Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Father’s open coffin sits atop a carriage in the entrance hall, on display so everyone in the castle could say their final goodbyes. I’m the last one left. Guards stand surrounding the black wooden box, their faces solemn, but their bodies still held at attention out of respect for their king.
Edmond waits beside it, along with mister Mason, the man my father chose to manage the daily business of the castle. Both dip into low bows as I approach, and the sadness in their faces is unmistakable as they rise and meet my gaze.
“If your majesty would like any more time before it is sealed, we will all take leave,” Edmond says calmly.
“There’s no need for everyone to leave. I will not take long.” Stopping just an arm’s length away from the foot of the wooden box, look over my shoulder at Weston. Jaw clenched tight, with sorrow etched into his features, he looks upon his lifelong friend. “Mister Rowe, if you’d like some time.”
“Thank you, my queen,” he murmurs with a bow of his head. His hands stay clasped behind his back as he steps past me and approaches the side of the carriage. No one but me can see the whites of his knuckles from his clenched fists, or the tension in his shoulders as he takes in my father’s body.
It takes every strength I have not to reach out and take his hand, to hold him, and touch him like I know he needs to feel comforted, but I can’t. Not here, not with all the watchful eyes of the guards and staff anywhere you look. But he knows I can’t because he doesn’t want me to.
My throat tightens. The emotions of this moment are too much for me to keep down, and it isn’t from what most onlookers would think. It’s from having to watch Weston in pain, going through this alone, and knowing there is nothing I can do to help him.
After Tila interrupted us the other morning, the conversation hadn’t come up again.
We don’t agree at all about how to move forward, but once all the formalities are over, and the calm has somewhat returned, we will discuss it again.
I know his duty is important to him, but I also know he cares for me more than it.
He proved that when he tried to get to me instead of my father.
He deserves to be loved loudly, publicly, and not hidden away as an illegitimate secret.
I don’t want to live a life filled with hiding and secrets, and I don’t care about alliances or marriage pacts. I want to prove myself to other kingdoms by being me, by being a strong queen, not fucking a low-born prince just to keep peace.
My father and mother did it. They always chose love, even when it felt hopeless.
They aren’t the only ones.
I can do it too.
Maybe that love is what made my mother hold on, or maybe it was her deep, hopeful love for me and the life we would share.
Weston and I have endured hopelessness, betrayal, death, and despair, and our love never wavered. If all of that brought us together, helping me find him and finally have the love I’ve always wanted, why would I hide it away and pretend it didn’t exist?
His selflessness is almost a fault. Everyone else’s needs are more important than his own. Blackwood, the Castaways, and me. He’s constantly choosing everyone around him, but he’s never had someone choose him.
He is my choice, and more than the fact that I can’t do any of this without him, I don’t want to.
“My king,” Weston grumbles, and bends into a deep bow. When he rises, he wastes no time stepping back into place behind me, and I can’t miss the hard set of his jaw and the pain in his eyes.
Now it’s my turn.
I can’t avoid it any longer, despite how much I want to just escape and let the entire day happen without me. My days of escaping are over, as are my days of having a living parent, because this is it. This is the last moment I will ever see my father.
Stepping up to the side of the carriage, I drag my eyes up his lifeless body to his face.
The healers did well at making him look at peace, of erasing the final terrorizing moments of his life.
You’d never know by looking at him now that he died at the hands of someone who was trying to take everything from him.
My gaze trails away from his face and down to the hands resting on his chest. They are clasped around his dagger, the gold dull without the touch of light from the darkened rain clouds covering the sky.
Edmond asked if there was anything I wanted to keep that would not be buried with him, but I declined.
The only thing he valued besides his dagger was his own ring, but I couldn’t take it from him.
It wasn’t a piece of history, or a symbol from Blackwood.
That ring symbolizes the love he had for my mother, and the hope he held on to for so long.
It shouldn’t ever leave him, just like she never did.
