by Geneva Lee
“I suppose issues of legitimacy are of no importance to you then.” He rubbed his palms together, his chest expanding on a deep breath.
“None at all.” My response was firm, calculated. He’d expected to sway me, but I couldn’t be positive what his end truly was.
“You’ve been quite clear on your decision to marry Miss Bishop,” he mused, “but despite my refusal, you’ve not exercised the one option you truly have to ensure your marriage is legal.”
“You’ve made it clear that I’ve had no options,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Rescind the throne.” His words hung in the air between us. They were neither a suggestion nor a demand. It was a statement of fact.
I did have an option, but it was one I was unwilling to exploit. Not while Clara’s life was in danger.
“I’d expected you to,” he continued. “You’ve made your distaste for your birthright obvious enough, constantly eschewing tradition and decorum in favour of more secular proclivities.”
There was a note of disgust in his voice, but he waved a dismissive hand.
“You have been made aware of the situation involving Clara,” I said. “You’ve refused to help.” Regardless of his intentions to prevent Clara’s protection as a Royal, he couldn’t stop me from protecting her. Unfortunately remaining under his thumb with access to our family’s wealth was the only way to afford such security.
We stared at each other for a moment. Two men in uniform unwilling to affect the slightest compromise. My father broke eye contact first, strolling across the bedroom and picking up a framed picture of Clara and myself.
“I was thinking of your mother last night.” His hard features softened as he spoke of her. His rapt devotion to her had proven time and again that he had a heart.
“I imagine she would have liked Clara,” I challenged him. My mother had been a dutiful wife, but as I grew older I understood that her true duty rested with her children.
“Do you know that the doctors informed her that carrying Edward to term could jeopardise her health?” he asked me.
I froze, unable to move. He rarely spoke of my mother save to paint her as a saint. She had died when I was six, far too young to truly know her. My father had given us glimpses of her through offhand remarks, but they were sketches of who she was. He’d never completed her portrait.
“It was a risky pregnancy from the beginning, but when the first doctor suggested she abort, she fired him.” A smile curved over his lips at the memory. “Your mother took her responsibilities as Queen very seriously. She was careful to stay at my side without ever raising controversy. But no man could tell her what to do. Not her doctor. Certainly not me. It’s perhaps why I have such a difficult time looking at your brother. People assume I disapprove of his lifestyle, but truly, it’s the pain of knowing she chose him.”
“She was his mother,” I said coldly, my hands balled into fists at my sides. “But you are his father—a duty you’ve never seemed to comprehend.”
“I don’t flatter myself that she would approve of my parenting.” He placed the picture on the nightstand and regarded me with distant eyes.
“You shouldn’t.”
“Such strong words from a man who places no value on children.”
He was baiting me, dangling an irresistible morsel over me—and I couldn’t stop myself from biting. “I place no value on servitude—on this life.”
“The crown continues with or without you, Alexander. I assume your brother won’t produce an heir either.” He shrugged at my wary expression. “I am kept abreast of his relationship with David, even if he chooses not to flaunt it.”
“I guess he assumes you won’t condone it.”
“There’s no point,” he said. “His progeny will never claim the throne.”
“So your line dies,” I pointed out, drawing satisfaction just from saying it.
“I told you I was thinking of your mother, but I failed to tell you that it occurred to me yesterday evening how she might feel about today.”
The fact that he’d considered anyone’s feelings was new. It was convenient that the person was dead.
“I think she’d like Clara,” he said slowly. “Actually, I think she’d be quite happy if she were here today.”
“If only that was a position you shared with her.” I was growing tired of the trip down memory lane. Neither of us would yield—it wasn’t in our blood.
“I spent a lot time considering that and I came to a realisation. Your wife is your choice. May God have mercy on her pitiful soul. Only I can choose the direction the monarchy takes after today though.” He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his uniform. “No man should want this duty. You’ve operated for years under the mistaken impression that I enjoy being King.”
“Mistaken?” I repeated. No one who took such pleasure in ordering people about could not enjoy the position.
“Blood has been shed throughout time by cruel men who want the throne. The best of us have taken it despite ourselves. That’s why you will ascend following my death.”
“And if I don’t want it?”
“You will take it,” he said with certainty. “Good men do not shirk responsibility.”
“No, they do not.” I didn’t trust myself to say more. Our pieces were in position but neither of us could move to check the other. It was a draw.
“I thought about taking this to your fiancée, but I don’t want to spoil her day by showing up at her door.” He retrieved a folded envelope from his pocket and passed it to me.
“How uncharacteristically thoughtful,” I muttered as I broke the wax seal. Sliding out the enclosed papers, I scanned them before lifting my gaze to him.
“If you’re thinking of refusing, you should know I’ve already filed official duplicates. The mandate is in order.”
I gripped the documents tightly, knowing they changed everything. One granted Clara the title of Duchess. The other was the decree sanctioning our marriage.
“Why?”
“Perhaps because she would have wanted…” He trailed away, not offering the other motivations he might have.
