Page 65 of Royal Pain
One word.
She’s right, it stuns me.
“Zan as king? Can that even happen? I thought the line of succession was clear.”
“It’s not. It’s been tradition that the eldest son inherits the throne, but there’s no law stating that it must be that way.”
I have a million questions, but just one comes to mind. “Does he know you’re thinking of this?”
“No. I haven’t told him yet. I want him to come to the idea himself. And I wanted to talk with you first.”
My mind is swimming. “Why me?”
She reaches for my hand. “Because he’s in love with you.”
I didn’t have any idea she knew.
“Yes. We’re in love, Your Majesty.”
“I have to consider that when I make a final decision, because you could become queen. I know the job. You have to be all in. It takes that kind of dedication.”
What the hell?I’m flabbergasted, to use my grandmother’s word.
“It’s very important that you consider your future. Maybe this kind of life wouldn’t suit you. It would be normal if that were the case. But I’m hoping you just start thinking about what’s possible. The possibilities for a life of meaning are great when you’re on the world’s stage.”
“I’m just stunned. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Especially to Zan. I want to present it at the right time. I’ve got to take the temperature of the citizens, but I already know he’d be well received. I’m going to take the next few weeks to solidify my plans.”
A weak nod of my head is all I can give.
* * *
“You’re awfully quiet,” Zan says. Tarik’s burial plot is on the grounds, but a bit too far to walk, so we drive.
“Sorry. I was just lost in my thoughts,” I say, touching his shoulder.
“You have been all week. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m thinking about the fact I have to go back to New York in a few weeks.”
He takes my hand. “Well, don’t waste it dwelling on the bad news.”
“You’re right.”
“Maybe I’ll tie you up and never let you leave the bedroom. That would work.”
We drive another mile or so, and come to an entrance of a walled-off garden. A beautiful tiled sign readsWhere the Angels Rest.
“Here we are,” Zan says, pulling up to the structure. “Let’s go visit Tarik and my father.”
He comes around to my side of the car and opens the door. Every damn thing he does is right. Kingly. That’s what I’ve been doing this entire week. Thinking of him as king.
Our steps sound on the gravel path that starts at the entry and winds through the rolling field of grass. It’s so beautiful here. Peaceful. There’s nothing funereal about the site. Flowers of various types dot the rises.
“It’s really beautiful here,” I say.
“I think so too. I know the souls have gone on, but it’s us who need some sort of touchstones. It’s supposed to be restful to those still living. Some place for us to pray, or just think about the people who are laid to rest here. The ones we never knew, and the ones we’ve loved.”
