
Not helpful.
Instead, I called Mom. At first, I heard a thud and thought she had fainted, but then I heard her heels on the hardwood floor of their Brindleton Bay mansion and knew she was galloping to find Brad.

And man, I love Brad, I do, but sitting through a non‑exaggerated forty‑five‑minute lecture on how this was less than ideal made me dislike him for the evening. Especially since this was intended as a brief mother‑daughter “holy shit, what do I do now?” call, not an evening‑filling lecture by Dr. Bradford Cunningham, M.D. Luc walked in halfway through, thinking I was just on one of my usual calls with home. He had gotten partially undressed to get ready for bed, leaned down to kiss me, and tapped the speaker button to greet my parents — just in time for Mom to scream:

“Well, I am sure Luc’s gonna be excited either way! Do you have a decent name list by now or still the old dowdy one from Charles? Are we hoping for another girl or a boy this time?”

Luc’s happy whistle died in his throat. He slowly turned to look at me with huge eyes.

“Mom, Brad, I have to go now. I will call you tomorrow!” I cut into Brad’s next lecture sequence and hung up.

Luc stepped closer, giving me that look.

Gulp.

“I was gonna tell you, once I could figure out how to get a pregnancy test around here without anyone knowing and was able to confirm…”

Luc practically facepalmed himself with a sigh, sinking down on the bed.

“Briony… mon petite belle rose …”

“Luc, I know. I know. And I don’t know anything for certain. This could be anything. Just a stomach bug and … stress. I am a fairly new mom, still ….”

“Mon cœur, even I can’t ignore a notable uptick in irritability. You are quite insatiable, and you will hurt people if not supplied with sweet treats whenever the mood hits. Those signs ring very familiar to me.”

I let out something that sounded like a whimper, so he kissed me, then stepped to the door.

“Where are you going!” I panicked.

He turned. “Nowhere.”

He opened the door and spoke quickly with one of the guards.

Moments later, a knock — and the court physician appeared.

“No. No, no, no, no, no!” I jumped off the bed and headed toward the bathroom. Luc caught me easily, and handed me something the doctor had just given him.

A vial.

“I trust you know what to do?” he said, and shut the door.

I was upset, but I also wanted to know, so I did as told.

I’ll make it quick.

Yes.

Was I ready? Hell no.
Was Luc? Not even remotely.
Was the palace and kingdom. Oh no.
Was the world? Absolutely not.

The most ironic thing? When all this came to pass — dating, getting engaged, marrying a man like Luc — this part was what gave me the most pause. Having babies on command. That’s what it felt like. I had that bad feeling that I would start living my best life with the crown and then just when it all started to get good, I would be forced to pop out kids.

Well, no need to worry about any of that as it turns out. Two were the minimum and I would have that checked off soon enough. Whoops.

Best news though: Eloise was pregnant again too, as was Ana, my cousin in Verdemar. Ana’s pregnancy was the only fully intentional one. Philippe was done after two kids. Eloise said she wasn’t quite on board with his choice, so she took a page out of my book and let chance decide. Philippe was flabbergasted. He loved his wife and children, but he didn’t like the dirty parts of parenting. He loved playing with them, reading to them, talking with them — but cleaning up his kids? No. Two who were already out of the worst were his ideal situation. Now the wifey added another.

Well, I guess the good news here was that this generation of nobility didn’t need to worry about whom to hand their legacy to.

Luc was cautiously optimistic. I think part of him was scared, another part relieved, because he’d worried that after my first pregnancy went so horribly, I would fight him on having more children. Luckily, that worry was not realized. Luc was a very involved father. It took both of us some determination to tackle the first dirty diapers ourselves, but we loved that little girl so much. It was insane how much she had taken over our lives, and we didn’t mind one bit. Aurelie had moments when nothing and nobody could calm her but Luc or me. Once, when I was away at a ribbon‑cutting ceremony, she was inconsolable, so Luc took her with him into a very important summit meeting. There he was, holding his speech with our daughter peacefully sleeping against his shoulder. I’m surprised Charles didn’t have a heart attack.

When Mom and Brad came back — once more with Nate, who couldn’t be bothered to see me until he met Elodie and now I couldn’t get rid of him — Brad brought an entire suitcase of reading material for mothers in my situation, while Mom went on and on about hopefully Beau wouldn’t find out about my quick second pregnancy and get any ideas.

She really hated Beau’s wife with burning passion. I hadn’t spent much time with her, but she seemed exactly like the type of girl I always thought Beau would marry. He and I had never been into each other’s relationships, and I never knew his previous girlfriend very well either, other than knowing she was Native. But Mom hated the McCoy family worse than Dad and his family did.

