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Chapter Text

Colin had been summoned. A letter had been hand-delivered to him at his personal apartments. He had, by order of the King, been summoned to attend a meeting that was, quote, ‘of great importance’. At least it was something to do. He was bored out of his mind these days. Previously, he had been in the military. Admittedly he wasn't a particularly good soldier, but he did enjoy it. He'd been on several tours, including in active warzones. However, since his eldest brother king Anthony Bridgerton had died in a tragic car accident two years ago, and the second born, Benedict had ascended to the throne making Colin the new heir presumptive, it had been decided that Colin could no longer serve.

Apparently, one of these days they were going to start giving him more official duties, meet and greets, public relations, charity events and the like but they've been so wrapped up in instating Benedict that training Colin as the heir had been pushed back. Which is why he was quite thankful for the summons, because perhaps they were finally going to do just that.

When he entered the meeting room the air was icy, unnerving. Both Benedict and their mother were present, as was the Prime Minister, Charlotte Strelitz, plus a large quantity of advisers and aides. Colin took his usual seat to Benedict's right. He greeted his brother with a friendly smile, but Benedict couldn't meet his eye. Confused, Colin glanced at his mother who gave him a grim smile that didn't reach her eyes. His stomach flipped for some reason.

He thought he'd been the last to arrive but bang on the hour, the King’s private secretary Agatha Danbury walked through the door, set down her files and started to speak.

“This is a grim day,” she began. She took everyone in, assessing them with her sharp eyes. Then they fell on Benedict and if Colin wasn't mistaken, he would have said that disgust filled them. His brother met her gaze impassively. Finally, her eyes turned to Colin himself and as was par for the course with her when it regarded him, disappointment became the prevalent emotion. Colin squirmed in his seat. She continued, “Some of you know why we're here but most don’t, and I think the man that has called us here should speak himself.” She glared at Benedict again.

He stood up clearing his throat, “Thank you, Mrs Danbury. I'm very sorry to have called you all here today but this matter is urgent and unavoidable. I have, decided to step down without further notice.” Gasps echoed around the room, but Benedict ignored them and pressed on. “Indeed, the dreaded word: abdicate.” Colin's stomach dropped. “I have been deliberating over this for several weeks. If there was another way, I would take it. As some of you know, I have fallen deeply in love and when I spoke with several in this room about the possibility of marrying her, I was told she was a wholly unsuitable match and was forbidden from doing so.”

Colin knew of this relationship. It had become quite the scandal behind closed doors; his elder brother had become entangled with a palace maid. Allegedly she was the illegitimate daughter of an Earl but when one was the King, that just wasn't good enough. Colin had assumed that his brother would quietly keep the woman as his mistress and marry some bore for the sake of duty. He didn't really approve of such things and thought them outdated but he had understood that his brother was in love and that could have been the only option. Or apparently not.

“I cannot rule, nor barely live without her,” Benedict continued, “This decision has been hard but the unhappiness I would feel without her would cause the nation to suffer. It is in the best interest for the Crown and the people that I step down.”

Colin’s stomach dropped again. He really, really didn’t like where this was going.

Benedict sat down and Danbury took up the stage once more, “As I’m sure you have all concluded, with His Majesty abdicating, that means that His Highness Prince Colin shall ascend to the throne.”

Shit.

She continued to speak but her voice had become fuzzy to Colin’s ears. Of course that had been his immediate understanding of the situation, but he had refused to accept it. But hearing the words spoken aloud… He couldn’t be king. He was completely incompetent. He’d only had one job since he was sixteen; soldier, and he’d been rubbish at that. They hadn’t even bothered training him as a potential heir. There had been no need, he was a third son. When Anthony had passed there were big talks about training him up now that he was the heir but truthfully, he was sure nobody had bothered or prioritised it because really, in the aftermath, who would have assumed that Benedict too would pass away without an heir like the eldest had. Certainly, nobody could have predicted this.

Vaguely he could tell that there was a bit of back and forth between Danbury, Benedict, their mother and Mrs Strelitz. Possibly trying to convince him to change his mind one last time, but clearly this hadn’t been the first conversation about this. Only Colin, the poor sod that would be facing the consequences had been left in the dark until now. Him and a few random aides apparently.

“If you are sure,” Danbury sighed, “Then the documents have been prepared.”

She waved a hand at an aide and a very official looking file was placed in front of Benedict. He extracted the paperwork and began to read. He nodded as he went through and when he got to the end, he lifted a fountain pen that had been placed carefully in front of him and signed each and every individual copy without hesitation.

Colin’s stomach went for a third time.

“And there we have it,” Mrs Strelitz said. She was handed her copy and glanced over it. “His Majesty has now been reverted to His Highness Prince Benedict, unless our new king has any objection? Any wish to strip him of such a high title as would be his right?”

There was silence for a moment and then the Queen Mother, Violet Bridgerton said gently, “Colin dearest, we are asking you.”

He blinked and came back to the room. He shook his head, “N-no. I cannot fault a man for falling in love.”

“Thank you,” Benedict said quietly.

Colin shrugged, “If Anthony had still been alive, you wouldn’t have needed to do all this in the first place so…”

There was an awkward silence then. Colin didn’t like it.

“Colin, dearest,” his mother prompted, “Did you have anything else you wished to say as the role is handed to you now?”

It was kind of her to try to save him from his floundering. But his head was whirling and in that moment, he didn’t wish to be in charge, he wished to take on the role he had always assumed in the family. The one that resorted to humour to ease the tension.

“Are we sure the jobs not cursed?” Colin found himself joking grimly. “Because I’m not so sure I want it.”

“Whatever do you mean dearest?” his mother asked sternly, “Cursed?”

“Oh,” Benedict said idly, “I think my dear brother means that four kings in fifteen years are bad odds and he’s expecting some kind of tragic accident to befall him soon.”

“Yes,” Colin agreed readily, “And you’ve managed to take the only non-life-threatening exit route so I really don’t see how I can escape with my life.”

“You could abdicate too?” Benedict teased.

Colin looked like he was considering it, “I’m not so sure Gregory has it in him, could I do that to the people?” Then under his breath muttered, “Not that I do either.”

“Stay long enough to change the law then hand it off to Daphne then?” Benedict suggested with a grin.

Colin pointed at his brother, “Now we’re talking!”

“Enough of this nonsense!”  Danbury shouted, slamming a hand down on the conference table they were all sitting around, making most at the table jump, “This is not a laughing matter Your Majesty.” Colin wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or Benedict with that last title, but it definitely didn’t feel comfortable on his shoulders. “Prince Benedict has made a very severe decision today and it affects the entire country, not only yourself, Your Majesty.”

Definitely Colin then. He thought he might be sick.

“As you have so aptly pointed out, these last fifteen years have shown the instability of the crown, two tragic deaths and now…this,” she waved in Benedict’s direction, which seemed a bit insolent because despite having literally just handed in his letter of resignation he was still technically the king. At least until the announcement was made. But Danbury had known them all since they were children and despite their titles and roles, she likely still thought of them as such, “King Colin…”

“Woah!” he said, leaning back in his chair and holding up his hands, “I think it’s a bit soon to be throwing that title around. The ink is barely dry on Benedict’s signature. Give a man a few days to come to terms with his fate, would you?”

“I hate to state the obvious,” Mrs Strelitz, said dryly, “But it seems to me that you’re quite averse to this development.”

He clasped his hands and leant forward on the table, “Mrs Strelitz, fifteen years ago it was a fact that I would never see the crown. Not an improbability but a cold, hard fact. Now, fifteen years later, against all odds its being thrust upon me, I’m sure you can understand why I’m so…hesitant.” He sighed, “I was never meant for this, I am not ready for this.” He chewed his lip and said meekly, “I can’t do this.”

“You have to,” Danbury said stoically.

He looked helplessly at Benedict, “You really, really can’t change your mind brother?”

Benedict looked deeply apologetic, “I’m sorry Colin, truly. I do not wish to do this to you, but Sophie is more important to me than the Crown. I cannot be happy without her.”

Colin dropped his head to the table with a loud thunk. There were several panicked gasps from around the room and Colin groaned internally, God forbid the bloody king gave himself a concussion. Maybe that was the solution? Slam his head repeatedly against the table until they decided he was mad and unfit to rule.

Without lifting his head from the table, his words muffled, he asked, “How long before a statement is made?”

“It is imperative that the nation is made aware with haste.”

“That’s not an answer,” he groaned against the table.

“Tomorrow morning at latest,” Danbury said finally.

Colin groaned. The sound rumbled against the wood. He sat up very suddenly and several people were physically startled by the movement. He stared intently down at the table he’d just vacated; eyes fixed on the gap between his hands that were practically braced on the tabletop. He took a single, deep, cleansing breath, then checked his watch.

“I would like three hours,” he demanded, “A private room. And a secure phone line.”

Danbury studied him for a long moment with her sharp eyes then turned to a member of her team and gave a curt nod. In an instant the man was on his feet, pulling a phone from his inside pocket and walking out with the phone to his ear.

“And once you’ve had your three hours Your Majesty, you’ll be ready to play with us, is that it?” Danbury asked. Colin resented her use of the word ‘play’, but he didn’t wish to stoop to her level by acknowledging it.

“Yes,” he said firmly, holding eye contact with her.

“You realise Sir,” She continued, “That the image you have been curating for the past six/seven years needs to be completely overhauled. That version of yourself is dead now.”

“Yes,” he repeated with the same steady conviction. “Three hours. Give me those three hours and I’ll return to this room the perfect heir.”

“You shall need to return to this room as the perfect king,” Danbury pressed.

“That too,” he agreed.

Her jaw tensed as she continued to study him. He held his head up, meeting her gaze.  Finally, she lifted the tablet on the table in front of her, tapping away.

“Let us reconvene here at 6pm sharp,” she said to the room. “King Colin, Prince Benedict, the Prime Minister and Team 1 will return at the designated hour, and all subsequent teams will remain at their desks to follow the relevant procedures. Her Majesty, the Queen Mother’s presence is not required but she may attend as she sees fit. I expect a draft statement be prepared by that time for King Colin to review. I want the BBC discreetly pre-warned so they can send a crew. We’ll have Prince Benedict record a personal statement of abdication to air following the official press release. Let’s have a draft of that statement by 6 as well.” She looked up from the tablet and peered over her glasses surveying the room. “Is everyone satisfied?”

There were nods and murmurs of assent all round and she dismissed them.

As soon as Colin was on his feet, Benedict was pulling him into his arms. He whispered in his ear, “I am truly sorry Colin, but believe me, I felt reassured that I could make this decision knowing that you will succeed me.”

“I don’t think I can do it Ben,” he murmured back. His brother held him at arms-length, then took Colin’s face in his hands.

