Page 46 of Guarding the Princess
My hand closes around the cuff link and I open my eyes to see hers shining back at me. A blanket of peace settles around me and I can’t wait for tomorrow. I can’t wait to see my princess crowned in front of her people, to ask her to be mine forever. The question I will ask her is just a formality. We’re already so entwined, a ring or a marriage certificate can’t bind us tighter.
“Thank you,” I say simply.
I kiss her forehead and grab her hand to tug her from the kitchen. The rest of the palace is dark and I need to get my princess to her room so she can be her best, rested self tomorrow on her big day.
* * *
The next morning is a flurry of activity. Staff and security has been tripled the last few days in preparation for the national event. A stage has been set up on the grounds of the palace, with rows and rows of white chairs for invited guests. Charlotte wanted the ceremony outside where everyone in their country could come and see the event. The Queen balked at letting every commoner onto the palace grounds, but did order a perimeter so everyone who wanted to, could still see the stage.
I’ve worked night and day for weeks planning security for an event so large. In my need to protect her at all costs, I’ve probably gone overboard in terms of security, but nothing is too great if it means Charlotte walks away safe and sound without incident.
The time has come for me to collect Charlotte and walk her out to the stage so the ceremony can begin. My tuxedo, the one I’ve worn quite a few times since living in Regora, is starting to feel like a second skin, not that I’d ever admit to that. Long gone are my days of polos and T-shirts.
I knock on Charlotte’s door and rub my hands together. I’m itching to get this day going. Klara opens it, looking frazzled with her hair a mess and cheeks bright pink. Charlotte steps into my view, a vision of calm royalty.
Her hair is curled artfully, the front pieces pinned back in an intricate braid I’ve never seen before. The rest flows down her back, begging me to run my hands through the soft strands. I restrain myself, knowing she and Klara have spent hours getting ready. Diamonds sparkle at her earlobes, accented by the tiny one around her neck. Even on this big day when she could wear any manner of extravagant family jewels, she still wears my necklace.
She does a quick spin for me, letting me look my fill. In only the way Charlotte can, she’s a mix of the girl I met in Los Angeles and the queen she’s to become in just a few short hours. Her dress, a gorgeous deep blue, fans out, exposing a flash of her footwear choice.
I burst out laughing. “Has the Queen seen those yet?”
Charlotte rounds her eyes and tugs up her skirt to show off her bright red and white checkered Vans. “What? You don’t think she’ll approve?”
My heart skips a beat and I’m not sure how much joy one person is capable of holding at any given time without exploding from the sheer force of it.
“I think it doesn’t matter.”
Charlotte starts giggling. “I agree. My footwear doesn’t determine my ability to lead a country.” She sobers, her eyes heating. “You look very handsome, Mr. Duke.”
I take a step closer, willing myself not to lean in to claim her lips and mess up her makeup. “You look extraordinarily beautiful. Very queenly, if you will.”
I crook my elbow at her and she takes it, both of us leaving her room and walking down the halls toward her fate. Together.
* * *
“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of Regora, and of your Possessions and other Territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?”
Charlotte, her right hand held up in the air, the left lying on the family heirloom Bible, taken from the royal vault just for the ceremony, holds her head high and replies.
“I solemnly promise to do so.”
Her words echo as each speaker stretching across ten acres relays her answer to the record number of Regorans who have come to see their new queen. The air is still brisk, though the worst of winter is over. The sun shines bright, as if even the weather decided to behave for this momentous occasion. The crowd has been relatively quiet, only cheering wildly when Charlotte and I first walked out onto the stage.
Charlotte has made promise after promise in response to each question from the archbishop. She told me to expect thirty-two of them, and by my count, that should be the last of them.
From my chair behind Charlotte and the archbishop and next to her parents, I can feel the love and pride she has for her country. It’s one thing to know the love of your life is royalty. It’s another thing entirely to see her people covering the hills as far as the eye can see to celebrate her as she takes the throne. I may never have adequate words to express all the emotions coursing through me and the amount of pride I have in Charlotte.
The archbishop turns to the crowd assembled and shouts far louder than I gave a man that age credit for. “I present unto you, Queen Charlotta, your undoubted queen, come here today to do your homage and service. Are you willing to do the same?”
The question is no sooner out of the archbishop’s mouth and the crowd explodes with shouts that split the still air.
“God save Queen Charlotta! God save Queen Charlotta!”
The chant echoes across the hills, gaining volume with each rendition, reverberating against the stone palace. I can feel the vibration of their shouts in my chest, transforming my very being with the soul-deep knowledge of the gravity of her station. A more magnificent moment I’ve never witnessed. A tear slides down Charlotte’s cheek as she looks out proudly at her people and it’s all I can do to hold my own tears in check.
My queen is stunning.
The Archbishop turns and Charlotte’s mother and father stand. Their long customary ornate robes gently sweep the stage as they walk to their daughter’s side. Moving as one unit, they take the crown from Margit’s head and slowly lower it onto Charlotte’s for all to see. The crowd goes wild and only quiets down as Charlotte moves to the wood lectern with the microphone propped up, waiting for her first official words as Queen.