I hardly cared. Two simple pieces of paper. That was all it took to confer the highest level of security for her.
I swallowed, my jaw tensing, and nodded my thanks.
“No doubt you have things to attend to before the ceremony.” With that he took his leave.
I was down the hall and in front of her door, papers in hand, before I realised that Clara had no idea that she’d been about to wed me illegally. I paused, catching the laughter that floated from inside the room. I pictured her for a moment, breathless. Her cheeks pink with excitement. She’d fought for this day—for me.
Now somehow we’d both won. Turning away from her room, I went back to the bedroom and collected my gloves and hat. In a few hours we would be man and wife. The rest could wait.
Her happiness was all that mattered, knowing this would only jeopardise that. Later, I would tell her she was a Duchess. Later, I would take her to our marital bed and make love to her as my wife. For now, I unbuttoned my jacket and slid the papers into my breast pocket, over my heart.
The space she already occupied.
He arrived with the crowds, set up camp, and waited. Waited until the excitement reached fever pitch along the route to Westminster Abbey.
There were so many people—swarms of them. They descended on London like vultures, hoping for a taste of a life they could never have. It disgusted him to walk among them, but the plan had to be followed precisely.
The plan.
He couldn’t have done better himself, though he now acted alone.
Police swept the streets, checking lamp posts and sewage drains. Officers walked amongst the crowd, confiscating bottles and fireworks. Routine, perfunctory tasks to ensure there would be no disturbances to the blessed fucking event. But the security plan he’d been given kept him a step ahead.
At dawn the officers would rotate sh
ifts, stopping to chat with their colleagues just as the people behind the barricades did the same. Their awareness would be compromised by the air of revelry on the streets.
He navigated through them easily. One man was easy enough to let by and people were always so fucking polite. He followed the security perimeter, staying far enough from the actual barrier as to not draw attention to his movements until he finally saw it: a horse tied near a barricade.
Its rider was out of sight. Approaching it, a little girl looked up to him, stroking the bit of muzzle the animal had managed to push through the bars. Her mother stood next to her, busily gossiping with a friend.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” she asked.
He smiled and held a finger to his lips. “Can you keep a secret?”
The child’s eyes widened and she bobbed her head.
Slowly he reached through the bars, caught the reins and freed the animal.
“She should be able to walk around.”
The girl nodded again and turned her attention back to the creature.
He stepped a few meters away, out of the girl’s sight, and drew the slingshot from his pocket. The irony made him smile. All of what would come—started with a child’s toy. Drawing it back, he shot a small pebble squarely into the horse’s hindquarters. The animal reared, its hooves crashing back down on the pavement before it bolted down the street, finally catching the attention of the crowd—and the officers.
He saw the girl tug at her mother’s coat, but the mother shooed her child’s hand away, caught up in the unexpected excitement. Police officers scattered, some moving to avoid the stampeding beast, others attempting to stop it.
He faded into the crowd, moving quickly to the row of nearby shops near where the horse had fled. Ducking into an alley, he waited, staying still as they had trained him, until an officer darted close by.
Alone.
An easy target.
The officer never saw him. He never heard the rock fly through the air. By the time it hit his neck it was too late. Now that he was stunned, the stranger struck.
One twist and the officer’s neck popped. His body went limp. It was so much easier to kill a man than he’d expected. Dragging his body into the alley was more difficult, though not impossible.
He stepped onto the street a few minutes later, abandoning the stripped body, along with the slingshot, in a trash bin. The toy had been useful, but it was only a child’s plaything—nothing like the metal wedged cold and heavy in his waistband.
Smoothing his stolen uniform down, he marched back toward the cathedral to do a man’s work.
Eight minutes had never taken so long. My arm ached from acknowledging the crowds as the borrowed Bentley drove leisurely along the official procession route toward Westminster Abbey.
Next to me my brother was at ease, a charismatic smile gracing his face as he waved.
“You’re much better at being Royal than I am,” I informed him as the car turned toward Whitehall.
He glanced at me and shook his head. “I’ll remind you of that when the whole of England is up in arms about my engagement.”
“Your engagement?” I repeated, turning to stare at him. “Were you planning on telling me?”
“You’ve had quite enough on your mind, which is why I made Clara swear not to tell you until after the wedding.”
Another bombshell. “Clara knew?”
“Of course, she helped me pick out the ring.”
“I can’t believe you two kept this from me.” But no part of me could be angry. Not when my brother had a chance at the happiness I had found.
“Obviously I couldn’t keep it from you,” he pointed out. “Which is why I stole your thunder.”
“You only made this day more perfect,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder as the car pulled to the entrance of the gothic cathedral. “Although it is strange to think of my little brother getting married.”
“Says the notorious womaniser,” Edward shot back as the passenger door opened.
An officer saluted us when we reached the red carpet leading into the abbey. Just past the gates Edward and I paused to wave to the crowd. It was expected. Mostly another photo opportunity for the press. But I felt an odd sense of pride surge through me as I regarded the crowd. All my life I’d resented how the press laid claim to my personal life. I’d expected to feel the same today. Instead, as the onlookers cheered and waved Union Jacks, I felt grateful. These people had embraced Clara. I had no misconception they were here to see me.
