Chapter 12 - THE SEAT BESIDE THE THRONEOne year after my sister called me an embarrassment, I stood inside the Cathedral of Saint Aurelia while twelve bells rang over the capital of Valoria.
No international television.
No diplomats.
No celebrities.
No constitutional conspirators.
At least, none we knew about.
It took place at a small white chapel overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Mom arranged flowers.
Dad spent the morning pretending he wasn't crying.
Queen Helena brought homemade pastries from a royal chef and insisted this counted as homemade because “the palace is technically my home.”
King Adrian arrived without medals.
Alexander wore a simple dark suit.
And Rachel wore the same wedding dress.
“I paid too much for it to wear once,” she explained.
I wore my dress uniform.
This time, nobody called it embarrassing.
Rachel stood in the bridal room while I fixed the clasp on her necklace.
She watched me in the mirror.
“Do you remember when I banned you?”
“Vaguely.”
“Liar.”
“It's been a busy few months.”
She turned.
“I've replayed that phone call about a thousand times.”
“Don't.”
“I need to.”
“No, you don't.”
“I said horrible things.”
“Yes.”
She blinked.
“That was fast.”
“You want me to lie?”
“No.”
I adjusted her veil.
“You were scared. You became obsessed with fitting into a world you didn't understand.”
“That doesn't excuse it.”
“No.”
She looked down.
“You could make this easier.”
“I could.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
Rachel laughed.
Then cried.
Then laughed again.
“You're terrible at emotional support.”
“I dragged a king out of a burning vehicle.”
“Different skill set.”
“Very.”
She took my hands.
“I thought success meant becoming the kind of person nobody could look down on.”
I listened.
“So when advisors told me you were a problem, I believed them because I was terrified they'd decide I was a problem too.”
“That makes sense.”
“It does?”
“It doesn't make it right.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
I squeezed her hands.
“But I forgive you.”
Her face crumpled.
“There. Emotional support.”
She hugged me.
“You really forgive me?”
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“I'm keeping the right to mention it every Thanksgiving.”
“Fair.”
There was a knock.
Dad opened the door.
“Ready?”
Rachel inhaled.
“Yes.”
Then she looked at me.
“Walk with me.”
I frowned.
“Dad's walking you.”
“I know.”
She took one of his arms.
Then held out her other hand.
“I want both of you.”
Dad's eyes immediately filled again.
He cleared his throat.
“Dust.”
“In the bridal room?” I asked.
“Terrible ventilation.”
We walked together.
When the chapel doors opened, Alexander saw Rachel.
Then he saw me.
He smiled.
King Adrian stood beside his son.
For a second, his eyes met mine.
Six years earlier, I'd dragged that man through fire.
Three months earlier, he'd sent six black SUVs to my house.
Now he simply nodded.
Friend to friend.
The ceremony was short.
Rachel and Alexander wrote their own vows.
His were elegant.
Hers began:
“I promise never to let constitutional crises interfere with date night.”
Everyone laughed.
Then she became serious.
“I used to think becoming part of your family meant changing who I was.”
Alexander looked at her.
Rachel glanced toward our parents.
Then me.
“I was wrong.”
She held his hands.
“I don't want to disappear into your world. I want us to build one together.”
Alexander's voice broke when he answered.
“That's the only world I want.”
When they kissed, the chapel erupted.
No cannons.
No televised applause.
Just forty-three people who actually knew them.
At the reception, Adrian approached me.
“Major Carter.”
“Your Majesty.”
He handed me a glass of champagne.
“You know, protocol says you should call me Sir in private.”
“I'm American.”
“So I've been repeatedly reminded.”
We watched Rachel dancing with Dad.
“She looks happy,” Adrian said.
“She is.”
“Alexander too.”
“Good.”
Adrian was quiet.
Then said, “I am stepping down.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Not immediately.”
“When?”
“Next year.”
“Why?”
“Because I have spent forty years believing duty requires staying until someone removes you.”
He smiled.