“You can Col. You might not have been reared for it the way Anthony was and the way I was as the spare but you’re intelligent and despite the face you’ve been putting on for a while, you do have a sense of self. You can and will persevere,” he promised. “Don’t be afraid to call me if you need some advice as well, alright? I may have abdicated but I’m still your brother and I’m still here for you.”

Colin nodded, “Thanks Ben.”

Benedict kissed Colin on the forehead then released his little brother and left the room. Violet’s hand came up to Colin’s arm and rubbed it reassuringly.

“I know you are unprepared dearest,” she said gently, “But your brother is right, I do believe that you, above all my children will be able to get through this.”

“Alright, Mama,” Colin muttered with a nervous nod, tears forming in his eyes as he used the moniker that hadn’t passed his lips since he was a boy. She squeezed his arm and left the room as well.

“Sir,” Danbury called, having waited patiently for his family to speak with him, “Your private room and secure line is ready when you are.”

Colin nodded and followed the aide that had been sent to arrange his requests. His heart near enough stopped when they came to a halt outside the door of the room he’d been led to. The study. His father’s study. Then Anthony’s. Then Ben’s.

And now, he supposed, his.

He glanced sidelong at the aide, reverting to a jovial tone as a form of self-defence, “Are we sure this is the right room?”

“It is the only appropriate room, Your Majesty,” the aide said apologetically.

“Of course,” Colin said, resigned. He took a deep breath that ended in a sigh and grasped the doorknob, entering, what would be forevermore, his personal study.

The room was unreasonably grand, high ceilings as with all the rooms in the palace, large windows, ancient furniture that belonged to this former king or that. The great mahogany desk sat in pride of place. Once it had been merely a writing desk but over time a landline and then a computer had been added to the tabletop. He closed the door gingerly, blocking out the outside world. He leant heavily against it, loosening his tie that had been choking him since he entered the conference room.

With a huff he pulled the whole thing off a moment later, and moved to abandon it, and his suit jacket on the back of a nearby settee. He made his way to the desk and sat down tentatively. Internally he wondered if this was the same chair that all the former kings that had used this study and this desk had sat in? Was it simply Benedict’s choice or was it imprinted with the arsecheeks of king’s past?

He rather felt like a child playing dress-up in his father’s clothes. The room was too big, the desk too big, the role too big. He was a tiny little minnow being asked to become a shark.

Shaking his head he pulled off his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves then pulled the phone towards him. Old school, he noted, wired. He wondered if that made it more or less of a secure line than a cordless one that he could have paced around the room with. He lifted the receiver and typed in a number that he knew by heart that he shouldn’t really have known at all.

It rang, once, twice, three times.

“The Guardian, Penelope Featherington, editor-in-chief speaking.”

“Pen,” Colin choked out.

There was a long silence on the other end until finally Penelope said slowly, “Colin? Wh- why are you calling me?”

“I have a secret that I need to tell you, but you have to swear to me that you’ll keep this to yourself until it becomes public knowledge,” he said desperately.

“Col…” she said uncertainly.

“Please Pen,” he pleaded.

She sighed then said, “Fine, I swear.”

“I’m serious Pen, you can’t even draft an article until the paper is notified through the official channels.”

“I swear to you Colin,” she promised definitively, “Whatever you say right now is between you and me.”

He ran a hand through his hair then leant against it.

“Benedict is abdicating.”

“…”

“Pen?”

“Holy shit,” she whispered, “Please let me write the exclusive!”

“Pen, you promised!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry Colin,” she said with a huff, “But can you blame me?”

“I can blame you,” he said assuredly, “But I also understand you.”

“How are you?” she asked, and, in that moment, he knew he had called the right person. Nobody else cared how he was right now. All that mattered was the Crown, not the feelings of the man that was suddenly expected to wear it.

He chuckled humourlessly, “I’ve been better.”

“Hmm, can I get a real response please Your Highness?” she said sternly.

“I’m fucking freaking out Pen,” he said almost immediately, “Bloody Danbury was in there calling me ‘Your Majesty’ and ‘King Colin’ the second Ben had finished signing the declaration. For goodness’s sake, I can’t be the blasted king! The papers have literally been calling me the party prince and the playboy prince for bloody years, I am literally the worst candidate for this. There’s a reason that Anthony was fine with me continuing to be dispatched on tours instead of doing the political hand-shaking shit once I turned twenty-one.”

“Okay, first of all,” she said, “You and I both know that the party, playboy prince is all the invention of the tabloids. It’s not a crime for a young man in his early twenties to go to parties and have sexual experiences, the only problem is that they know that they’ll sell papers if they plaster your youthful exploits on their covers for the whole world to scrutinise. Unlike them, I know you; I know that now that you’ve got to step up, all that shit has immediately become inconsequential to you. Am I right?”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, “Yes…”

“Right,” she said firmly, “Hard work, duty, family, that’s what matters now, and Colin Bridgerton has all three of those in spades. Now, I know you weren’t primed for this like your brothers, and I know you were allowed to join the military and do spare-to-the-spare duties this whole time, but you know what Colin Bridgerton has that neither King Anthony nor King Benedict could touch with a ten-foot pole?”

“What?” he asked, exasperated. There was literally nothing he had that could outshine his brothers, who were (had been?) perfect paragons of duty.

“Charm,” she said firmly. “You, my dear friend, are a people person. You are likeable. All it will take is a few well-planned appearances and a couple of clever initiatives and you will become the People’s King. In fact, I literally bet you right now that that exact title will become your moniker in the press.”

“It doesn’t count if you start it, Pen,” he scoffed.

“Hey, I’m serious Col, a proper wager. I swear I’ll never say that phrase to another soul and I’ll never ever put it in print.” She insisted, “Come on then, what do you want to bet.”

“Setting petty wagers with the editor-in-chief of the Guardian doesn’t seem very kingly Pen,” he commented.

“Well, you’re not talking to the editor-in-chief Penelope Featherington right now, you’re talking to your old pal Pen, so come on Bridgerton, name your price,” she said.

He sighed then sat for a minute and thought about it. He knew exactly what he wanted from her but a part of him was scared to say it. He also had a feeling that she knew exactly what she was talking about, and he didn’t want to be the loser if he named the price he really wanted. He chewed his lip.

“I’ll go first then,” she said as the silence wore on. “If I win you have to give me a damehood and give a brand of my choice a royal warrant.”

He snorted, “Really using my new power for the useless Pen.”

“So? It’s just a dumb bet,” she chuckled, “Come on Bridgerton, name it.”

“If I win…” he said slowly, then threw caution to the wind because he knew he was going to lose anyway, “You have to marry me.”

“…what?”

“You heard me Pen,” he said, settling into his chair to explain himself, “I can almost guarantee that in a few months’ time Danbury is going to push me to find a bride. I can’t be the third king in a row to die or abdicate without issue, passing the crown onto the next sibling along. It would look bad. It would make the crown look unstable, insecure. I’m one hundred percent certain that I’ll be expected to produce an heir within the next five years.”

“The problem is that I know the list of women they’ll encourage me to court and choose from, and I also know that I couldn’t spend a lifetime with a single one of them. So, here’s my dilemma; I’m going to need to marry someone respectable quickly but also be prepared to live with them forever. I’m going to need to sleep with them at least enough times to produce an heir and a spare, so realistically I’d like to be attracted to them too.”

“So, tell me Pen, name a better candidate than my best friend, daughter of an earl that I already know I’m sexually compatible with?”

“You’re mad Bridgerton,” was her response, “I’m a bloody journalist, I can’t be your queen.”

“Danbury could spin that to our advantage if I picked you,” he said with certainty.

“Didn’t we already agree that we should just be friends?” she asked, “And then we’ve barely spoken since.”

“Sure,” he agreed, “But that was when we were considering a serious relationship.”

“And you don’t consider marrying you, the King, a serious relationship?” she laughed.

He grinned so ardently that he was sure she could hear it on the other end. “Not in the same way. Before we were deciding on romance and love, this time I’m offering friendship and sex.”

“And what if I still want romance and love Colin?” she asked wearily.

“Then I’ll do everything in my power to give it to you,” He said calmly. Then he lowered his voice and said quietly, “Look Pen, why are you railing so hard against this? You and I both know you’re going to win and me choosing this as my prize is moot.”

She seemed to consider this then said finally, “Fine, I’ll agree to those terms on one condition: we expand the definition to any title that implies you are a friendly and beloved king.”

“Is there a special prize if you’re right and it’s the ‘People’s King’ anyway?” he asked.

“Maybe, but I’ll decide on that when the time comes.”

“Deal,” he chuckled.

“Are you feeling any better Col?” she asked.

“Not really,” he sighed, “Any chance you’d come here until I need to go back at six? I’ll send a car.”

She sighed as well, “I’ve still got work Colin.”

“You’re the boss,” he whined, “Its only, what, half an hour, forty-five minutes before end of day?”

There was another silence, and Colin was sure he could hear the tapping of a pen against a desk.

“Fine,” she huffed, “Send the bloody car, but your driver better be quick and it better be worth it.”

“It will,” he promised.

Thirty minutes later there was a knock on the door, and he swung it open to see her standing there, her long, curly hair pulled back into a perfectly styled high ponytail, crisp pink shirt and black pencil skirt hugging her figure beautifully, and arms crossed. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the room, almost slamming the door shut as he swung it carelessly back into its frame. Immediately his arms were around her, burying his face into her at the place where her neck and her shoulder met.

Like instinct she responded instantly, rubbing circles into his back and running a soothing hand through his hair. They stood like that for a while, holding each other, breathing each other in.

Finally, without moving an inch Colin mumbled against her, “Thank you Pen.”

“Of course, Col,” she murmured comfortingly, Then, she leant back away from him, taking his face in her hands, “You’ve got this. Even if the whole world doubts you, remember that I’ve got your back.”

He grinned and bent down giving her a very light, very innocent peck on the lips, “Thanks.”

Despite her responding grin, she gave him a very soft scolding tap on his cheek, “None of that Your Majesty, I came here as Pen the friend, not Pen the friend-with-benefits.”

“You wear so many hats, Penelope Featherington,” he teased.

“Not really,” she shrugged, “It’s only you that gives me so many different roles to juggle. And we agreed that that kind of relationship was behind us.”

“And it is!” he acknowledged, “But soon you’re going to be my fiancée so what’s a little kiss between friends?”

She let out a soundless chuckle as she shook her head in annoyance with his antics. Then, she pulled his face down to hers, so their noses were almost touching. An intake of breath echoed from both their lips involuntarily at the sudden proximity. Neither acknowledged it, nor the way their eyes respectively darkened.

“Not yet,” she breathed then seemed to consider her words and corrected, “Not likely.”

He opened his mouth to respond but there was a gentle knock on the door and the pair sprung apart like teenagers that had just been caught snogging by their mum. He straightened the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt and cleared his throat.

