Coronation

by Cleo White

“You’ll have to forgive the duke,” offers King Benedict calmly. “We went to school together, and he once licked every pastry on a platter to prevent anyone else from taking one. I’m afraid you very nearly fell prey to the same tactic.” A giggle bubbles from my lips, and I find myself looking directly into his eyes as I respond, tummy fluttering with nerves as I do. “Someone should have taken one for the team and eaten one. Think of all the trouble it would have saved women everywhere if that strategy had proven ineffective early on.”

Why is the whole world not talking about the fact that Stelland’s new king is hot? Like, really hot.

“We’re having a baby,” I confirm. “You’re really okay with this? I wouldn’t ever want you to think I’m trying to trap you.” “Trap me?” Ben scoffs, and then he’s leaning forward, guiding me onto my back as he drops soft, worshipful kisses over my face. “If I’m being trapped, then I will be the happiest victim in history. Trap me, darling, by all means.”

“Yes,” I tell him with a weak sob. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” In seconds, Ben is on his feet, sweeping me into his arms. “Yes?” He laughs, so full of excitement and joy it makes me cry harder, my tears soaking through the shoulder of his shirt. I nod, sniffling as he pulls back enough to take my face in his hands, wiping away my tears. “Yes.”

“It’s not just because of the baby, right?” I demand when we break apart. Ben’s expression of annoyed disbelief is perfectly familiar and predictable. “No. It’s because I love their mother.”

“How would you feel about a short engagement?” My eyes widen and lift instantly to meet his. “Short? Don’t I have to be a citizen to marry you, though?” I’m not familiar with the process, but can only imagine it wouldn’t be as simple as handing over my American passport. “Technically.” I splutter. “Technically?” “We’re going to do it anyway.”

“There is some gray area. In the law,” he tells me calmly. “It specifically states that an anointed monarch cannot marry a non-citizen without parliamentary approval. In addition, I do believe we are in a strong position with the public at the moment. You are very well-liked, and I am more tolerated than I have ever been, by association.”

We have a very small window in which to ask forgiveness, instead of permission.

“So, when you say anointed king, that means… that means your coronation,” I clarify, my pulse moving a little faster as he nods, obviously apprehensive. One week.

“Let’s do it. Let’s get married this week.” A slow, ecstatic smile spreads over his face, and—god—I can’t believe how much I want to marry him. “Tonight.” An incredulous laugh bursts from between my lips. “Tonight?” “We’ll need time before the coronation to get things settled with Parliament and get you up to speed on the ceremony. There will also need to be a public announcement, that I’m sure will be its own ordeal,”

“Okay.” I shake my head, a little dizzy from the twists and turns this conversation has taken. “Tonight it is.” My very soon-to-be husband stares back at me, letting out an incredulous laugh of his own. “It’s not just because of the baby, right?” He’s teasing, but there is a flicker of something behind his eyes that tells me the question isn’t totally without reason. “No,” I tell him simply. “It’s because I love their father.”

My wife. My queen. The mother of my child. The love of my life.

“Enough,” I snarl, getting to my feet and pointing directly at the man as hot fury spreads through my chest. “What’s done is done. I married her, and if Parliament decides that the price is my crown, then I will hand it over. Until that time, I am your king, and that American actress is my wife.” Leaning forward, I brace my hands on the top of the table, glaring over it at the prime minister, whose lips have pressed more firmly together as my tirade progressed. “You will pay your queen the respect she is owed.”