John dropped cream into his tea but didn’t take a drink. “She has no intention of changing it, does she?”
“I wonder…” By his expression, John knew Gus was conflicted. “You know she’s slow to change long-standing traditions and writs. She believes in them.”
“Then you’ll have to be the heir. You’re married with a child on the way. It’s perfect.” John paced toward the window, the conversation unsettling, all the while bringing Gemma to mind. “I know, let’s hand the whole lot over to Scottie. She’s strong. Determined.”
“She’s also never been to Lauchtenland or met Mum. I’m afraid that scheme won’t fly.”
“I refuse to marry without love. Marriage is too long and too intimate to go into it without affection, without common goals and dreams. I can’t date with marriage as the endgame. It feels phony. Old Grandfather Louis would side with me were he alive. I know it. Besides, I’ve done my part. I married and was ready to take the oath. If Holland died even a month later, we’d not be having this conversation. Talk to God about why He took her from me.”
The Port Fressa summer days were long and as John stood at the window, twilight barely colored the horizon over the bay.
“Mum would sooner change the writ than release her crown prince.” Gus’s voice was mellow and sincere. “But my daughter could still be your heir until you have children of your own.”
“Daughter?” John turned around to see his brother’s smile, so white and wide he’d guide the longshoremen home on a moonless night. “Congratulations.”
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Of course I do.” He offered to shake Gus’s hand then drew him into a hug. “Let’s pray she looks like Daffy.”
“Every night.” Gus’s joy faded a little. “I can’t help but think you’d have had your own son or daughter by now.”
“Well, don’t. It’s enough to deal with Holland being gone. Besides, your blessing is my blessing.”
Gus went to the door and looked down the hallway. Dad and Daffy should arrive any moment. “I think back to the day Coral Winthrop left me at the altar,” he said. “When I thought my life was over. Now, I can hardly remember the pain. I’m married to a woman I love madly, and miracle of miracles, I’m good friends with the woman who dumped me as millions watched. God brought it all right. He did.”
“For you, maybe.”
“John, He will for you too. He can’t abandon you. It’s not in His nature.”
Okay, fine. John let the conversation drop because in the past he’d tried to push back but he got a sermonette every time on the beauty of faith and believing in a God who gave His own life for him.
Himbeing a relative term. Crown Prince John Titus Edric Rein Blue? Or just mankind in general? There were moments when John believed the poor soul in the streets had more of God’s attention than he did. Perhaps that was as it should be. The balance of things.
Still, little brother, also a prince, had had a supernatural encounter with a man he called Emmanuel. Even Mum claimed the occasional visit from this ethereal character. Yet John, the future king of Lauchtenland, had never met the heavenly man. Or been touched by God. Unless Holland’s death was His finger. Then he had nothing to say to the Almighty.
Dad arrived with Daffy. John kissed her cheek, congratulating her on having a daughter, and together they started down the corridor to the center staircase leading to the grand foyer. That’s when Dad pointed to John’s empty hands.
“Where’s the scepter?”
Of course. The royal scepter. The one the sovereign used to open every ceremony and dinner. Briggs reminded him only a short while ago the cedar-and-velvet box containing the wood, steel, and gold rod was in the queen’s office.
“Go ahead,” John said. “I’ll get it and be along.”
At the queen’s office, John punched in her security code and entered. The space was eerie and quiet with Mum’s continual absence, Mason not at his desk, phones not ringing.
He found the scepter box on her desk. Opening the lid, he hesitated. No one but the king or queen touched the scepter. At his investiture ceremony, he’d see the scepter, pay homage to what it represented, but even then, he would not hold it. Not until his coronation.
But as the queen’s stand-in, he had no choice. Palms sweating, John started to reach for the ancient royal staff with the emerald-and-ruby-encrusted crown and polished brass stem, engraved with House of Blue cyphers.
Then he hesitated, an intuition warning him to consider his actions. Once he lay hold, he’d be changed. He’d be accepting his destiny, investiture aside. Was he ready?
Breathing deep, he overcame his slight trepidation and gripped the scepter, half expecting a flash of lightning and crack of thunder.
Instead, he felt at peace and little doubts faded away. He’d known his whole life he’d be king. But in this moment, he grasped the enormity of it all without fear.
Closing the box, he turned to go, but something caught his eye from the grounds below. Probably the dogs running free, their minders chasing after them. Glancing down, John expected the dogs, or members of the ground crew, but instead he spotted a man in a long anorak and wide-brimmed hat standing under the elm. Three stories down and a dozen meters apart, John felt as if they were face-to-face. The man’s blue eyes radiated with a laser-like glow that cut through the glass and stone of the palace, through the bulwark John lived behind.
After a long, visual exchange, the man nodded, and for a second, the scepter glowed and burned in John’s hand. Then the moment was gone. And so was the man.