“Enter,” he called.

The door opened and the aide that had brought him here was standing on the other side, hands clasped in front of him respectfully. His eyes flitted to Penelope who had leant against the back of a settee and was perched impressively casually with her arms and ankles crossed.

His gaze returned to Colin, and he said, “The meeting with your advisors will resume in ten minutes Your Majesty.”

He cleared his throat and said, “Yes, thank you, just give me a moment and I’ll be right there.”

The aide nodded a bow and closed the door. Colin dropped his face into his hands and groaned. Penelope chuckled and lifted his tie and jacket, folding the latter over her arm. She moved to him and prised his hands away from his face. Silently she lifted his collar and drew his tie around his neck, carefully knotting it in place. Then she took each of his arms in turn and rolled down the sleeves, wordlessly finding his cufflinks on the desk and putting him back together. Finally she shook out his jacket and held it out for him. Obediently he turned around and slipped his arms into the sleeves so she could lift it up onto his shoulders. He turned back to her and she ran her fingers through his hair, straightening it up.

When she was done, the same hand came to rest on his cheek, “Have faith in yourself.”

“Wait for me?” he asked. She gave him a gentle smile and a little nod and he let out a sigh of relief. He gave her a confident nod in return and left without another word, striding down the hall towards his duty and his fate.

When Colin returned to the conference room several chairs had been removed, and the only remaining seat was the one at the head of the table that Benedict had occupied earlier. His brother had taken up his vacated seat to the right and his mother sat to his left. Although his heart faltered seeing the position left so intentionally for him, he held his face stony, not allowing the team to see his cracks any longer. He strode far more confidently than he felt and dropped into the chair without a word. He turned an eyebrow to Secretary Danbury and waited.

She cleared her throat with a disapproving air and said, “Your Majesty, there has been a – ahem – rumour since we broke that you had a car sent and gave security clearance for a member of the press to be admitted to the palace?”

Although she posed it like a question it was clearly a scolding.

“I did,” he said shortly.

“Your Majesty, I do believe when we broke three hours ago you swore to uphold the crown you now wear, I cannot see how inviting the press into our midst is mark of a responsible king?”

“I did not invite the press into our midst,” he told her firmly, “I invited a friend for moral support in the moment that I most needed someone to lean on. …who happens to be a member of the press.”

“Sir, she is the edito-.”

“I know what she is,” he cut off sternly, “She is the trusted daughter of an earl and my oldest and dearest friend. She knows when to hold her tongue – and her pen – when it is necessary in regards to the Crown. I trust her implicitly and will not hear a word against her. Now, I believe you gave me three hours to collect myself, which I have now done, regardless of the method I chose. Let us please get on with the important business and put my irrelevant personal matters to the side.”

“Sir, you must realise that none of your personal matters are irrelevant anymore,” Danbury said wearily.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “But you gave me those three hours for those personal matters to remain irrelevant. From this moment on I accept that I’m the king and my personal matters are yours to scrutinise, but until I stepped back into this room, they remain mine. Are we clear?”

Danbury raised an impressed eyebrow, “Crystal, Your Majesty.”

He nodded and gestured for her to proceed. Out the corner of his eye he could see Benedict smirking proudly and his mother smiling slyly. Maybe he did have this after all.

The meeting was long and he spent most of it listening to various draft statements and action plan outlines as Danbury barked at people. Several hours in and the BBC’s camera crew showed up so they all relocated to the official king’s office, the one where he took meetings and recorded the Christmas speech as opposed to the personal one where he quietly conducted his business.

Colin stood behind the camera, despite being offered a seat several times, right beside Danbury as he watched the room be lit to look like the early morning and his brother sit down to make his final speech as king. He wanted to watch his fate be enacted with his own eyes and his head held high, so he stood rigidly, shoulders back, hands clasped behind his back. It felt ironic that this stance was considered ‘at ease’ in the military considering ease was the last thing he felt right now.

“My beloved nation,” Benedict said sombrely, “It is with great regret that I come before you today, but my presence here is nonetheless essential. Today will mark the last day I shall discharge my duty as your King and have been succeeded by my brother, The Duke of Edinburgh.”

Another title Colin had been reluctant to take when Anthony had honoured him with it upon his twenty-first birthday. Anthony had done so in the hope Colin would use the title graciously and finally take some responsibility. Another thing he'd disappointed his elder brother with.

“My first words,” Benedict continued, “are to declare my allegiance to him. This I do with all my heart. This duty that I have held in the past two years has been a great burden on my shoulders, but one that I have tried to carry with dignity and honour as my brother, King Anthony and my father King Edmund did before me. I know, it may come as a surprise to you all that I must make this serious decision, one which is mine, and mine alone. Even my Love, for whom I have decided to renounce the Throne has tried to persuade me to take another course, but I recognise that this path is the correct choice, as despite all thought otherwise, as it is the best end for all.

“This decision has been made less difficult to me by the sure knowledge that my brother, with his record of valiance and duty for our great nation, and with his exceptional character and temperament will be able to take my place forthwith, without interruption or injury to the life and progress of the Country.

“During these hard days in which I have made the most difficult decision of my life, I have been comforted by Her Majesty, my mother, and by my family. The Ministers of the Crown and in particular, Mrs Strelitz, the Prime Minister, have always treated me with full consideration. For which I thank them and humbly apologise for my failure to uphold the constitutional tradition as per my predecessors.

“During my time as both heir presumptive and in these years in which I have occupied the Throne, I have been treated with the greatest love and acceptance from all those I have encountered as I lived and journeyed through the Nation and the Commonwealth, for which I am so very grateful.

“I now retire altogether from public affairs and lay down my burden. I shall, however, always belong as a devoted citizen of this great nation and if at any time in the future I can be found of service to His Majesty in a private station I shall not fail.

“And now, we all have a new King. I wish him, and you, his people, happiness and prosperity with all my heart. God Save The King.”

“Cut!” the director called. There was rustling around as Danbury and others agreed that they were happy with the results. Colin however, stood stock still, staring down his elder brother with watery eyes. Benedict met them with his own soft, apologetic gaze and gave him a single, comforting nod, like the passing of the gauntlet, or he supposed, the Crown and the Throne. Colin nodded back then turned his back on his brother.

“Is there much more Mrs Danbury?” he asked.

“I think that’s all for today, Your Majesty,” she said in the kindest tone she had mustered all day.

“Very well,” he nodded, “I shall retire to my private study for a few hours should you need me.”

The surrounding people gave him polite but brief bows as he left.

In the study, Penelope was curled up on a sofa, a laptop perched on her knee and a lollipop sticking out of her mouth. He smiled fondly at the sight. If he didn’t know better he might have thought he’d gone back five years to her university days when she would hide out in his private apartments to write her essays.

“Where did you get all that?” he asked dropping down onto the settee opposite her, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket.

“I had brought it with me,” she said round the lollipop, “It was confiscated on arrival, I was only allowed to come straight to you with a generous frisk and the clothes on my back. I’m sure your security teams have thoroughly examined the entire contents of my work bag.”

“And put a keystroke tracker on your computer,” he speculated.

“Well one can’t admit a member of the Press to His Majesty’s private office without ensuring they don’t reveal the Crown’s greatest secrets,” she teased. Then she lifted a very official looking piece of paper and waved it. “I got your press release hand delivered to me.”

“Ooh,” he grinned, “I suppose there are benefits to being the King’s best friend.”

She snorted, “Hardly, I’m sure everyone else got it emailed straight to their inbox in the ten minutes it took them to print it out and walk down the hall with it. At least I get bragging rights that I was able to write my article in His Majesty’s very presence.”

“You were never here, Pen,” he warned.

She made a humming sound in disappointment but dutifully said, “Yes, I know.” She typed out a few more lines then asked distractedly, “How did it all go anyway?”

“Off the record?” he teased, and she looked up from her screen and glared at him mockingly. “Well, I think. Danbury seemed happy, Benedict gave his big goodbye speech that’ll air tomorrow morning”

“Ten o’clock?” she guessed, and he nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“We’ve got to go to parliament and do lots of very boring official things,” he sighed, “Mercifully the team will keep me right and I don’t actually need to remember everything straight off the bat.”

“But you will,” she said assuredly before turning back to her screen. He smiled softly because she was right. He’d already memorised the schedule despite only seeing it once. He hadn’t lied to Danbury; he was determined to take this seriously now that he’d got his head on straight. He just hoped he could actually keep up with his good intentions.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Your Majesty, it is 7am,” a loud voice called.

Groaning, Colin cracked an eye open and was assaulted by daylight. He groaned again and shut his eyes tight, pulling his pillow over his face.

“Are you well Sir?” the voice asked, closer to him.

“It’s too bloody bright,” he moaned.

“Apologies Sir, but it is time to rise.”

He removed the pillow and slowly opened one eye, allowing it to adjust to the light. Then he did the same with the other. He turned his head and focused on the butler that was standing waiting patiently on him.

“Humboldt,” he groaned, “In the future can we do the wakeup call then open the curtains?”

“Sir?”

“That way I can have time to adjust to the light.”

“Very well, Sir,” the butler nodded. “Your morning meal is due to be served in the breakfast room in thirty minutes. Would you prefer it be brought to you here?”

“No, thank you,” he said, “That will be fine.”

The butler gave a curt bow and then left. Colin rubbed his face with his hands and sat up. He looked blearily around his childhood bedroom and felt wrong. The previous night when he had attempted to depart for his apartments he was barred from leaving and herded here. He was just grateful that they hadn’t tried taking him to the King’s chambers. They had however apologised that they weren’t ready for him, presumably because all of Benedict’s things were still there, so he was sure it was a matter of time before he had little choice in that too.

With a sigh he swept out of bed, running his hands through his hair and nipped into the bathroom to freshen up. When he came back through a valet was standing waiting to help him dress. He resisted rolling his eyes but held out a hand for the man to pass him his underwear.

A few moments later, as the valet lifted his jacket onto his shoulders he asked, “Has someone been to my apartments?”

“Yes, Sir,” he said, “A team were sent to retrieve your things and bring them here.”

“I see,” he muttered. He had asked the question because he was sure the suit he was now wearing had been hanging up at home. He had assumed someone had simply gone for his clothes but to learn he couldn’t even oversee the dismantlement of the home he’d lived in for years hurt.

The breakfast room was large and bright, and empty. He sat alone at the end of a grand table, picking at eggs and toast. Normally he would go to his mother’s for breakfast or would meet a friend out. Was this really how Benedict has been living the past two years and Anthony for thirteen years before that? At least their father had their family. He supposed Anthony did at first as well but as they all started to grow up and move away their mother spent more and more time at one of the smaller properties until she and the little ones lived there permanently.

