Page 2 of Reign
“Your convictions are fierce, and you will need that. This job isn’t an easy one. You have to be the stabilizing force beneath a rotating carousel of senators and judges, a constant amid the changing times.”
Beatrice shivered, and not from the cold. “You’re being very philosophical this morning, Dad.”
Something like regret flitted over her dad’s expression, but it was gone before Beatrice could parse it out. He chuckled. “You’re right, this is too serious a conversation for the morning after a New Year’s party. Speaking of which,” he added, “you and Teddy were enjoying yourselves last night.”
“Um, right,” Beatrice fumbled to say. “But we haven’t been dating very long.”
She and Teddy had been going on dates to appease the media—or more accurately, to appease their parents. Beatrice had to admit that she felt relaxed with Teddy. She had come to consider him a friend, and she didn’t exactly have those in spades.
“I’m not saying you should rush into anything,” her dad agreed. “But I worry about you, Bee. I don’t want you to be lonely in this role.”
“I’m not lonely! I have you.”
Her father drew in a breath to reply—but then, behind a distant veil of trees limned in frost, Beatrice saw the flash of a red foxtail.
“Dad, look!”
She grabbed instinctively for his forearm. He stilled, his smile echoing her own, as they both watched the fox peer at them with suspicious eyes.
“Her pulse is picking up.”
“What?” Beatrice exclaimed, and the fox darted off. Shesighed and released her grip on her dad. “Why did you say that?”
“Say what?” Her dad leaned against a tree, fiddling with one glove as if adjusting it, but Beatrice realized that he was stalling. He had moved more slowly than usual this morning, which she’d attributed to the cold, but now she wondered if it was more.
“Bee, I miss you,” he went on.
“Dad, are you okay? Why are you saying that?” She took a step forward, her brow creased with concern—
“I miss you, Bee. I love you so much.”
She opened her eyes and blinked. A fluorescent light came into disjointed focus. A beeping noise, the low hum of machines. A face bent over hers, handsome features creased with concern.
What wasTeddydoing here?
“Bee? Thank god!” Teddy’s hand grabbed hers, the feel of his skin startling and familiar at once. “Dr.Jacobs!” he cried out, blue eyes never leaving her face. “She’s awake! Hurry!”
Where am I?Beatrice longed to ask, but her mouth couldn’t form the words. She tried to search the room for Connor, because surely he was nearby, but her eyelids felt so heavy, and everything was so bright, and it hurt….
Before she could force the images and sounds to make any kind of sense, her mind slid into darkness once more.
Hundreds of people craned their necks as the doors to the throne room swung open. The trumpets blared, and then he stepped forward—the most important man in the country, possibly in theworld.Acting King Jefferson.
Daphne Deighton allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction. To think that after everything that had happened, after all the ups and downs of their relationship, she was finally here: higher than she’d ever imagined she might soar. Standing next to Jefferson while the senior peers of the realm swore him homage.
According to protocol, the dais should have been reserved for members of the royal family. But when the Lady Chamberlain had pointed this out, Jefferson had simply stated that Daphne would be up there with him, and that was that.
After all, the only person who outranked him was currently in a coma.
An equerry began to unfurl the ermine-trimmed robe of state, but Jefferson made an impatient gesture, letting the robe whip out behind him. When Beatrice appeared in public, she always walked slowly, like a bride processing down the aisle. Not so her younger brother. As Jefferson strode forward, light gleamed on the crimson of his ceremonial blazer, the white sash of the Edwardian Order, the burnished gold of the Imperial State Crown. He looked like some conquering herofrom a long-ago era, a figure from a painting sprung to life. He looked every inch a king.
Daphne could practically hear the sighs of the millions of Americans who were watching the live coverage of this event, and imagining themselves in love with her boyfriend.
The room echoed with the sounds of rustling fabrics as everyone bowed or curtsied. Daphne tucked one leg behind the other and sank exquisitely low, letting her skirts ripple around her. She held the gesture for several beats longer than necessary, eyes downcast, so that the photographers could capture the flattering image. She was well aware that she looked resplendent today, her deep green gown emphasizing the vivid green of her eyes.
Jefferson proceeded up the steps, and then—his jaw set with regret, or perhaps with disbelief—he sat on the throne, his hands curling over its armrests.
Lord Ambrose Madison rose heavily from his chair and made his way to the microphone. As hereditary Queen’s Champion, he would serve as today’s master of ceremonies.
