Chapter 16
God Save the King
There’s been no sighting of Maeve since the search of the castle grounds that led to the discovery of Suzanne’s body.
Although it had been staged to look that way, Suzanne did not commit suicide. The doctor who performed her autopsy said she’d been dead for days, so the timeline adds up with what I saw at the opera. Of course, we can’t prove anything, and the earl has been smug about it.
He walks around the castle as if his daughter is still the Queen and the rest of us are beneath him. Rhys won’t have the earl removed because with him here, Rhys and Leo can keep an eye on him but off the grounds who knows who he might be in cahoots with.
All of this would be fine if today wasn’t coronation day.
Rhys and I prepare for the day separately. He showered and left for his office early this morning where Craig will help him with any final preparations. I’m glad he’s at least on the grounds, but I won’t see him until we climb into the carriage and head for the church.
I’m left to dress by myself. There’s something really sad about the fact that Maeve is the one who helped me prepare for every event since I arrived here not so long ago, and now she’s gone and I’m worried.
And sad. Where is she? Is she all right?
Why did she betray me? Or Rhys, for that matter?
I could ask questions all day long but there’s no one here to answer them so now I’m all alone.
I got up early and had a quiet breakfast. Just toast and tea.
I’m so nervous and terrified of what will happen when a room full of people see me naked.
I’m shaved and buffed and plucked everywhere I need to be, powdered too.
I styled my hair in loose, dark waves down my back with front pieces pinned behind my ears to frame my face with the crown.
My makeup is a little more dramatic than normal.
Almost like I’m using it as a shield to hide myself away from everyone who’s about to invade my privacy under the excuse of ensuring the bloodline.
I’ve also decided that I’m mad. How dare they degrade me this way. And yet there’s not one thing I can do about it other than get dressed and walk out this door.
I pull on white lace panties and then step into the beautiful white brocade gown that ties at my shoulders. It looks like a wedding dress. I feel like a virginal sacrifice.
That’s exactly what I was, wasn’t I?
I’ll cry if I let myself, so I stuff the sorrows down and keep going.
I open the aged velvet case and slide the massive diamond chandelier earrings through my ears, then loop the tennis necklace made of huge, linked diamond solitaires around my neck.
I slide my new sash over my shoulder and pin my participation awards to my dress before tying my velvet cloak around my neck.
I slide my feet into a pair of Manolo Blahnik’s and prepare to walk out the door.
Not to run away from this once again—I can’t risk someone else’s life—I’m walking toward whatever trauma comes next from this marriage, this kingdom.
Leo is waiting for me outside my suite, and he silently nods to me as I step out into the hall, falling in step behind me as I make my way down the corridor to the private entrance of this wing.
Rhys is waiting for me just beyond the doors.
Outside is a golden carriage, led by several horses, driven by men in old fashioned uniforms. Even Rhys’s clothes look like we’ve stepped back in time.
He’s wearing breeches over tall white socks and fancy shoes adorned with large buckles.
A white shirt is tucked neatly in at his waist. Over that he wears a purple velvet cloak, much like mine, embroidered with a lot of formal regalia.
“Hello, hen,” he says, his voice deep and solemn.
“Hello, my King,” I reply and dip into a curtsey.
He frowns, but today everything changes. He will be king and I will play my part for the machine. I love him but I cannot forget the roles we both must play.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Did I forget something?” I ask, checking my earrings and shoes. “I think I put on everything you left out for me, is something in the wrong place?”
“That’s no’ what I mean, and you know it,” he rumbles.
“Oh, well, that.”
“Aye,” he echoes. “‘That.’”
“Um… Yeah, I’m fine,” I answer.
He watches me and I want to fidget under his glare. “I do no’ think you are.”
“Listen”—I try to get him to focus and move on—“we have to do this; there is no getting out of it. So we’re going to do it as quickly as possible and get it over with, okay?
Then I’m going to stuff down this memory into a tiny little box in the recesses of my brain and shove that box way, way down, chaining it up never to be seen or heard from again. ”
“I don’t think I like you referring to making love to me as a bad memory you never want to remember,” he says softly.
“This is not making love—that is something we do in private,” I explain.