The door opened and Mrs Danbury came in; tablet clutched in her hand and determination in her eyes.

“Good morning Your Majesty.”

“Good morning,” he sighed gratefully, pushing away the plate he had been unable to stomach.

“Are you ready to hear the day’s schedule?”

“I am,” he nodded. She gave an understanding nod and lifted her tablet. “Hold on, do take a seat would you, I can’t imagine this will be brief.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she said and sat down. “First, it is recommended you start your day with the news, which you can do over breakfast, and I can schedule an hour every morning immediately after breakfast as well if you’d prefer.”

“The news?” he asked, “As in, reading the paper?”

“If you’d prefer Sir,” she nodded, “Your father King Edmund would indeed read the broadsheets. King Anthony would read The Times over breakfast then watch twenty minutes each from the BBC, ITV, Channel 4 and Sky. Prince Benedict preferred to read articles from the BBC and the Guardian on a tablet over breakfast. The choice is entirely yours. The main thing is that you do it, it is essential that a king knows what is happening in his country, and in the wider world.”

He thought about it for a moment then said, “I’ll take the Guardian and the Times, physical please. And, a third paper, different every day, both tabloid and broadsheet.” She nodded and looked to her tablet to take note and move onto the next agenda, but he wasn’t done, “I’d also like a notebook and pen. A4 preferably. And a red pen. And perhaps, a couple of highlighters. Maybe also, a tablet too, for the BBC and Twitter.”

She blanched, “Twitter, Sir?”

He nodded, “Surely what the people are discussing is just as relevant as what the press are printing?”

“…Of-of course Sir, I shall see to it. Might I assume you’d like the hour post-breakfast?”

“I would,” he nodded and something akin to pride swelled in his chest as he noted that her hard expression had turned to frank surprise. They moved on to his schedule then, by the end of the discussion, the butler appeared with the papers, notebook, stationary and tablet he’d asked for. He glanced at Danbury’s own tablet and wondered if his staff had a group chat. She left then and he pulled his plate back towards him, taking a large bite as he opened the first paper, poised with his red pen and his highlighters.

Over an hour later he was just finishing up a double page journal entry about what he’d looked through and his thoughts on the matters. He knew he could never share those thoughts, that was the one thing he’d already learnt from watching his brothers; it was a King’s duty to be impartial. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t ruminate privately. In fact, it might even help him be impartial if he had already gone over his feelings on a matter, allow him to not be ruled by those feelings.

His biggest concern this morning was naturally, himself. Or at least, the Crown, the monarchy, and the abdication. Once the drama of the latter settled down, his coronation would become the next main topic, he was certain. He was concerned about it, how close it would be after Benedict’s, and not even a death to excuse all the theatrics. There had been pushback against his brother’s, and he was sure it would be worse by the time his own came around.

He was tapping his pen against the page, pondering on the matter when Danbury returned. He flipped the journal shut, and placed his pen on top, smiling politely.

“Your paperwork is awaiting you Sir,’ she informed him. He nodded and drank down the last of his coffee, lifting his journal, stationery and tablet.

“Is this tablet mine to keep or was it given to me specifically for this purpose?” he asked, striding ahead. In truth he wasn’t totally sure where they were supposed to be going but he was certain that she would feel wronged if he tried to keep pace with her or God forbid, follow. He decided to make a guess and if he was wrong, she would undoubtedly correct him.

“That is yours, Sir,” she confirmed, walking a few paces behind. “It had been Prince Benedict’s originally, bought for him to use for his work. We have gone through it with him already, allowing him to save any personal items he had on there before we reset it for your use.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. Suddenly the thing felt dirty in his hands. Although Benedict had given up the Crown willingly, it still felt wrong to suddenly move into the palace and for all his staff to suddenly become Colin’s. His job, his study, his possessions, soon enough his bedroom no doubt, all turned over to Colin, literally overnight. At least Benedict had inherited those things. It made Colin feel like a parasite, leeching off of his older brother.

They came to the same study that he’d sat with Pen the previous night and without waiting for permission – for really who could give it – he pushed open the door and made straight for the desk. His desk.

Somebody had tucked the phone back in the corner and now in the very centre sat a large, red, leather box.

Oh.

Now he realised what she meant by his paperwork awaiting him.

He placed his things on a corner of the table and dropped into the seat. His eyes didn’t leave the box. It felt silly, to be cowering before a box of documents, but this was just as great a symbol of his new power as much as the Crown itself and the other Coronation Regalia. Those things were dramatic, ceremonial, a little silly even but this, this was every day of his life save Christmas until the day he died. He ran his finger over Benedict’s cypher on the lid. Soon that would be replaced with his own…

He looked up and saw Danbury stood stiff as a board on the other side of the table, waiting. He glanced up at her nervously and then placed a hand on either side of the lid.

She gently cleared her throat, “The key Sir, is kept in the top middle drawer.”

He nodded his awkward thanks and looked down at the desk. There didn’t appear to be a top middle drawer but when he placed his fingers under the edge of the table, he could feel the ridge of a discreet handle. He pulled and a cleverly disguised narrow drawer came free. Inside there were some pens and things and indeed, a large brass key. He inserted it into the lock on the front of the box that he had completely missed when he sat down and turned until it clicked. He returned the key and pushed the drawer shut.

Hands on the sides again, he opened the box and took in the enormous stack of papers within. He looked up at Danbury, feeling a little helpless and she smiled kindly.

“On the top, is a table of contents,” she began.

He lifted it out and read through before setting it aside. He extracted the first item, and she glanced at it, before briefing him on what exactly it was, and how he should process it. This pattern continued until his box was empty and the papers stacked on the table.

“Do you feel ready to give it a go Sir?” she asked.

He didn’t.

“I do,” he said. She gave him a curt nod and after reminding him he could call on her for any guidance, she left. He let out a great exhale and sat back heavily in his seat. He looked at the enormous pile, taunting him for his ineptitude. With a great sigh he lifted the whole pile back into the box and snapped the lid shut.

He pulled open all the desk drawers, examining the contents – if any – then got up and read the titles on his new bookshelves. They were fairly empty, so he wondered if Benedict hadn’t been one for reading, or if he had taken all his books away with him. He consolidated the contents neatly onto two shelves then amused himself by discovering that the top shelf was a perfect height and depth for his journal notebook. He actually wanted to keep it in his drawer so it was on hand but perhaps once he had filled it and started the next one, he could put it up here. Eventually he would have a whole shelfful of them.

He opened the tablet and set a screen lock then just for his own amusement, he changed the background to a picture from when Penelope had been in university. They were sat opposite one another at a café near her campus. She was scowling, and just about to thump him because he had interrupted her mid-rant about her lecturer and teased her that she should drop the degree and take up rapping. Eloise, who had been a first year at the time had snapped the photo with her phone. She had even named it ‘Prince Cuntlin gets a bollocking from a higher intelligence’ which he was in equal parts offended by and impressed with. It was a great picture to be honest, between her raw, unfiltered fury fuelled by both her lecturer and him, and his gleeful grin and slight terror in his eyes, it was almost a work of art. He thought seeing it every day might encourage him, reminding him that if he didn’t get his act together, she’d probably come right down here and sort him out. He put it and his notebook away in the desk drawer. Next, he turned on the PC and looked through it, but beyond lots of very official-looking files, there wasn’t much else on it and turned it off again.

Then, finally, he accepted that he’d done as much ‘settling in’ as he could get away with. He moved the box from the centre to the side of the desk, and flicked it open once more. He withdrew the first item, took a deep, cleansing breath, and began to read.

Several hours later, he had made his way through about two thirds of the box when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. Grateful for the respite he threw down his pen, flexing his sore hand and extracted it, smiling at the caller ID.

“Hi,” he breathed and the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Hello, Your Majesty,” Penelope responded, whispering his title very dramatically.

“Are you phoning me from somewhere a conversation could be overheard?” he asked, suspicious.

“I’m waiting for a coffee,” she admitted, “Don’t worry about it, I’m not going to ask you about state secrets.”

“Very kind of you,” he acknowledged.

“So, tell me, Boss, how’s the first day of work? Is everyone being nice to you? Properly training the new hire?” she asked. “Have you been invited to the Christmas party yet?”

“Somehow, I think I’m the last person that will be invited to something like that. But surprisingly, yes, they’re being nice,” he admitted.

“Even Danbury?” she confirmed.

“She’s been diligently telling me what to do and helping me keep schedule,” he responded.

“Good.” A beat passed and then she asked, “Are you feeling okay about it all?”

He hummed uncertainly, “It's rather overwhelming, and God, Penelope, the paperwork is dull, but do I have the same feelings of panic and dread that I did last night? Not so much.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said genuinely. He heard her name be called then and he waited as she returned her focus to the room to accept her cup and thank the barista. Moments later there was the sound of a door and an increase in wind noise. “Benedict’s speech went well, I thought.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “Danbury was glad that it was both humble and apologetic.”

“Well, if Danbury was pleased with it,” she said sarcastically.

“How are things being perceived in the real world?” he asked.

“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I think there’s some confusion because it’s all been so sudden from the public’s perspective. The royalists are unhappy as they’re seeing it as a betrayal of duty. The anti-monarchists are calling Benedict’s coronation a waste of public resources and bemoaning that yours will be too. And the apathetic are split between amused by the drama and annoyed by it.”

“So fairly average in the grand scheme of things?” he asked.

“For now,” she said, “But I do think you shall need to be careful. Put your best face and your best foot forward else the annoyed indifferent join the anti-monarchists, and together they call for reform.”

“Do you think I need to be the shiniest, most perfect king?”

“I think you need to get the people on side,” she replied, “But as I said yesterday, you are charming, personable. I don’t think that will be too hard. You just need to be careful about the pomp and ceremony of things like the coronation. This is a modern age. Two years ago, everybody was already frustrated with the public expense of grand affairs like this and now we’re going through it all again and not because somebody died.”

He nodded although he knew she couldn’t hear it.

“I’m not saying this to scare you,” she continued, knowing him too well, “But I imagine the Firm will push for tradition and I don’t know if that’s the best course of action right now. If you want to be liked and accepted, you need to pander somewhat to the desires of the people and you’re the only person that can push back against the traditionalists on the inside.”

Only that morning he himself had been worried about the prospect of his coronation taking place so close after Benedict’s. So, to hear Penelope, who had an ear in the outside world say his exact fears aloud was both concerning and gratifying.

“And I agree. Wholeheartedly,” he confessed. “I’ll do my best when those discussions begin. Thankfully right now everyone is trying to iron out the mess Benedict made and make the transition easier, so I’ll have some time to work on it.”

There was a heavy silence for a moment while he turned over the prospect in his mind.

“But you know that nobody is complaining about you specifically, right?” she asked tentatively.

“Are you sure?” he asked doubtfully. He knew his public reputation well enough.

