Royals Saga 3 Crown Me (16 page)

He said nothing more.

Back in my temporary bedroom, I locked the door and stood in the oppressive silence. Finally I opened the door to the wardrobe and stared at the only thing inside. With trembling fingers, I unzipped the overstuffed garment bag and drew my wedding dress out. I traced the delicate lace that covered the silk bodice. I’d sent Alexander to another bed tonight to avoid bad luck. It had found me anyway. There would be a wedding, but it wouldn’t be long before the press discovered our marriage was a sham. There would be a scandal that I might have avoided if I’d chosen deference to the King rather than confrontation.

Still it didn’t seem to matter. I’d meant it when I told his father that I would marry Alexander in the ways that truly mattered in the morning. I would give him my body, my heart, and my soul. And no act of King or country could stop me.

I
stood before the mirror, tugging my sleeve to my wrist and fastening my cufflink. Edward passed me my jacket when I’d fastened the other, and I shrugged it on, swiftly fastening each of the seven gold buttons. I adjusted my shirt under the banded uniform collar and stepped back.

“Well?” I held open my arms.

“Dashing,” he assured me. “Clara won’t be able to keep her eyes off of you.”

“I’d prefer that she couldn’t keep her hands off of me.” Sitting on the small bench at the foot of my bed, I laced up my patent leather boots.

It had been some time since I’d worn my Royal Air Force uniform, even longer since I’d worn a ceremonial one. This one had been tailored on Saville Row, created specifically for the wedding using the finest Venetian cloth and gold embroidery thread. It was strange to put it on. It symbolised both my past and my future—the old and the new commingling in a way that wasn’t comforting. I dismissed the thought, reaching for my hat. For a moment I imagined Clara wearing it—and nothing else. The vision made my cock twitch, which was unfortunate given Clara’s request that I not see her before the ceremony.

At least I knew how I’d be spending my wedding night.

The door to my bedroom opened and my father strode, uninvited, into the room, already clad in his own Naval uniform.

“The Irish Guard?” he said to Edward, studying him for a moment.

Edward tugged at the hem of his crimson jacket, a tight smile stealing over his face. “My highest rank.”

“Your only rank,” our father corrected him.

“Not all men need go to war,” I said in a lowered voice, drawing his attention to me. My brother had endured years of his attacks while I was serving in Afghanistan, it was time for me to bear the brunt of our father’s abuse, particularly since I was to blame for his foul mood.

“How are you liking the house?” he asked me.

My eyes narrowed as I tried to read him. Everything with my father was a trap. The only way to avoid becoming snared was not to move.

That was not an option.

“We’re settling in. Clara is a little overwhelmed, of course.” I kept my answer light, but I chose not to thank him. It was my birthright to claim residence at Clarence House, there was no need to flatter him with false gratitude.

His lips turned under as he rested one hand on the scabbard of his ceremonial sword. “I’m certain that she is.”

“With time, it will be easier for her,” I assured him.

“That brings me to the point of my visit.” He turned to Edward and smiled wanly. “Can you give us a moment?”

Edward glanced to me, no doubt wondering if either of us would be left standing when he returned. Bowing his head, he exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

“This is unnecessary,” I warned my father. He’d come to levy impotent threats about the legitimacy of my marriage to Clara. Over recent weeks, he’d been increasingly resistant to discussion about my security concerns. It seemed he’d chosen my wedding day to remind me that today’s ceremony was a ruse.

“As you know, without my sanction of this marriage, it will be considered invalid in the eyes of the state. Any children Clara bears to you will be illegitimate and not awarded the Royal status.”

I gritted my teeth, an angry swell burning through my blood. I’d expected his resistance to my marriage, but that did nothing to alleviate my fury. “I plan to have no children, so that should not be an issue.”

Shock flitted over his face. It was the first time he had looked genuinely surprised for as long as I could remember.

“You see,” I continued, “you’ve taught me quite well. Children are a duty, a cross to be borne for the sake of the monarchy. Regardless of legitimacy, I see no need to taint the Royal blood any further with my perversion, as you call it.”

“I assume your bride is aware of your preference for this?”

I nodded. We had discussed it. Undoubtedly there would come a time when she questioned that decision, but I was certain by then she would understand the full responsibilities that came with the crown.

“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 shifts, 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.