Page 81 of Coronation
Thirty-Five
Benedict
It’s the small choices, I now realize, that often have the biggest impact. Unimportant, tiny things, which ripple out to change not just yours, but others’ lives as well.
You turn right instead of left, and get stuck in traffic, missing an interview for a job that would have made you miserable. Maybe you stop at a different shop on the way home and see a flyer for a pet adoption event where you will meet your best friend.
Or, just maybe, you allow your meddling brother to persuade you into attending a party, where you meet a woman—thewoman. You have sex with her, and then you fall in love with her, and eventually you discover that this person who has already given you so much, is giving you a family, too. Not like the one you were born into, which puts the institution it represents before the individuals that comprise it, but a real one. A whole one.
Whether it can be attributed to chance, or fate, or just theabsolute best luck a man can have, I know I will protect that gift for the rest of my life. Unconditionally. Fiercely.
Long after Zelda falls asleep in my arms, I stay awake, holding her and allowing this new reality to seep into my bones, changing me as it does.
Even if I hate it, I understand why she was scared to tell me. Our circumstances are far from simple, and god knows I didn’t give her any reason to be confident in me at the start.
Then there’s the not insignificant fact that, though I wish it were otherwise, this baby will not simply be born to our family, but also to the nation of Stelland. For better or worse, the tiny life growing inside Zelda will one day be king or queen. While I resent the burden of the crown, I love my country, and it will be up to me to model the kind of ruler I want Stelland to have when I’m gone.
Do I want my son or daughter to see me as the kind of king who bows to tradition, even if it’s wrong? Or do I want them to know their father fought for the good of not just his country, but also his family?
In one week, I will walk into Saint Clement Cathedral and kneel before the bishop, pledging myself to this country. Images of the moment will go down in history, and I will not have the mother of my heir and the love of my life sitting to the side, reduced to a pretty topic of conversation.
At some point, I must drift off, because when I open my eyes, the bedroom ceiling has gone from black to warm yellow, and I’ve lost the warm weight which was previously resting against my side. Running water beyond the closed bathroom door tells me precisely where she has gone, but still, I don’t move, laying alone on the mattress as I watch the room grow lighter.
Zelda is pregnant.
We’re having a baby.
I’m going to have a family.
It’s a monumental, life-altering thing, and a part of me is terrified I will get it all wrong. How could I, though, when Zelda is the woman I’m embarking on this most epic of adventures with? There is no one I trust more, and no one I think more highly of. I know without a shadow of a doubt she would never allow our child to grow up as I did, more a pawn than a human being.
Wanting—no, needing—to see her, I get up and cross to open the door of the en suite.
The space beyond is full of steam, but I can still make out Zelda’s form in the shower, her head tilted back beneath the spray. The change of light must alert her to my presence, because she turns, wiping a hand over the steamy glass to see me clearly.
“Good morning,” I tell her, my voice still rough from sleep, and the sound of the door closing after me echoes off the tile walls. Reaching down, I pull the drawstring on my pajama pants, allowing them to fall to the ground with Zelda’s borrowed T-shirt.
“Hey,” she replies cautiously, as if fearful I’ll have changed my mind about her and the baby after a little more time to think about it.
The idea is laughable. If anything, I’m more overjoyed than I was last night.
I step inside the warm, enclosed space with her. “Hey,” I echo, and, unable to resist, I draw forward, gathering her close beneath the shower spray.
Water streams over our bodies as I kiss her. As close as we are, I can feel the tremble that passes through her body when I press my hand flat to her stomach, swearing as I do, that I can feel the slightest swell there.
A baby.Ourbaby. Hers and mine.
“No more worrying,” I murmur, pressing one last, lingering kiss to her full lips before drawing back to reach forthe body wash she bought me to use while I’m here. “You’ve done enough of that for the next decade or so. I’m going to take care of everything.”
Zelda leans back against the tiles, a worried line appearing between her brows as she watches me. “We should probably consult a crisis management firm, right? To figure out how to handle this?”
I consider this proposition, frowning at the insinuation our unborn child is acrisis. “Not just yet. Give me twenty-four hours, darling.”
“Twenty-four hours for what?”
I set down the bottle with a hollow thud, dragging my soap-covered hands over my body. The desire to protect her from further stress and guilt—neither of which I can imagine being good for her or the baby’s health—and my resolution of total honesty are at war here, and it seems providing an abbreviated version of my plans is the only course of action. “I need to speak to my brothers and to the Palace Press Corps. You should think about telling your family as well. I suspect things will begin to move very quickly from here.”
Zelda’s answering smile is tired. “I’m just getting used toyouknowing.”