I didn’t sleep much that night. Not because I was panicking — though I was — but because Luc kept waking up every hour to check if I was still breathing. He didn’t say that’s what he was doing, but I know him. He’d shift, pretend to adjust the blanket, then hover his hand over my stomach like he was trying to sense the baby through osmosis. It was sweet. And maddening. And sweet again.

By morning, I felt like a wrung‑out towel.

We had to tell his parents. Luc insisted. I wanted to crawl under the bed and live there forever.

We found Charles and Geneviève in the breakfast salon, both pretending to read the paper. Charles had that stiff posture he gets when he’s waiting for bad news, and Geneviève had her “I already know something is up” eyebrows raised.

Luc squeezed my hand once — the royal equivalent of “brace yourself.”

““Nous attendons un deuxième enfant,” Luc said.

Geneviève gasped like she’d been shot with joy. Charles blinked at us like we’d just told him the moon was relocating to Bellacorde.

Then he exhaled sharply — a very royal, very startled sound — and muttered:

“Mon Dieu… déjà ?”

The déjà landed like a tiny hammer.
Already.
Yeah, already.
The kind that makes you want to apologize for existing.

But Geneviève touched his wrist, and the shock softened out of him like someone had pressed a warm hand to cold stone. He stood, kissed my cheek — formal, stiff, but sincere — and said:

“Congratulations, Briony. And to you as well, Luc. What a happy surprise so early in the morning.”

He tried to sound composed. He failed. But in a charming, Charles‑coded way.

So that was done. One royal hurdle cleared.

The next one was worse.

The palace communications team descended on us like a flock of very polite vultures. They wanted timelines, statements, tone guidelines, wardrobe suggestions — all the things I never thought about before marrying into a monarchy. They explained that royal pregnancies were traditionally announced in the second trimester, which meant we had a few weeks to prepare.

Luc decided he wanted to address the public himself, right at the cusp of my thirteenth week mark. Of course he did. He’s Luc.

He said it was important for the people to hear it from him, that it made the monarchy feel human, that it protected me from speculation. I didn’t argue. I liked the idea of him standing there, telling the world we were having another baby, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The morning of the announcement, I felt sick — not pregnancy sick, just “I’m about to be televised to the entire planet” sick. Aurelie was in a mood, which meant she was clingy and dramatic and absolutely refusing to let anyone but Luc hold her. So he carried her out onto the balcony, and she immediately buried her face in his shoulder like she was auditioning for the role of Shy Royal Toddler #1.

The square below was packed. Bellacorde loves a spectacle.

Luc cleared his throat, and the crowd hushed like someone had pressed mute.

“Bellacorde has always been a family,” he said, voice warm and steady. “And today, our family grows again.”

A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd. I felt it in my bones.

“Princess Briony and I are expecting our second child. Aurelie will soon have a little sister.”

Aurelie blinked at the crowd, then promptly hid again, which made everyone laugh. Luc smiled — that soft, private smile he usually saves for me — and then, because he can never resist showing off our daughter, he lifted her slightly and asked, in that teasing tone he uses when he’s trying to coax a reaction:

“Ma petite, are you ready to be a big sister?”

And Aurelie — my sweet, dramatic, six‑month‑old daughter — responded by unleashing the most offended wail I have ever heard in my life. Not a cry. A wail. The kind that echoed off the palace stone and ricocheted across the square like she was announcing the end of days.

The crowd erupted into laughter. Geneviève covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. Charles actually snorted — snorted — which I didn’t know he was physically capable of. Mom doubled over, clutching Brad’s arm. Brad muttered, “Well, that’s developmentally appropriate,” which only made Mom laugh harder.

Luc didn’t miss a beat. He bounced her gently and said into the microphone:

“Well. A very honest review from the future big sister. Our princess’ first public opinion.”

The crowd roared.

Aurelie, apparently satisfied with the public’s reaction, stopped crying immediately and shoved her fist into her mouth like nothing had happened. Luc kissed the top of her head, still smiling, and continued talking about compassion and unity and hope — all the things he believes in so deeply it makes my chest hurt.

The bells rang. The crowd cheered. And I stood there thinking, Oh God, this is real, while my daughter gnawed on her fist like she hadn’t just publicly declared her displeasure to the entire kingdom.

But honestly?

It was perfect. It was us. It was Bellacorde

The world found out within minutes. Headlines everywhere. Royal watchers analyzing my dress. People speculating about names. Someone online said I looked “radiantly terrified,” which was… accurate – and thank you.

But Bellacorde celebrated. Markets gave out pastries. Children drew pictures of us. The palace received flowers and tiny knitted booties.

I wasn’t ready. Luc wasn’t ready. The palace wasn’t ready. The world wasn’t ready.