Page 82 of Coronation
My chest expands as I look at her, naked and dripping wet, so beautiful inside and out that it seems an incredible achievement I’m able to do more than just stare at her all day. “Have you been to the doctor yet?” I ask, pointedly ignoring the pang of sorrow that comes when Zelda nods. There will be plenty of others I can be there for.
“A midwife, but yes.” Her eyes drift over my body, watching as I rinse away the soap. “She says everything looks normal. Oh! I had her record the heartbeat for you. If you’d like to hear.” There’s a tentative, hopeful air of excitement in her voice now, as she begins to trust I truly am happy about this.
Such an ordinary word seems insufficient to describe what I really am, though. What I’m feeling is so much more.
Drawing forward, I lower my lips to her cheek. “Yes. I want to hear the heartbeat,” I mumble against her damp skin.
Zelda’s hand slips down my abdomen, and while it’s more than tempting to allow her to continue, I catch her wrist, stopping her. “Later, darling,” I promise, leaning back to fix her with a heated look so she knows I mean it. “I need to get going.”
“Going?”
“To Wyngate,” I clarify. “It will only be for the day; I’ll be back by this evening. There are things I need to see to, though.”
Zelda hums, reaching out to take my bottle of shampoo from the shelf, and pours some into her open palm. “Baby things?” she asks at last, lifting her hands to my hair.
It’s all I can do not to melt as she massages the product into my scalp, the same thing I do to myself daily, and yet it feels so much better when it’s her touch instead of my own. “Family things,” I correct, bitterly regretting that there isn’t time to lift her into my arms and fuck her against the shower wall.
“Should I come with you?”
Ordinarily, I would agree to such an offer without hesitation, but not today. “Stay here. It won’t take long, and you need to rest after yesterday. Promise me you’ll do nothing.”
“Nothing?” she protests with a laugh, guiding my head back beneath the spray of water.
I crack one eye open, peering down at her and endeavoring to be stern as I repeat myself. “Nothing.”
The Crown jewels are not stored in Ashwell Palace, as many may believe.
About a century ago, an unsuccessful robbery attempt prompted my great-grandfather to secretly relocate the entire collection. I wasn’t party to it until I took the throne, as it is customary that only the reigning monarch and their direct heir are permitted to know the whereabouts of the not-so-small fortune.
I visited the heavily guarded room below Wyngate Capital Bank only once, several months after Arthur’s death, and did little more than glance around at the treasure trove before leaving to drink myself into a stupor. None of it mattered to me then, but now, nearly two years later, it’s comical how deeply things have changed.
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” the manager greets me when I step out of the car in the secure parking garage beneath the bank.
“Good morning.” I refasten the button of my jacket. “Has Mr. Mallory arrived yet?”
“Yes, sir. Only a moment ago,” he informs me, following in my wake as I sweep forward, striding through a set of bulletproof glass doors, into the private lobby.
I find Damien waiting for me, dressed for the gym in sweatpants and a T-shirt, and looking irritated I pulled him away from his day without any kind of explanation. “Oh, good, the man of the hour,” he poses bitterly, folding his arms and watching as the manager hurries forward, entering a code into the keyboard beside a small elevator. The lift’s doors open instantly. “Are you going to tell me what the hell we’re doing here?”
Ignoring the question, I stride forward into the lift and press my thumb against a biometric access pad mounted in the place where floor buttons should be. “I’ll explainwhen we’re down there,” I call, straightening up and turning my attention to the set of doors.
Damien doesn’t look particularly pleased by this answer, but follows anyway. “I’m going to tell on you to Zelda,” he informs me crisply as the lift begins moving downward. “She’s big on healthy communication and all that shit.”
The corners of my lips twitch. “Patience is a virtue, Dam. While I know it’s not one you’re personally in possession of, surely you must grasp the general theory well enough to apply it here.”
“Oh, fuck you very much. I came, didn’t I?”
The lift is still descending, moving deeper underground for far longer than it ought to, considering we were on the ground level of the bank. Just as I’m beginning to question how advisable it was to lock myself in such a confined space with my cranky brother, however, the floor beneath our feet stops moving.
The doors open to another lobby, this one smaller than the first, and empty, apart from a single iron door. There is a wheel set directly in the center, and above it, the metal is inscribed with the Ashwell coat of arms and family words.Officium Ante Omnia.
Duty before all else.
My lips twist as I tear my eyes away from it, directing my attention to the set of three old-fashioned combination dials. Behind me, Damien lets out a low hiss of surprise, obviously beginning to piece together what brought us here.
“Is this…” He trails off as I begin to turn the first of the dials. “Am I allowed to be here?”
22–5–18—Click.