“I am certain,” she insisted, “There’s mild scepticism at best since you’re completely untried but funnily enough because of the tabloids people like that you seem like a person rather than this untouchable monarch. There’s a lot of people just calling you ‘Colin’ like you’re an old mate of theirs rather than by your titles. At least for now.”

Colin opened his mouth to respond but there was a knock on his door, “Hold on Pen. Enter!”

“Sir,” Danbury said, “You are scheduled for lunch just now and then immediately after we are to go to Parliament.”

He looked over the paperwork he hadn’t got through yet. “Have my lunch brought here.”

“Yes Sir,” she said with a bow of her head and departed.

He brought the phone back to his ear, “Pen I need to go, I’m going to work over lunch.”

“No problem,” she said brightly, “I’m nearly back at the office anyway. Good luck this afternoon, yeah?”

“Yes, thank you Pen.”

They ended the call, and Colin spent the next hour eating a tower of sandwiches and powering through the paperwork. Apparently, the cook was still the same from when he was a child because how else would they have known to send so much food. He was glad for something comforting and familiar on this very uncommon day.

In the end, attending Parliament turned out to be a bit of a stilted experience. He arrived through the sovereign’s entrance, normally only used for the state opening of parliament, the only time he should need to attend the building. However, as the new session had only commenced a few weeks prior, and Benedict had already undertaken the event, it had been decided that he should go and make an appearance. To show his face as the new sovereign so the new government knew under whose name they were performing their duties.

Apparently. Colin was fairly certain that the real reason was so they could show that very government that the royals were not as fickle as Benedict’s actions had now painted them. That Colin was not his brother and was devoted to the crown and to the governing of his people.

First, he’d attended the House of Lords and was introduced to and greeted by every member present. Then the same was done in the House of Commons, concluding with the members of the Cabinet and the Prime Minister herself. The whole affair seemed like a grand waste of everybody’s time, truly, but if it was what was necessary for appearances then he’d smile and shake the hands. Especially today when everything was dangerously raw.

They were on the way out when his phone started buzzing. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the ID. He nodded to his security team and slipped into the nearest empty room then hit answer.

“Pen?” he asked, surprised she would be calling him for a second time today, “Is everything okay?”

“Are you still at Parliament?”

“Yes, why?”

“Wait twenty minutes for me, I’m on my way over.”

“Pen,” he said uncertainly, “They’re keeping me on a pretty tight schedule, I don’t know if I have twenty minutes.”

“Go to the toilet and hide in the cubicle or something,” she insisted then hung up without further discussion. He frowned down at the phone then slipped it back in his pocket and looked about the room. It was an office of some sort with several chairs dotted about at desks. He dropped into one and checked his watch. He decided to see how long he could get away with hiding in there before they chased him.

The answer in the end was ten minutes, much longer than he thought they would give him if he was being honest. He had expected the knock after five at most. He opened the door to Agatha’s frustrated expression waiting on him on the other side.

“We must get on Sir,” she snapped.

“Lead the way Mrs Danbury,” he smiled politely.

“Of course not,” she said in horror and held out her arm for him to walk ahead of her. He gave her a boyish grin and did as instructed. For some reason they seemed to be exiting via the main entrance, rather than the way they’d come in.  The schedule had said ‘Wkbt’ when he’d looked over it the previous night and he couldn’t remember Agatha ever clarifying what that was. When they’d gone over the schedule for Parliament, she’d finished up with what they had already done. If they were going this way, however? Colin suddenly had an idea as to how he could kill the remaining ten minutes.

Outside, barriers had been set up and a crowd had gathered. A crowd of people excited to see their new king. A walkabout. That was the next schedule. A clearly planned ‘smile and wave’ show so he could greet the public on a personal level. To what extent he was supposed to go he was uncertain however. He checked his watch again. He hoped Danbury didn’t confiscate it from him before the day was out so he would always have to adhere to her time.

The crowd cheered when he stepped out into the sunlight and he smiled in a friendly manner, raising his hand and giving a polite wave. Phones were being held up, snapping photos, recording videos. He tried to make eye contact with as many people as possible to make them feel appreciated.

He hesitated because he wasn’t sure where he was to go next and Danbury was right at his elbow, muttering and pointing the route down the side of the building that she wanted him to follow. He acknowledged that he’d understood and began walking again, continuing the smile and wave bit. Then he saw a woman carrying a baby that couldn’t be more than a few months old. He stopped in his tracks and went over to her.

He held out a hand and said, “How do you do.” Blinking in surprise the young mother juggled her baby into one arm, took his proffered hand and gave it a shake. He turned his attention to her very cute baby and gave the little one a chuck under the chin, “Hello darling, what is your name?”

“Penelope, Your Majesty,” the mother informed him.

His face lit up and his head snapped to her, “You’re joking! My dearest friend is called Penelope; I didn’t think it a particularly common name.”

“That’s why I picked it, Your Majesty,” she said.

“How lovely,” he said, turning back to the baby. He took baby Penelope’s tiny hand between his thumb and forefinger and said, “How do you do Miss Penelope.”

The baby looked at him shyly, the mother beamed, and several onlookers cooed.

“Sir, we should move on,” Danbury muttered at his elbow. He gave a few more quick handshakes to random outstretched hands and then left with a ‘lovely to see you all.’

Only a few metres on he noticed an elderly couple that looked weary on their feet and went straight to them. He gave them each a handshake and a ‘how do you do’ in turn.

“Thank you both for coming out,” he said earnestly, “I’m certainly glad for the fair weather, I’d hate to see you waiting like this in the cold.”

“It would be worth it, Your Majesty,” the woman said with a pleased smile, “We had just hoped to catch a glimpse, but it’s an honour that you decided to speak to us.”

“Oh,” Colin said nervously with a shake of his head. It wasn’t an honour to meet him.

“You know, Your Majesty,” the old man said next, “The first time I did this I was seven years old, and I had the pleasure of seeing your grandfather ride past me in his carriage en route to his coronation. I was lucky enough that he waved to us kids down the front.”

“Is that so?” Colin asked in surprise.

“That’s right, proudest day of my life until right now.” Colin felt his cheeks go pink, but before he could respond the man continued, “I expect you’ll be the last King I’ll see in my lifetime.”

Colin gave an awkward chuckle and said, “Well I certainly hope so, but my odds don’t look good, do they?”

A round of tittering rippled through the surrounding crowd. Several faces he noted, looked outright gobsmacked at his audacity to make the joke.

“No, I’ve got a good feeling you’re in this for the long haul, Your Majesty,” the lady said, and her husband nodded his assent.

Danbury appeared at his elbow again and he vaguely acknowledged her before saying, “Well, I must thank you for your confidence in me, and I assure you I’ll do my very best to remain fit and well.”

Once again, he caught a few more random hands before he moved off again.

Out the side of her mouth Danbury muttered, “You were just supposed to greet them generally, not stop and talk.”

He glanced over at her and said through a smile, “It’s polite to be polite and thank people for making their way out.” She scowled but didn’t disagree. He heard a sweet little voice yelling ‘King Colin’ and looked around. There were two children of about seven or eight, pressing their faces between the bars of the barrier, grinning widely and waving their chubby little hands. He glanced at Danbury again who seemed to sigh without actually doing so and he went over to the children, crouching down to their height.

“How do you do,” he said to them both, smiling fondly and giving their little hands a friendly squeeze in lieu of a proper handshake. “What are your names?”

“Hannah!” “Felix!” they said over each other at the same time. His smile widened.

“It’s lovely to meet you both, Felix and Hannah. Thank you for coming to see me. Shall I tell you both a secret?” They nodded eagerly and with a gentle smile he continued, “I must say that it’s been very, very scary becoming the King unexpectedly, so having lots of kind people like yourselves coming to cheer me on has been so reassuring.”

“Did you not want to be King?” Hannah asked in surprise.

“No,” he chuckled, “Actually, when I was little, my big brother was going to be the King, and I wanted to be a soldier.” He gave a little tilt of his head, remembering the passion he’d felt then, “So I could protect him.”

 “Why didn’t you?”

He smiled sadly, “Well I did become a soldier, but, in the end it wasn't enough to protect him.” His heart felt heavy suddenly, the pain of Anthony’s death surging back to him. What would his eldest brother think of the latest turn of events? No doubt he would be furious with Benedict. And surely, he, like Danbury and the rest, would think he wasn’t up to it. He decided to change the subject to try to bring some lightness back, “What do the two of you want to do when you grow up?”

“I want to be the Prime Minister!” Hannah said proudly, puffing out her little chest.

He grinned, “Well, as meeting with the Prime Minister is part of my job I look forward to seeing you again.”

He turned to look at Felix who seemed a lot more reserved than his sister. The little boy looked him over then said shyly, “I want to be the king too.”

Colin’s heart melted. “Well, unfortunately the position has just been filled.” The child looked utterly bewildered at this statement, but it earned Colin chuckles from the surrounding adults, “But you’ll need to practice your waving and handshaking, and you’ll need to perfect your signature because there’s a lot of paperwork to sign. Then maybe, when you’re older, you can send in your application. But they are very fussy who they pick so I can’t promise you’ll get it.”

“Maybe you could give him a queen to marry,” an older woman – perhaps the children’s grandmother – teased.

He looked up at her with a chuckle, his cheeks turning pink, “I’ll see what I can do.” He returned his attention to the children and reached out, giving their little cheeks each a gentle stroke with his thumb, “Good luck to you both.”

They thanked him and with a final smile he stood up. He greeted the grandmother then a few more people before he moved on without Danbury’s prompting. He continued this process, stopping every few metres, greeting someone in particular before moving on. When they got to the end of the crowd, having circled back round to the sovereign’s entrance, he could see his car waiting inside the archway, surrounded by carefully positioned bodyguards. There, leaning against the car, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, was Penelope Featherington.

He strode forward, nodding to the bodyguards as he passed and came to a stop a metre in front of his friend, “How, in the name of God, did you manage to get through this lot?”

She smirked, “I think that clearance you gave for me yesterday is on file.”

He grinned and then his eyes flitted to her hand. She seemed to be holding two ice cream cones that were melting down her wrists.

“What’s this?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She held one out and said, “Congratulations on your first day of work. Sorry about the state of them but I did say twenty minutes, not thirty.”

He accepted the cone and immediately licked the edge of it to stop the ice cream from melting onto his hand. When he looked back up at her she looked away quickly and did the same with her own.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been on the receiving end of an end-of-first-day ice cream,” he grinned, taking a bite. He had always been the one to bring them to her after the big days in her life; first days at work, last exams of the year. It felt strange for the shoe to be on the other foot.

She shrugged, “It’s your turn.”