She was as much their princess now as she was mine.
Edward leaned in beside me. “Pausing for a photo op? The tables have turned. Unless, of course, you’re flipping them the bird.”
“I’ll flip it to you if you’re not careful,” I warned him.
He sighed and strode forward. “Get inside before you upend the monarchy. Clara deserves one drama-free day.”
Invited guests had already arrived, but we stopped in salute as two familiar faces appeared in our path.
“At ease,” Brexton ordered with a chuckle.
I ignored him and regarded my former commanding officer, Squadron Leader Kelly. “Sir.”
“Your Highness,” he bowed.
My hand reached out and caught his forearm in a firm, friendly shake. “Now that formalities are out of the way, how are you?”
Kelly cocked his greying head toward Brexton and grimaced, drawing out his considerable wrinkles. “I’ve had to babysit this one all morning. How do you think?”
“In my defence,” Brexton interrupted, “I have a bet going with some of the guys about how many hats we can collect.”
“Hats?” Edward asked. He looked to me for answers, but I shrugged.
“There are a number of lovely ladies wearing hats here today. It makes it easier to keep track of which ones we can get into dark corners at the reception.” He paused, winking at me. “There are bonus points for feathers and unique colours, of course.”
“Brex, it’s good to know some things never change.” I shook my head, unable to hold back a laugh.
“We’re doing it for you, poor boy. It’s the end of an era.”
I nodded solemnly, though I wondered if they knew I was content to see that old life draw to a close. Taking our leave, we continued through the crowd, stopping to make polite conversation on our way to the Chapter House. When we were finally alone in the octagonal chamber, I turned to Edward. “I suggest you elope.”
“As if Father would sanction my marriage.” He rolled his eyes, but I didn’t miss the edge of pain in his tone. I knew the ache of rejection when I heard it.
The papers in my pocket, officially condoning my marriage, grew heavy, reminding me that anything was possible. Yesterday I would have said the same thing. “We’ll have to work on him. Look on the bright side.”
“Which is?” Edward asked.
When Clara and I had returned from our honeymoon, I would appeal to our father, choosing to believe I could sway his apathy towards his youngest son.
“At least, David is British.” I grinned at my younger brother, bumping my elbow against his. The weight I’d carried for the last few months had lifted. Things were finally falling into place, and I wanted Edward to feel as light as I did.
“He does have that on his side.” He paused, regarding me with studious eyes.
“What?” I prompted.
“I’ll admit I didn’t expect to see you this happy.”
I inclined my head. “Neither did I.”
Trumpets sounding my father’s fanfare echoed through the chamber.
“The guest of honour,” Edward muttered. “It will be nearly time then.”
“In a moment,” I stalled, wondering where my personal security advisor was.
Norris entered. My pulse sped up, returning to normal when he smiled.
“Your uniforms have always suited you,” he said as he approached us.
Despite his long years serving the King, Norris wore a tailored
morning suit. It was a calculated move. I’d arranged for him to be seated with Clara’s family. To most he would appear as another guest, but it reassured me to know he was on her other side.
“The guard reports no suspicious activity,” he informed me.
The police and guard had run continual sweeps of the streets, dismantling light posts and checking sewer drains for bombs. But I was more concerned with the guests and the crowd gathered along the procession route. “Anyone of interest among the crowd?”
There was only one person of interest to me. I didn’t have to tell Norris that. Daniel had vanished from the grid again after he’d managed to breach our engagement gala.
“A few kooks,” he said, “and there was an incident with a horse.”
I raised an eyebrow just as Edward repeated, “An incident with a horse?”
“Something spooked it and took off near Whitehall, made it all the way to Parliament Square before a chap caught him.” He clapped a hand over my uniform’s epaulette. “We’re in prime shape if the worst we have to contend with is wild horses.”
We laughed. Norris’s hand stayed planted on my shoulder. My father’s fanfare ended, and I couldn’t help but think that my true father stood with me here under the vaulted ceiling of the chamber. Albert may have granted me permission to marry Clara, but Norris had protected her. He’d guided me as I continued to cock things up during our courtship. I was only standing here today because of him.
“Thank you.” My words were thick, coated in emotions I never knew how to express.
“It is not my duty, but my privilege.”
I embraced him in a warm hug. He pulled away, placing his hand to his nearly invisible earpiece. “Clara has arrived at the West entrance. It’s time.”
I inhaled deeply and squared my shoulders.
“Last chance to run,” Edward whispered as we exited toward the East Cloister.
“Not a chance in hell.”
We emerged into the sanctuary. I barely processed the presence of the guests. I nodded as they smiled and wished me well as I passed. Over three thousand people were in attendance and all I could think of was the one climbing the front steps. I met my father’s eye as I approached the altar. Next to him my grandmother was absorbed in reading her programme.