Page 100 of Coronation
I’m not sure how I could possibly be prouder of anyone.
Neither of us speaks as we move to stand side by side, our intertwined hands hanging in the foot of space between us, asthe air around us seems to grow unnaturally still. Beyond the set of polished wood doors comes a quiet knock, and the same palace staffer steps inside, her eyes bright with excitement.
“It’s time.”
We follow her out into the formal entrance hall of Ashwell Palace, which I’ve only ever entered during the brief tour I got from Ben and Damien on the day I officially moved in. The cavernous, opulent space is dripping in flowers and decorations for the coronation ball tonight, and the space is bustling with everyone from palace staff to guards to event coordinators. Everything seems to still, however, as Ben and I enter the room.
It’s so quiet that I can hear our footsteps on the white marble as we cross to the front doors, which stand closed, their surface heavily adorned with ribbons, flowers, and flags.
Only when we’re waiting in place does the noise and movement resume, as everyone hurries out of view of the doors. Only two uniformed guards remain on either side, waiting for their signal to open them to the world.
“Are you ready?” I ask Ben softly, realizing too late that my voice is shaking a little.
Wordlessly, he lifts our still-connected hands to kiss the back of mine, gazing at me over the top of them. The gesture is so familiar now, but it never fails to send my heart into overdrive and steady me all at once.
When the doors are pushed open, giving way to a torrent of light and sound, the world gets its first view of Stelland’s new king and queen.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Benedict
Once, the center of the maze was a place of sanctuary for me.
When the world crashed forward, carrying on with its machinations whether they suited me or not, it was a relief to have a place where time stood still. Seasons changed, people died, babies were born, and still the maze remained the same.
I don’t need it in the way I once did. In fact, it’s been months and months since I walked through, having spent the spring and summer engrossed in my new life. The life that has made me so happy, I don’t feel the need to escape it.
This morning, however, I looked out the window of my study and saw the leaves of the great oak beginning to change from green to red. Knowing it would be the last properlywarm day Stelland would see for some time, I was overcome with the sudden desire to visit the place which has always been so special to me, with the people who made me no longer need it.
My wife required no convincing. So, with only a dozen canceled items on our respective agendas to show for it, we set out for the center of the maze as a family of three for the very first time.
It took us longer than it would ordinarily, with an emergency diaper change in the middle of the path and a considerable amount of crying at the injustice of it all. There was no urgency, however, and I found myself enjoying the chaotic journey quite as much as I would the destination.
When we finally made it to the center, Zelda stood back, nursing our daughter, as I laid out the blanket, picnic, and toys we’d brought in the shade of the oak. Then, Zelda set Alice in the center, and we took each side, preventing our increasingly mobile girl from getting too far.
“That’s a Ben face,” Zelda tells me, obviously fighting a smile as she allows our daughter to play with her finger. Alice’s tiny face is scrunched up and indignant as she tries to maneuver limbs that don’t quite do as she wishes yet.
Chuckling, I lay back on the blanket, enjoying the sun on my skin and the peace that being in this place has always brought me. It’s the first visit we’ve managed since our girl arrived, pink-faced and howling, at the end of March.
Princess Alice Juliette Ashwell, the first daughter born to the royal family in five generations, was welcomed into the world with great excitement. There were comments, certainly, about the six months between her parents’ marriage and her birth. Fortunately, we learned that many sins are forgiven with a cute baby.
Not that I put any stock in that sort of nonsense, but Ihave bookmarked at least four articles that have declared my baby cuter than any of the other high-profile babies born this year.
Even tabloids stumble upon the truth every so often.
“You say that every time she’s disgruntled,” I tell my wife, and hear her sigh as Alice’s tiny fingers find my hair, fisting the strands with a surprising strength. Grimacing, I crack open one eye, watching upside down as Zelda leans over, carefully loosening our daughter’s grip.
In the interest of preventing a repeat of the abuse, I roll over onto my side, grinning down at the tiny girl spread out on the blanket between me and her mother. Despite Zelda’s frequent insistence, I see far more of my wife in our daughter than I do myself. She has Zelda’s dark hair, bright blue eyes, and is already showing signs of having inherited the astonishing beauty which never fails to strike me dumb at the most inconvenient of moments.
Alice rolls onto her stomach, squawking indignantly as she tries to push herself over the blanket to reach the colorful toy we set out for her. “You can do it, baby girl,” Zelda laughs, her face shining as she props her head on her hand to watch.
My heart expands as I allow myself to sink into the moment, overcome with gratitude for both of them.
“She’ll be crawling any day now,” I observe as Alice’s little eyebrows knit together in frustration, the blanket beneath her proving a less-than-ideal dragging surface than the living room floor. “We’ll need to finish the babyproofing when she’s down tonight.”
Zelda’s brilliant eyes flick up to meet mine, her smile growing mischievous. “Is that the only item on your agenda tonight, Your Highness?”