His eyes flitted to her hands, sticky with the melted ice cream. He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and, ignoring his urge to wipe it away himself, he thrust it at her then walked around the car and got into the other side. She opened the door she’d been leaning against and slid in beside him. As the driver pulled away and they started chatting about how their respective days had been, Colin almost felt as though it was old times again. He had missed this, missed her, insurmountably.

Chapter Text

Colin’s wrist hurt. He had fallen into a rhythm with the duties of a king. He informed himself on current affairs, he signed documents requiring Royal Assent, he met weekly with Mrs Strelitz and kept up to date with the government’s latest dramas. The day-to-day duties were unbearably dull. But he did them without complaint and when required, he did them with a smile.

The duties he found he enjoyed the most were the ones where they let him leave the prison of the palace. The part where he got to meet people, to talk to them and learn about their lives was by far the most interesting part of his job. After his first few engagements he campaigned strongly to be allowed to do it more often. With success  he managed to cajole Mrs Danbury into putting his engagements up from one a month, with the rest being delegated in majority to his mother and Daphne, to one a week.

However, that did mean between the paperwork, the handshaking and the waving, his wrist hurt. When they had been at a hospital for the for the opening of a new wing named the ‘King Edmund’ wing in honour of his father,  his mother had caught him wincing as he shook peoples hands and had told him in a low tone out of the corner of her mouth, “Don’t shake their hands properly, just take their hand and give it a squeeze.” When he had turned his head to her and raised an eyebrow, she had smiled and continued, “Wave from the elbow. Wear a wrist brace when you are doing the paperwork.”

Advice that he had taken in stride. Except, somewhat ironically, the handshaking part; it had felt wrong to not greet people heartily.

Indeed, he was quite grateful that for many of the additional engagements that Danbury slotted into his schedule, his mother and Daphne were already set to attend. Having his family by his side was comforting, guiding him when he felt stumped, so unfamiliar with this way of life. More than once, he felt frustrated that nobody had made an effort in the last two years to force him to take on his duties as he should have. More so, he was angry at himself for not listening to Anthony after he’d initially come of age to participate in these duties. Especially that  after his brother had passed, he had not been proactive himself and actually asked for something to do.

All he had done for the past two years was sulk that he wasn’t allowed to do what he had chosen for himself anymore. That he had been forced to retire simply because he had become the heir presumptive. He had spent the time brooding that he had found a purpose for his life and that he couldn’t fulfil that purpose anymore despite the likelihood that it would all be for naught and Benedict would in time marry and sire heirs. A fate that would have left Colin’s personal sacrifice as wasted time.

He really should have taken things a bit more seriously.

Which made him more determined to take it seriously now, determined to learn all he could from his mother and sister.

“You’re mad for this idea you know,” Daphne commented as they waited in the Windsor Castle drawing room.

“We’re literally the patrons and it happens on our doorstep,” he reminded her, “Why haven’t we gone before?”

“Because there’s no need for us to,” she said simply. “And when have you ever cared about the charities that you’re a patron of?”

“Now,” he said, his tone turning serious, “I care now.”

She hummed an acknowledgement but didn’t make comment.

An international Scouting and Girlguiding jamboree was taking place in Windsor Great Park, as it did every 5-6 years. Colin had been the patron of the Scout Association since he was nineteen years old, when the previous patron had died. The position had been offered to him unquestioningly as, unlike his brothers, he had been a member of the Scouts since he was nine years old, going through the cubs, scouts and explorers sections. He had only left when he went into the Army.

It had begun when their mother had enrolled Daphne and Eloise as Brownies and Francesca as a Rainbow in Girlguiding, determined her daughters would have the same enjoyable experiences as she had had as a girl. He had watched on with jealousy as his sisters dressed up in their uniforms and went off weekly to participate in a wide variety of fun activities. He had begged his mother to let him go as well and after explaining gently to him that Girlguiding was for girls only, she sent him to Scouts instead. Soon enough the tables had turned though when Eloise became jealous that Colin did way more adventurous activities at Scouts and she forced their mother to let her change groups.

The result was that the family was fully entangled in the two movements. His mother the patron of Girlguiding and Daphne the president, and himself the patron of the Scout Association with Eloise the president.

When he had heard that the jamboree was taking place, he had asked Agatha if he could attend, since Windsor Castle literally overlooked the park. She had disapproved but still reached out to them and they had excitedly responded by asking if he’d like to participate in the opening ceremony. In amongst the planning, he had managed to get Daphne on board as well.

Danbury and his press secretary, Alice Mondrich came into the room then and hustled them into action, getting them out of the castle and subtly down into the park without much notice until they were stood backstage on the main stage.

“They’re asking if you’ll both wear the neckerchiefs?” Mondrich said, coming over with the cloth in her hand. “It’s a rule that the participants wear them at all times so it would look good if you do as well.”

They nodded and she handed them over with two very plain, boring woggles.

He held one up, “Do they not have something with the logo on it?” She shook her head, and he frowned at the dull thing. So, he turned to Daphne and asked, “Friendship knots?”

She agreed immediately while Mondrich frowned in confusion. Very quickly though the woman jumped into action, pulling out her camera as the two of them expertly rolled their neckers and draped them around their necks. Colin reached out, as was tradition with a friendship knot and tied Daphne’s for her, then she did the same to his.

They were introduced to the team of leaders in charge of the event and the two kids that had been chosen as presenters for the evening. After the greetings Colin reached into his pocket and handed both children a specially made badge that had his cypher and the jamboree’s logo.

“For your camp blankets,” he grinned, and they lit up, thanking him profusely and clutching them to their chests as if they were made of gold. Which he supposed for a Guide and a Scout, they were.

Daphne looked over at him, outraged once they had been left alone again, “Why didn’t you tell me you were doing that? I would have had some made up as well!”

He shrugged, “It’s not my fault you make a poor Guide.”

She folded her arms across her chest, “Excuse you, I was the best Guide, I got every achievement…”

She would have gone on to list all the badges and awards she had received but Danbury came over and said they were ready for them. They were each handed a microphone and after the two kids introduced them to the crowd they came out onto the stage waving. They took part in a few campfire songs then a comically large red button that Colin was fairly certain did nothing was wheeled out onto the stage. He and Daphne hit it together, declaring the jamboree open and after a few brief seconds, a fireworks display began.

They were guided off of the stage and soon in the car on the way back to the castle, watching the end of the firework show from the window.

The next morning, they were back out into the Great Park, being shown around some of the activities.

At the archery, the leader running it asked, “Do you want a go, Your Majesty?”

“Of course,” he grinned, rolling up his sleeves, tucking his tie in, out of the way. He accepted the bow she held out to him and took stance.

“I’ll bet you can’t beat me!” Daphne shouted over, striding to the next position and taking up a bow as well. They each shot a few times and, in the end, proved to be pretty evenly matched, much to the disappointment of the observing participants.

After that, at most of the activities Colin asked if they could have a turn, regularly requesting that the children themselves to show them about the activity if it didn’t require the instruction of a trained adult.

At the bushcraft activities, one brave soul, a Guide that couldn’t be more than eleven years old came up to him and nervously held out a badge, “Do you have any swaps, King Colin?”

He grinned and immediately pulled one of his badges out of his pocket, “You know, you are the first person to ask.”

He looked over the badge she had given him, her group’s special design for attending the camp and gave it to Danbury, asking her to keep it safe for him. That moment however opened the floodgates and soon enough he had a long queue of children in front of him, ready to swap their badges. Out the corner of his eye he could see Daphne looking on at him in quiet jealousy that she couldn’t participate as well, and he grinned cheekily at her as he shook hands, high-fived or fist-bumped and accepted a badge from each child until he’d run out of his own.

The next morning at breakfast the third newspaper that had been chosen for him to read over was none other than the very professional camp newsletter. Its major story was unsurprisingly his and Daphne’s visit the day before and showed pictures of them shooting at the archery, doing a few other activities and of him swapping with the kids. There was even a sweet photo of a group of the children holding their badges up like medals.

“You’re surprisingly good at this, you know,” Daphne said as she buttered her toast, raising her eyebrow at him as he grinned at the paper.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She shrugged, “You make people like you. You’ve always been charming of course. But…until recently I don’t think I ever realised how easily you can make yourself at home in a place, just by being friendly. This weekend you jumped straight into activities and were gleefully interacting with the children. I confess I have never done something like that. Had I been there by myself I might have shot an obligatory arrow when the instructor asked, allowed a photo to be taken, but I would have done so politely and gracefully and handed it back with a ‘thank you’.”

She took a bite of her toast and continued once she had finished chewing, “You, on the other hand jumped at the chance and it was your exuberance that inspired me to challenge you to a competition. You had thought ahead and prepared those badges for the children. As you said, I was a Guide, I have attended jamborees before, I know how high-spirited the swapping culture is and yet it did not even occur to me to prepare something. I didn’t even imagine I might be in a position in which it could occur. I expected a tour, a photo opportunity and to politely greet a few of the children.”

“Every single one of the children we interacted with yesterday will go home at the end of this week and boldly tell their parents that they got to meet the King. The lucky ones will get to show off their badges that you handed to them personally. They will have stories to tell and will sing your praises, because they saw firsthand that their alleged high-and-mighty King is nice and kind, and cares about them.”

He chuckled awkwardly, “I think you’re overthinking it Daph. I just wanted to participate.”

“No,” she said firmly, “Mama agrees with me. She said when you were at a hospital last month you enthusiastically volunteered to have your blood taken so they could demonstrate some fancy machine at work. That all the doctors, nurses and other staff were grinning, blushing and hanging off of your every word. It has been the same at every engagement we have attended alongside you. You don’t just stand there politely, listening to the speeches and act the diplomat. You participate, and let the people get to know you.” She took a sip of her tea then confessed, “It is not the way things are done but you make it seem like it should be. Mama and I are both very proud of you.”

He felt the heat rising up his cheeks and looked back down at the newsletter. Was that true? As he had said, he usually did these things simply because he wanted to participate. What was the point of listening passively? The places they visited were people’s livelihoods or their passions, it was much more interesting to take part, to share in that passion with them. Did that truly make him good at this?

*

His car pulled up at a boxing club. Alice Mondrich had briefed him on the place in the car. It was a charity started by an ex-boxer whose son had fallen in with the wrong crowd and had been arrested and sentenced with disturbing the peace and possession of a weapon. The man had felt lucky that it wasn’t too severe, but knew that if there was a next time, it could be something much worse, that there were other young men that for whom these things didn’t stop at that.

 He was introduced to the owner, a stocky man who looked like he could murder a man with his bare hands. His firm handshake seemed to confirm the matter. They took a photo in front of the entrance and quickly moved inside for the tour. There were a group of teenage boys on the other side of the room, dressed for practice, but standing in a huddle, chatting amongst themselves and straining their necks to look over at him.

