Page 59 of Bride By Coronation

Arina beams at me, curtsying and greeting, "Welcome back, Your Majesty. Can I get you a vodka? Or something else?"

"Vodka, please," I reply and brush past her. I plop down in the first seat, and a new panic hits me.

She didn't give me a definitive decision on older or newer.

I scrub my face, groaning.

"Everything okay?" Arina asks, holding a crystal tumbler in front of me.

"Fine."

"Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you."

It isn't long before we're in the air. I spend the entire eight-hour flight deep in my thoughts. They range from my anger toward Brax for upsetting Fiona, my hope she's now okay, and anxiety over what I'll choose.

The pilot finally announces we're landing, and as soon as the seat belt light turns off, I rise, antsy to figure my dilemma out, knowing I have a tight timeline before the coronation.

The jetway is like every other one—dark and lit by the flames of wall sconces. Unlike the one in Monaco, this one only has one direction.

I get to the end of the hall, step through the door, and jog down twoflights of stairs. There's another door that I open, stepping into a tiny room.

A short man in a tall, black, bearskin hat and red coat bows, greeting, "Your Majesty."

"Oliver. Nice to see you again," I reply.

He rises. "It is my honor, sir. His Majesty has been escorted to the vault." He pushes the button for an elevator.

I exhale a silent sigh of relief. Sometimes, the King of England gets tied up with more pressing matters, and I have to wait. Then again, he's had to wait for me, too, so I know the drill. "Good. I'm on a tight deadline."

The elevator opens, and we step inside. Oliver presses his hand to the screen, and we descend until we're forty feet underground. The doors open again, and we get on a golf cart. We travel several miles through winding, gloomy tunnels, then stop near a heavy, black and gold ornate door.

We get off the golf cart.

Oliver knocks on the door three times, and a whirring sound fills the air, followed by a loud pop. The door opens.

A man in a suit with deep wrinkles on his face and thin-wired glasses bows and says, "Your Majesty. I am the king's new royal advisor, Henry." He straightens, then steps back, widening his arm.

"Nice to meet you, Henry." I offer my hand.

He shakes it.

I brush past him, glancing around for the king. I turn back toward the man.

"Unfortunately, His Majesty had an important matter that just crept up. He has instructed me to give you time to decide what you would like to borrow," Henry states.

"Thank you."

He disappears behind the door, shutting it, and there's a sharp click of the lock followed by five shrill beeps.

My anxiety creeps up. I gaze around the room in awe of the crowns and tiaras glinting in the soft light.

How do I pick?

I step closer, examining each tiara and studying the nameplates underneath.

Fiona would love to see this.

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