“There you are.” Mum’s whisper whirled him around. “I was dreaming…of…you.”
“Shh, save your strength.” He pulled his chair to her bedside and reached for her hand. It was one extremity that didn’t pulse with pain.
Her palm was soft and full of memories. He rested his forehead on the top of the siderail, unwilling to burden her with his tears.
“Will you promise me something?” she said, giving his hand a light squeeze.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before looking up. “Anything. I promise.” His grin was slow and wobbly. “Up to half my kingdom.”
Mum responded with a weak smile and his heart sang a little. “Marry. Find love. Arrange the investiture. Be my legal andlawfulheir. And be quick about it. I’m not doing very well.”
“What about the writ?” He regretted the question as it left his lips. Who cared about the writ?
Just agree with her. Then defy her subtle hint of leaving this earth before holding her new granddaughter. This syndrome or virus was a temporary setback. Some sort of evil denying Mum her finest hours.
“You’re going to get through this, Mum, I promise.”
“You can’t make such a promise, love. Now about your investiture.”Behold, sickness, she’s queening it over you.“It can happen the same day as your wedding.”
“Mum, please, there’s no one to marry. I’m not going to choose a woman unless I’m madly in love. Not for the crown, the Family, or Lauchtenland. I’m not. Sorry. Make Gus the heir.”
“You want to abdicate then?”
The A-word. One the House of Blue despised. “No, but you’re giving me no choice.”
Mum tugged his hand, so he moved in closer. He could see she was in a bit of pain and tiring out already. He released his grip on her hand and regretted his outburst.
“Choose love, son. Choose.”
“Yes, I understand and I will but—”
“Choose.” She breathed deep, a smile on her lips, and closed her eyes.
* * *
He sat by her bed another hour while she slept. He’d never been much of a praying man but someone, something more powerful than disease and sickness must intervene.
John rested his hand on top of the blanket. “I’ve no right to ask, God, or even speak to You, but for Mum, the queen, say the word and she’ll be healed.” Did God hear a man with no faith? Well, not much. “Please.”
With a glance at his watch, he stood. Dad texted he’d be along at six, or rather, someone would be along for the evening shift.
“Mum,” he said, leaning close. “Will you do me a favor?” His eyes filled as he carried on her part of the conversation for her. “‘Anything, up to half my kingdom.’ Get up out of this bed. Live.”
He exited into the Queen’s Waiting Room, a large, plush space with a telly, food service, and couches that made out into beds. He expected to see Dad waiting with the protection officers, but the room was empty except for Gunner, Otis, and Hemstead.
The officers stood, and Gunner handed John a plate of puffs.
“When does the king consort arrive?” John said. Dr. Ritter limited Mum to one visitor at a time. Daffy and Gus were staying away until a firm diagnosis.
“We’re not sure.”
John stepped into the corridor just as a giant of a man with electric blue eyes came through the first set of doors. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and an anorak, the heels of his worn leather boots resounding against the marble with each determined, powerful stride.
It was him. The man from the lawn. The night of the state dinner when he’d gone back for the scepter.
“I’m here for the queen,” he said.
Hemstead rose without a question and let him in Mum’s room.