“I started the club to encourage the boys to get off the street. Channel all that anger for something useful,” the owner explained as he showed off the facilities.

Colin smiled, “A noble cause indeed. I hate to think of all these bright young men wasting their potential because their circumstances set them up to fail.”

“Exactly,” the man blinked, clearly surprised that Colin, of all people, could be so understanding of the plight of these boys. What he didn’t realise was that Colin had already met many young men that for whom being in the armed forces had done the exact same thing.

They moved on and Colin caught a glance of his bodyguard, Will Mondrich with wet eyes and a soft expression as he looked around the gym.

"Are you well, Mondrich?” Colin asked.

The man’s expression hardened, and he shook his head, “I’m fine, Sir.” Colin raised an eyebrow and waited. Mondrich sighed and confessed, “I actually started out somewhere just like this, Sir.”

Colin’s face lit up. “Then you should talk to the young men!” He looked over to the owner who looked between Colin and Mondrich several times before nodding uncertainly. Colin clapped Mondrich on the shoulder then guided him over to the waiting group of boys watching them with untrusting, uncertain eyes.

“Lads,” the owner called out, trotting alongside the king and his bodyguard’s long strides. “His Majesty King Colin and...”

“Top royal bodyguard, William Mondrich,” Colin finished proudly. A murmur rippled through the group and even the owner gave Mondrich a double-take. Like that name was familiar to them. “You could listen to a boring speech made by me, out of touch to your situation and written by dull diplomats, or, you could hear from a man who has stood exactly where you are now. What do we think?”

The boys nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling as they looked up at Will in hero-worship. Colin smiled and stepped back beside his other bodyguard, Dunwoody, as Will uncomfortably cleared his throat and started telling the boys his life story. Dunwoody gave him an amused little chuckle and shake of his head, Colin just grinned back, overly pleased with himself.

“Can you give us a demo?” one of the boys shouted when Will had finished. In the few short minutes he had built quite the rapport up with the lads and they were hanging on his every word.

“Oh I don’t know,” Will said humbly, “I wouldn’t know who to spar with...”

He turned to look at the owner questioningly when one bold boy yelled, “What about the King?”

Mondrich, immediately back in bodyguard mode, went wide-eyed and shook his head fervently, opening his mouth to tell the boys exactly why that was a terrible idea.

“Lovely idea!” Colin boomed, stepping forward again. He looked at the gym owner and said, “Well then, why don’t you give me a lesson and then we’ll put your lesson to the test against Mr Mondrich?”

The boys cheered and soon enough Colin was stripped down to his t-shirt and wearing borrowed shorts and boots. The owner gave him an excellent lesson, to which all the boys hung onto his every word. They clearly respected him greatly and Colin couldn’t help but feel that these were exactly the people that he wanted to meet. The real ones that cared about others, that did good work and earned the respect of those it was difficult to earn respect from.

“You’ve done this before!” the man said when Colin followed his instructions exactly.

“I did a bit of boxing in the military,” he admitted, “But nothing to the level of yourself or Mr Mondrich.”

Soon he was climbing into the ring, and he couldn’t help but notice his press secretary in her husband’s corner, whispering to him like a vigilant coach. He smiled at their warmth.

“Don’t go easy on me Mr Mondrich,” Colin warned. “Right now I’m your opponent, not your king.”

This sent up a round of cheering and stomping from the group of lads, which was exactly what Colin had intended. The match was short and although Colin got in a few solid punches, he was easily outmatched and Will had him on the floor in minutes.

When the panicked bodyguard pulled him to his feet, apologising profusely, Colin simply grinned, turned to Mrs Mondrich, pointing to her and called out jovially, “I hope you got a good photo of that!”

As he climbed back out of the ring, he was swarmed by the boys, whooping and wanting to clap him on the back for being a good sport and subverting their expectations of him being stuffy and haughty. Now it was his turn, he realised, to talk to these boys and hear their plights. He used the moment immediately, asking them questions about the club and their goals for the future, listening eagerly and nodding understandingly when they were courageous enough to mention the troubles they had endured before they’d started at the club.

Somehow the conversation turned on him halfway through and they were asking him about his military career, several boys nodding eagerly when he talked about his experiences, as if that sounded like just the ticket for themselves.

“Do you have a girlfriend Sir?” one boy yelled out of nowhere.

Colin laughed in surprise and said, “Not at the moment, no.”

“Too many fit girls to pick just one?” Someone jeered.

“Uh, no,” He smiled, “More like it’ll take a strong woman to go out with me.”

For some inexplicable reason, Penelope’s face flashed through Colin’s head.

He brushed it off and steered the conversation away from his love life. Eventually Mrs Mondrich started wrapping things up, gathering the boys, the owner and Will for a series of group photos.

In the car on the way home he flipped through the pictures she had posted on the official Instagram account, smiling at the energetic shots of him and Will with the boys. He laughed out loud when he saw the excellent photo she had taken of Will knocking him down. It looked like a scene from a cartoon. She had then followed it up with a close-up of his laughing face showing off a bruise that had started to form.

When he arrived back to the palace, he made his way to his study, wishing to write in his journal – he now had two, one for his thoughts on the world and the country and one for writing enthusiastically about all his engagements, wishing to remember everything. But he stopped short when he opened the door and was not met with an empty room.

Penelope was sat once more on his settee, dressed today in a pistachio-coloured suit, her shoes kicked off and her feet propped up on his coffee table, typing away on the laptop on her knee. She didn’t even look around at the sound of the door. In silence he retrieved his journal from his desk drawer and sat down on the seat opposite her, flipping the page open and starting to write.

Out of nowhere after about five minutes she turned her laptop around to face him and said, “Look forward to seeing these two photos side by side everywhere for the next few days.”

He glanced at the screen and saw the photos of the hit and the bruise from the Instagram post filling her screen.

“Here’s hoping it brings more recognition and donors to the club,” he smiled, returning to his journal. She snapped the laptop shut and he flinched, looking up at her again in shock.

“You’re not supposed to let yourself get beat up you know, even if it is for a good cause.”

“Who said it was for a good cause?” He shrugged, “I just wanted the boys to like me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him then leant over to pick up a first-aid kit that he hadn’t even noticed was on the seat next to her. She extracted a slim package from inside, cracked it and gave it a shake. She came round the table and sat down next to him, reaching into his pocket and finding his handkerchief, stealing it without asking and wrapping her ice pack in it.

Tenderly she pressed the cold compress against his bruised face. His face barely hurt but he leant into her hand anyway. A part of him, hidden deep inside wished that they didn’t have the barrier between them and that he was leaning into her warm palm rather than the ice pack.

 She seemed quite focused on her task, inspecting his face and ensuring she was icing the part that looked the most painful. He happily allowed her to tend to him, enjoying the proximity that he hadn’t felt properly in years. He studied her eyelashes first, they were long and when she was barefaced, they were such a fair shade of ginger in comparison to her hair they were almost blonde. Now however, she was wearing makeup, and they were black and practically spiky and made the blue of her eyes stand out all the more. His eyes moved to her nose, and he could only just see the faint shadow of her freckles beneath the coverage of her foundation. He recalled all the times they had lain in bed, as he teased her by playing dot-to-dot, drawing the lines with the tip of his finger. They itched in that moment to move and do just that.

“You need to take care,” she said softly, breaking the enchantment that she had cast over him with only her presence.

“You don’t think that it makes me more rugged and handsome?” he teased.

“No,” she said with more sincerity than the moment required.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise,” he assured her. Her mouth twisted in concern and her eyes flicked to meet his, as if to be sure he was telling the truth. He lifted his hand to catch her wrist and leant even further into the cold pack. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“I thought I was supposed to stop worrying about you after you left the military,” she murmured, her free hand coming up to cup the other side of his face, fingertips trailing along his jawline. His heart hammered in his chest, and he unsuccessfully willed it to stop. His eyes flicked to her lips. They were only a few short inches from his.

He pulled his head back out of her grasp and forced a grin, “Didn’t you know I’m the most bubble-wrapped man in the country now. It would not have happened if my team hadn’t let it. In truth I think that Mondrich intentionally went easy on me.”

Her eyes flickered as his tone shifted to jovial and the expression behind them set in understanding. She grinned back, as forced as his was, “Of course he did, what kind of bodyguard would he be if he didn’t.”

“Is this care practice for when I win our bet and you become my wife?”

She scoffed, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. At this rate you’re going to lose. In fact, I’ve decided what my special prize is going to be.”

“The one for when they use your exact phrasing?” he confirmed, and she nodded with a teasing glint in her eye.  He waited and when she did not expand, he said, “Well?”

She smirked and said, “Ah but that would spoil the surprise.”

“You might as well tell me,” He insisted, “Because you are going to lose.”

“I’m not,” She said simply, “Trust me, it’s on its way.”

And, despite making a point of disagreeing with her, he did. No matter how much he secretly hoped she was wrong.

*

“Lovely to meet you,” Colin said, shaking the hand of the floor manager.

Today he was at a factory that made parts for washing machines. A rather dull tour to be sure, but the staff were friendly and enthusiastic. He walked down the production line, listening carefully as it was explained to him what each machine did and how each part was made.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded. An alarm that was very familiar to Colin’s ears. Panicked glances were exchanged and Mondrich muttered quietly to someone. Within a moment the bodyguard’s hand was on his back and he and Dunwoody were leading him out calmly but very quickly.

“What’s happening?” he demanded. They exchanged a glance with each other but did not wish to say. “Tell me!”

“It would seem that a fire has possibly broken out  somewhere in the factory, Sir,” Mondrich explained.

Colin stopped in his tracks. The two bodyguards were not having that and immediately put firm hands on his back and started guiding him out again. As they exited, he became aware of scared-looking employees evacuating as well. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a column of smoke rising from the other side of the factory.

The bodyguards led him towards the muster point, but he could see them silently debating if it would be possible to get him to his car and extract him from site altogether. That wouldn’t be happening. He was staying right here, with the factory staff.

He allowed himself to be led to the assembly point but once they were there he became like a caged lion, pacing back and forth, watching the smoke rise and the increasing flames flicker. It was a beast. The speed at which it had developed was not good. Surely the amount of machinery and chemicals in the building were delicious fuel.

A single fire engine arrived and the felt his toes itch as he watched the team jumped out and began to assess the situation. He looked up the road but couldn’t see another crew on its way. This was a fire that needed bodies to fight it.

He didn’t think. He pulled off his jacket, thrust it at Dunwoody and started to run. The two bodyguards called after him running behind him, but he turned back only long enough to shout at them to stay exactly where they were.

He arrived at the engine, and they all stilled in surprise as he pulled off his tie and threw it to the ground.

“King Colin…?” Someone started, wide-eyed but he cut them off.

“Flight Lieutenant Bridgerton,” he corrected, “RAF Firefighter. Any spare gear?”