“This is a public act, that I’m not necessarily a fan of, to ensure the continuation of your bloodline.
For all intents and purposes here, I’m a broodmare and I don’t like thinking of myself that way.
So when we get to that part, I need you to think of every sexy thing you can to get off as fast as possible. ”
“You think I canno’ make it good for you?” he asks, stepping closer to me. Automatically, I take a step back. “That I can’t make you come?”
“I know you can,” I answer. “But I don’t want you to. I don’t want anyone to see me like that.”
“I wish I could hide you away, hen,” he says.
“There’s something in me that needs to keep you safe and protected, but this life does no’ align with that primal goal.
But I do need to make it good for you, to claim you in front of everyone, and anyone that I have to, so that they know that you are mine and I am yours.
That’s the very best that I can promise you today.
So, the question is, is that enough for you? ”
I want to scream and shout at the swift denial of what I want and at the same time, I want to preen and glow at the idea that he wants the world to know that he’s mine and he needs to care for me. I hate the dichotomy I cannot rationalize in my brain, so I answer the only way I can.
“I guess it’ll have to be.”
“Aye,” he says and something flashes in his eyes that tells me that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. I love him and I’m committed to him and this life, but public sex isn’t something that turns me on, not in any way that I want. “Let’s go then.”
He walks out the door and climbs into the carriage; I follow behind him like I’m supposed to, and one of the drivers holds out a hand to help me climb into the carriage.
Unlike our wedding day, I sit facing Rhys instead of by his side.
It feels like we’re adversaries and no longer a united team. I hate it.
He’s deep in his thoughts as we ride down the hillside toward the abbey. Every time we’re here, it feels like something both great and awful is about to happen, all at the same time. How can there be so much joy and excitement surrounding my impending doom?
The streets are once again lined with people who look as if they’ve camped out here from all hours to see their King and Queen.
To wave the flag of their county and cheer and celebrate.
When we arrive at the abbey it’s packed with even more onlookers than it was the day of our wedding.
I gasp at the sight of everyone here to watch us in one way or another.
Inside, I know is filled with people from around the world. Standing room only. I want to be sick but instead I paint a proud smile on my face and watch as Rhys stands and exits the carriage before turning back and offering his hand to help me down instead of absconding that detail to the driver.
He keeps my hand in his as we walk up the steps of the abbey, and I remember to stay one step behind him. The optics are to show that I’ll not make a play for his throne.
As if.
I’d be back in my apartment in New England under an assumed name with a new face before I ever did that. I’ve learned the world out here is crazy and I am surely not about to fight for my place amongst the insane.
Craig is here in the official dress uniform of his station and we stand behind him in the line of people who hold importance in this ceremony. As they file in, Craig holds a massive sword upright, held reverently by the hilt, and with a serious look on his face, he moves into his place.
Finally, Rhys and I are led to our seats while the archbishop takes his place at the altar and begins his service talking about the appointment by God to lead this nation.
Rhys is called to the altar where he stands face to face with the archbishop, nothing between them.
“Do you promise to love and honor this great nation?” he asks.
Rhys’s voice rings out with a resounding, “Aye.”
“Will you protect her people and do them no harm, ensuring they lead their lives safely?”
“Aye.”
“And do you vow to produce an heir with your Queen, ensuring that God’s promised bloodline continues in this realm?”
“Aye,” he says. “God willing, I will.”
“As God grants it, please kneel before me,” the archbishop asks, and Rhys kneels down on a large velvet pillow. “Please hold out your right hand and accept the Sovereign’s Scepter. This holy item symbolizes the King’s power to govern and to do so with mercy.”
Rhys holds out his hand, and a beautiful golden staff, adorned with different markings and priceless gems, is placed in his grasp. I can’t see it all from my seat but it’s beautiful.
“Now please hold out your right hand and take the Sovereign’s Orb. This represents your rule over this verdant isle. You hold our fate in your hands now.”
Rhys holds out his hand, and a giant cut emerald is placed in his palm. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
“And last, I place on your head, the crown of our nation, may you always be conscious of the weight it holds and the symbolic weight you now carry on your shoulders as you go forth today.”