I returned hers this morning, and now, they both are whole once again.
The length of his polished blade shines against his pristine burial clothing, and its presence is the last tradition he will take part in as king.
Presented to him at his own ceremony, his dagger was the same symbol of protection; for himself, for the kingdom, and now is there to protect him even in the afterlife.
It had done its job.
Not a single trace of Dane’s blood soils the blade or the hilt, but I know it was there.
I saw it with my own eyes as he fell to the floor after plunging it through Dane’s back, the same way Weston threatened back in Dawnlin.
Dane had been so focused on me, on exacting his revenge, that he didn’t consider the king having the same protections I would.
Ultimately, that mistake wrote his demise.
“Goodbye, Father.”
The two words are all I can mutter. How can you put into words the years of inner turmoil, the feelings of inadequacy, and abandonment?
It’s all I feel as I look upon his face for the final time, despite his explanation, despite his apology.
Those feelings don’t just go away because he’s no longer in this world.
Stepping back from the carriage, I clear my throat before looking back toward Edmond and Mason. “Seal it.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the guards murmur, and spring into action around us. My body jolts slightly as the wooden lid slams into place as they lock it firmly, and I feel Weston take half a step closer to me, his presence comforting with the storm that is brewing in my mind.
Now, the only time he will ever look down on me is when I pass his portrait in the castle.
The scent of musky, damp earth fills the entrance hall when the guards open the wide, black wooden doors.
Dark grey clouds hover low as a misty rain slants through the air, soaking the stone walkway just outside.
An involuntary shiver courses through me, not only from the cold that now seeps into the room, but from the anticipation of what is about to happen.
When I step foot out of those doors, the kingdom will know who I am.
They will finally see me, Lennox. Once it’s done, there’s no going back.
Edmond, Weston and I repeatedly reviewed what was to come next, knowing full well I might forget everything the moment I stepped outside under the scrutiny of the kingdom.
Weston will be right behind me, but I don’t want my first impression to be that of a na?ve, stumbling little girl dropped into a position she wasn’t prepared for.
I know the procession, the ceremony, the expectations, and now I just need to go through the motions.
The guards wheel my father’s carriage out of the entryway, and within a few moments, it is hooked to the horses that will pull it in the procession through the city.
“Are you ready?” Weston mutters, and I nod, keeping my stare locked on the carriage. Hands linked behind me, I set my shoulders and take a deep breath, waiting for the procession to begin.
“Forward!” Weston calls, and the guards file out of the doorway and line the courtyard on either side of the carriage.
I startle when I feel his fingers lace with mine, squeezing tightly before falling away. The gesture makes my heart ache, not only because I know he’s reminding me he’s going through this with me, but also at how much of a risk he just took, showing any sort of affection to me out in public.
The carriage driver calls out, spurring the horses into movement, and the wheels begin to slowly roll forward. Rain patters on the wooden surface, the coffin laid in the open air for every gathered citizen to watch pass by.
Inhaling one final shuddering breath, I take my first steps to follow.
The hinges on the rarely used castle gates squeal as the large entrance gates open before us, and the guards file out onto the road.
Their formation is pristine, as if they had been practicing for such an event.
There was no way for them to be this prepared, and I can only assume such perfection is a testament to Weston’s leadership and direction of his men.
The driver shakes the reins, and the horses begin to walk, following behind the first set of guards.
This is my cue.
This procession is the last ceremony my father’s body will partake in; the last time his people will see him as king.
Once he is buried, as the heir, I will take his place in the carriage, symbolizing a seamless transition of the royal line before the people.
It’s simple enough, but nerves still course through my body as I step past the entryway, out into the open.
The cobblestones beneath my feet feel familiar, despite only traversing them for the first time almost two years ago, and rarely since then. As I step through the gates into the city that I can’t wait to get to know, my steps almost falter, and I have to fight to keep my head trained forward.
People.