Page 83 of Coronation
“You’re my brother,” I tell him in way of response, lowering my gaze to the second dial. It moves smoothly beneath my fingers, ticking softly as I turn it twice clockwise, once counterclockwise, and settle on the next number.
13–12–19—Click.
Damien scoffs. “Not as far as anyone else is concerned.”
“Well, fortunately for you, I don’t often trouble myself with other people’s concerns.” My hand moves to the third and final dial.
10–12–91—Click.
There is no outward sign that the requirements for entry have been met, but I reach out anyway, gripping the iron wheel in the center of the door. It turns, a mechanical grinding coming from deep within the door. When it can go no further, I pull, listening to the quiet groan of metal on metal as the vault opens at my command.
Damien follows me inside, cursing under his breath as he takes in the astonishing collection our family has amassed over countless generations. “Christ. I can’t believe all this. What the hell are we doing here, Ben?”
The walls are lined with shelves, which are upholstered in plush, blue velvet. Every crown, tiara, or set of earrings has its own specially molded place and is accompanied by a tiny, corresponding serial number. Under the ever-efficient Arthur’s reign, he saw to it that each piece was appraised, catalogued, and documented for its monetary and historical significance.
“We’re looking for rings,” I tell him as my eyes rake over the vast selection, finally catching on a long, tray-like table with rows upon rows of rings. Without pause, I stride toward it.
“Rings?” Dam echoes. “Why exactly are we looking for rings, Ben?” There is an air of suspicion in his voice, though, and I know he’s probably catching on.
My heart lurches as I stare down at them, slightly intimidated by the prospect of finding the right one, now that it’s time. Zelda doesn’t wear jewelry often, but when she does, it’snever particularly large or flashy. Much of what I see here most certainly falls under those categories.
Damien appears at my shoulder. “Ben,” he prompts, more urgently now. “Tell me what we’re doing here.”
I don’t lift my gaze from the rings. “I’m getting a ring so I can marry Zelda. Tonight.”
Another curse, and in the corner of my eye, I see him scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. Well. That’s,ah, a very nice, not at all unhinged idea, but you know you can’t do that, don’t you?”
At the very back of the display, I spot what is—in comparison to the others, anyway—a very simple ring. The center diamond is shaped like an oval and surrounded by a halo of small, pointed stones, sitting elegantly atop a thin gold band. My heart beats faster as I reach out to pluck it from its velvet nest.
I didn’t think to find her size, but as I stare down at the ring in the palm of my hand, it looks right.
“Ben,” Damien pleads. “Would you please look at me?”
Reluctantly, I do, closing my fist around the ring. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? Because, at the moment, all signs are pointing toward breakdown. Listen,I like Zelda, I think she’s great for you, but this can wait! You have to know that shit will hit the fan so spectacularly if you do this. For fuck’s sake, think of Leo! He would sooner put a bullet in his head than a crown on top of it.”
“I spoke to Leo on the drive down. He’s given us his full blessing and agrees it’s a risk worth taking.”
Damien gapes at me. “Ben, for fuck’s sake?—”
“She’s pregnant, Dam.” All the fight seems to leave my brother. He stares at me, his expression grave as the implications of this news sink in. “Yes, there may be repercussions,” Icontinue calmly. “But they are my family.My family, and I won’t pretend otherwise.”
My brother’s throat bobs as, after an age, he nods. “I understand.”
Yes, I thought he might.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I allow my fist to uncurl, and the pair of us stare down at the ring. The longer I look, the more certain I become that it’s the right one. “This one, I think.”
Damien grimaces. “You’d better check it first. Make sure there isn’t some ghastly piece of family trivia attached before you commit.”
A very good point.
We take the serial number and cross-reference it to the one in the vault’s digitized catalogue. As it turns out, especially compared to many pieces in here, the ring’s history is unproblematic. It originally belonged to the wife of a great-great-uncle who died long before I was born. Coincidentally, the duchess in question was born in India, and the last foreigner to marry into the Ashwell royal family.
Until now.
Before we leave the vault, I manage to find two ordinary gold wedding bands. I stop only to make a note in the catalogue of which pieces were removed, and for what purpose. Just the act of writing out the words—given by King Benedict I to Miss Zelda Flowers on the occasion of their engagement—fills me with an excitement which certainly wasn’t present on the eve of my first wedding.
