The front was always heavy with tourists and the royally curious.
“Otis,” Gemma said. “Where are we going?”
“Wherever His Royal Highness goes.”
John laughed. “He’s on my team.”
“I’ll bring my own security next time.”
Next time? He slowed his steps as he peered over at her realizing he wanted a “next time.” And another. And another. The sensation was rather odd yet exciting.
Otis stepped ahead of them as they made their way through the back gate. When he signaled all was well, John and Gemma entered the streets of Port Fressa. The air was scented with the sea and the sound of motors, horns, voices, and music that were a part of a major metropolis.
Crossing the avenue, he decided for small talk. “How was your day?”
“I toured the wharf. Ate at a place called Saldings on the Water.”
“Saldings? Lovely choice. One of the best restaurants in the city.”
They talked of food, and all the unique shops along the wharf, and then of John’s preparations for the North Sea Island Nations Summit.
“It feels odd stepping into the queen’s shoes when she’s alive yet too weak to do her duty.”
“It’s good experience.”
“Yes, but it still raises all the age-old questions. Do I have to be married to officially take my oath? I’m deputized now for an emergency but if she were to, well, pass on—”
“Know what I think?” Gemma said, sidestepping a band of professionals on their way home from the pubs. “Being a royal is complicated.”
“No truer words were ever spoken.” His hand brushed her as they jostled another clump of slightly inebriated chaps. His fingers itched to intertwine with hers.
Another block, the crowds thinned and the light from the Heart of God came into view. Gemma grabbed his arm.
“The Heart of God? This is where you’re taking me?”
“Clever girl, you guessed.” But how could she miss it?
Lights filled the Gothic towers and drained down through the arcade to the rose window. Then, as if propelled by some mystical force, the illumination spilled down the front of the structure and pooled in the roundabout, flowing toward the gurgling fountain in the center.
“Oh, John. I’ve seen pictures but—” She released him and moved straight into the radiant beams that seemed to dance around her. The light surrounded her head like an aurora and soaked into her long, wavy hair.
He was falling in love.
Overhead, the moon watched, and the stars bent low. Envious, John imagined, because he’d always sensed something different in the Heart of God, its converging blaze like no other.
“How did this come to be again?” Gemma slowly waved her hands through the light as if through water. “I can actually feel it.” She inhaled deeply. “What is that fragrance? Like a rich oil. Full of spices.” She moved around the fountain as if trying to capture it all.
“I’m not sure.” John inhaled, envious he could only catch a whiff of spices. “The cathedrals were built between the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries. Mystic monks wanted a place for the common man, the laborer, the slave and free, rich and poor, to commune with God.”
“What about a crown prince?”
“If he believed.”
“Do you believe?” Then she whirled toward him, tangled in light, stirring the fragrances. He barely caught a scent of cinnamon when Gemma stopped in front of him. “Wait, I know where I’ve smelled this before. At The Wedding Shop. An odd, cherubic-faced woman came in and she wanted me to try on JoJo’s wedding gown.”
“What? Why? That’s a rather odd request.”
“Tell me about it. I refused.”