“Perhaps wisdom is recognizing when your work is finished.”
“Alexander knows?”
“Yes.”
“And Rachel?”
“She threatened to move to Canada.”
I laughed.
“That sounds right.”
“Eventually she accepted it.”
Adrian looked toward his son.
“He will be a better king than I was.”
“You weren't terrible.”
“High praise from you.”
“I don't flatter royalty.”
“I noticed.”
He sipped his champagne.
“I would like you to accept a position.”
“No.”
“You haven't heard it.”
“I know how this works now.”
“Royal security adviser.”
“No.”
“Part-time.”
“No.”
“Consulting.”
“No.”
“Excellent salary.”
“How excellent?”
He smiled.
I shook my head.
“Still no.”
“Rachel predicted that.”
“What did she say?”
“That I should appeal to your ego.”
“I don't have one.”
Adrian laughed so loudly people turned.
“Major, you walked into a chapel surrounded by armed conspirators and announced yourself.”
“That was tactical.”
“Of course.”
He became serious.
“The position would not be ceremonial.”
“I know.”
“Valoria is rebuilding its intelligence structure. We need people who cannot be purchased.”
“You have good officers.”
“We do.”
He looked directly at me.
“But we need someone willing to tell a king when he's wrong.”
“I have demonstrated unusual talent there.”
“Exactly.”
I thought about it.
My Army career was approaching a transition point anyway.
Years of classified deployments had taken their toll.
Maybe there were other ways to serve.
“I'll consider it.”
Adrian looked delighted.
“That means yes.”
“It means consider.”
“I've negotiated treaties. I recognize progress.”
Before I could answer, Rachel grabbed my hand.
“No government business at my wedding.”
Adrian protested.
“I was merely—”
“Dancing.”
She pointed toward Queen Helena.
“Your wife is waiting.”
The King obeyed.
Remarkable.
Rachel turned toward me.
“What did he want?”
“A job.”
“Did you say yes?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“Maybe.”
She grinned.
“I knew it.”
“How?”
“Because you like fixing disasters.”
“That's not true.”
“You became my sister.”
I stared at her.
She ran away laughing before I could retaliate.
Later, as the sun disappeared behind the mountains, Rachel stood with her bouquet.
She looked toward the small crowd.
“No.”
I backed away.
She grinned.
“Yes.”
“Rachel.”
“Tradition.”
“I carry a security clearance and a sidearm. Don't test me.”
The women around us laughed.
Rachel turned.
Then threw the bouquet directly at my face.
I caught it automatically.
The room erupted.
I stared at the flowers.
Rachel looked delighted.
“You cheated.”
“Prove it.”
I looked down.
White roses.
The same kind I'd carried into Valoria.
The same flowers that had sat beside me through a coup.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Commander Vale.
Perimeter secure. Also, catching the bouquet technically constitutes acceptance of future ceremonial obligations.
I looked toward the window.
Vale stood outside.
Smiling.
I texted back.
You're fired.
His reply came immediately.
You don't employ me.
I smiled.
For years, I'd believed belonging meant being useful.
The soldier.
The rescuer.
The person called when something went wrong.
That evening, surrounded by two families that were slowly becoming one, I understood something different.
Sometimes you belonged simply because people wanted you there.
No emergency required.
No medals.
No convoy.
Just a seat saved beside them.
I thought that was the end of the story.
It wasn't.
Because six months later, a cream envelope arrived at my house.
Embossed with the royal seal.
I opened it.
Inside was an invitation.
THE CORONATION OF HIS MAJESTY KING ALEXANDER IV
Below it was a handwritten note from Rachel.
Before you ask: yes, you're invited.
Then another line.
Actually, you're required.
And beneath that:
Try not to overthrow anyone.
I laughed so hard I had to sit down.
But the final line was in Alexander's handwriting.
May you like
Your sister has been assigned the seat beside the throne. We believe that is the safest place for everyone.
Apparently my royal problems weren't finished.