They exchanged surprised glances, but without further arguing someone ran to the back of the truck and produced him a full set of spare turnout gear. He suited up immediately, stripping off his dress shirt leaving only his base-layer t-shirt, then kicked off his dress shoes. There wasn’t much he could do about the trousers but at least the gear trousers could go over them. He pulled on the boots and the jacket, secured his helmet and pulled on his gloves. He was pretty certain he’d managed to get it all on in about 100 seconds which wasn’t bad for a man who hadn’t done it in over three years.

He haphazardly threw his clothes into the passenger bench, out of the way and ran to join the team, who were huddled for the briefing.

“Ki- Lieutenant,” the crew manager said uncomfortably, “Your command?”

Colin shook his head, “Your crew, your command, I’m a body.”

The man seemed uncertain, like he didn’t want to be in charge in case the literal King was injured, or God forbid killed under his command but at the end of the day, Colin didn’t know these men. Which meant he didn’t know their strengths and couldn’t choose the right course of action for each man to keep them all safe and alive. The other man seemed to recognise this, nodded and started his briefing, calling out orders.

Moments later Colin was hauling hoses and carrying ladders, slipping into the team effortlessly. While a breathing apparatus team was sent inside, Colin found himself with a hose, working from the outside as it was just as important to cool the building to stop spreading just as much as it was to extinguish the existing fire.

Another crew finally arrived, and he silently smirked at the double take he was given several times as the new crew glanced at him, but nobody could look at a single man for too long when there was so much work to do. Mercifully, there were several crews on the scene soon enough and a real effort began to be made.

They worked tirelessly for over an hour, and Colin felt absolutely alive. This was what he was good at. He had started as a regular Army recruit when he was sixteen, dropping out of Eton against Anthony’s wishes, but he wasn’t particularly good at it and ended up being trained as a driver a year later when he was old enough to earn his licence. Shortly before he turned nineteen, he asked for a transfer to the RAF and soon found his calling as a firefighter. Most of the time he had been based in the UK, but he had been sent on a few tours abroad, firefighting in major disasters and war-torn countries. He always joked that he had been a terrible soldier because it was true, but he was an excellent firefighter.

By the time the fire had been put out the press had predictably arrived. As he took off the gear and replaced his discarded clothes, he could see the flashes of camera lenses glinting in the sunlight out the corner of his eye. Ignoring them he greeted every person he’d worked alongside, shaking their hands and thanking them for their hard work. It was heartwarming that almost every single one thanked him in return. One man from the original crew asked if they might be able to get a photo with him to put up in their station and he agreed readily, standing in the centre of the group and grinning.

As they started to pack up, he, the original crew manager, and the higher-ranking incident commander that arrived shortly after the second crew, all began walking back to the muster point. Suddenly he could once again feel the weight of the cameras upon him. He shook the two firemen’s hands one last time as they moved to debrief the fire marshal for the factory and he returned to his panic-stricken bodyguards. He very casually thanked them for holding his jacket. He shrugged it on and ran a hand through his hair then made a beeline for the crowd of factory workers, greeting as many people as he physically could. When they thanked him for risking his life he simply smiled and told them it was his duty as a firefighter.

Mrs Mondrich ran over as he was getting to the end of the crowd and murmured in his ear that he was obliged to take a photo with the factory manager and the fire commander. He nodded politely and finished his current route round the employees first. The photo turned into a frenzy for the press, cameras clicking like mad, journalists shouting questions and he could see a thousand headlines already, but he smiled and kept shaking people’s hands and he performed the job that he was expected to do.

When he finally dropped into the backseat of his car, pulled out his phone and caught his reflection in the dark screen he asked his driver, “Why did nobody tell me I had a smudge on my face.”

The man looked in the rearview mirror and with a sly grin said, “Probably because it made the photos look more convincing.”

He chuckled in agreement, wiped the smudge with his handkerchief and unlocked his phone. Several messages flashed up, but he clicked the only one he was particularly interested in.

Penelope: For christ’s sake Bridgerton I thought you were supposed to be the most bubble-wrapped man in the country now?

Penelope: Starting to think you attract fires just to make yourself look heroic

Penelope: I’ll never forget that kitchen fire you saved me from

Colin: I don’t think throwing a damp tea towel over a pan you put too much oil into is the heroic act you think it is

Penelope: I could have DIED that day

Penelope: Just grateful I had my spare fireman on hand

Penelope: #blessed

Penelope: But seriously YOUR MAJESTY!!! Keep yourself safe

Penelope: I really don’t want to stand at Gregory’s coronation in a few years because you’ve run into another burning building

Colin: I’ll do my best

He chuckled and flicked over to messages from his siblings, which were mostly a mix of exasperation and pride. There was a scolding message from his mother reminding him that his life was too delicate to still be running into fires. There was a message from Danbury that he marked as read but didn’t even deign to read. Curious about how they’d all found out, he opened social media.

He was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to have a personal account, the account he used to look through twitter in the morning was the official palace account, but he didn’t use his name, or his face anywhere and just lurked most of the time. He clicked on his name in the trending list and was greeted with a wall of pictures, many of which seem to have been taken by the factory staff before the press even arrived. Photos of him stripping off his jacket and running. Photos of him donning his borrowed gear (and taking it off again). And one particularly striking picture that was being shared a lot showed him working the hose, his face clearly visible, despite his helmet and the stream of water, focused, determined.

When he arrived back in the palace, Danbury was naturally waiting for him. He ignored her and started walking back to his rooms. She followed.

“Your Majesty,” she grumbled, “I cannot condone your behaviour today. Might I remind you that you are the Sovereign and not a petty fireman?”

“Except, Mrs Danbury, once upon a time I was a petty firefighter and if you don’t mind me saying, it’s a role I’m much better suited to than my current one.”

“But Sir…”

He stopped in his tracks and turned around to face her, “Mrs Danbury, I am trained to respond to such incidents, I couldn’t just sit on my hands and do nothing. Do you really think the people would prefer a king who cowers in fear or one who proactively protects them in every manner he is capable? It was a serious blaze, and they needed bodies to fight it…”

“And is that what you wanted Sir? To become a body?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” He said in monotone. He sighed and then tried a different angle, “Mrs Danbury, do you know that I’m also a trained first aider? Although I suppose I would have needed to refresh the course by now, but my point is; if you dropped to the ground right now, would you be so upset if I gave you CPR?”

 She didn’t respond at first, so he simply waited.

“…I suppose not,” she admitted finally.

“Precisely,” he nodded, “It is exactly the same thing. And at the end of the day, I was never in much real risk, I had PPE, I was not one of the people sent inside. The only true threat might have been an explosion. Which didn’t happen.” He looked her over then concluded, “And besides, from what I have seen public opinion is positive. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. Because it was the right thing to do, and the people recognise that.”

She still didn’t look particularly happy but said, “Very well Sir.”

He gave her a curt nod and continued on, returning to his rooms and getting a well-deserved sleep.

Chapter Text

“Cut it.”

“But Sir…”

“I said cut it.”

Those words had become Colin’s calling card in these coronation planning meetings. Cut it, scrap it, condense it. They were his bread and butter now. Thus far he had significantly reduced the military procession, rejected the need for a shiny new ceremonial uniform, cut down the VIP guest list dramatically and increased the guest list of representatives for many charities and even a select few of the general public.

“Sir,” another man interjected, “We really must object. We understand that you wish to reduce the expenses, but the Gold State Coach is really non-negotiable. It does not cost you…”

“No,” Colin agreed, cutting the man off, “It does not cost us anything. Beyond, the cleaning of it, the horses, the coachman. It belongs to me, so it is not an expense per se. But it is an extravagance. A great symbol of extravagance in fact.”

“Gentlemen, no matter how many times I reject your proposals you do not seem to understand my position so I shall speak plainly. A coronation, in theory, is expected to be a once-in-a-lifetime event. Hence the great ceremony and expense. Unfortunately, our recent track record has been less than stellar. Several months ago, I met an elderly gentleman who recalled my grandfather’s coronation from when he was a boy. This coronation, my coronation will be the fifth that single man will see in his lifetime. Which, as I’m sure you can all agree is not a great count.”

“It has only been a little over two years since the large majority of you were sat in this very room, making these very same plans. At least there was thirteen years between Anthony and Benedict for people to somewhat forget what goes into all this. Two years ago we did the gold coach and grand ceremony, and my brother made his vows. And now, two years later we sit here again because he broke those vows and wasted all that time and money.”

“It is my task… No. It is my duty to pull together the pieces he left shattered, and one of those pieces is to get through this coronation as humbly and respectfully as I can muster so that we do not incur the wrath of the people who believe this institution to be outdated and obsolete.”

“The only thing that actually matters is the moment I kneel before God and pledge myself to this country, the moment I am anointed with the holy oil, when I am burdened with the Coronation Regalia and finally, when I am crowned. That tiny moment in the middle of all these grand plans is the only thing that is non-negotiable. Everything else is frankly, immaterial. Be grateful of the amount of leeway I have permitted thus far because I am sorely tempted to cut the entire thing and have it with just myself in the clothes you see before you right now, the archbishop, and a single camera crew so you can all watch from the comfort of your own homes. Do we all understand?”

There was chastised nodding all round.

“Then what do you propose, Sir? Just a car would not be appropriate.”

“What about on horseback?” Someone suggested. “It still evokes the ceremonial, but it is…simple.”

Colin nodded slowly. “I’ll allow it. What’s the next order of business?”

*

“Knock, knock,” a voice said, and Colin looked up. Benedict was standing in the open doorway, a smile playing at his lips. “I knew you were right for this. I certainly wasn’t still at my desk on the eve of my own coronation.”

Colin let out a half chuckle, “I have been going over the order of the ceremony. Rather religiously. I am scared I’ll do something wrong...”

“You won’t,” Benedict said with certainty, “I didn’t. Anthony didn’t. Father didn’t. And neither shall you.”

“But that’s the problem, isn’t it Ben,” Colin said, rising to his feet and gesturing for his brother to come sit down on the settee. He poured them each a whisky and sat down opposite him, “I am not any of you, I am the failure son.”

“Perhaps you were a little young to remember how I was when I was in my early twenties,” Benedict said thoughtfully, “Or rather, perhaps distant. First you were off at Eton, then starting out in the Army; tucked away in your own little world... But I would argue that in some ways I was worse than you. Anthony too wasn’t much better. We all had our reasons, Col. For Anthony it was escapism, from,” he let out a breath and gestured around them, “well, from all of this at such a young age. For me, it was exploration of self. As far as I could tell, for you it was something of a bit of both. Running from something to try and find yourself.”

Colin inclined his head ever so slightly to acknowledge that he wasn’t far off.

“The big differences were that Anthony was very discreet because of who he was. I simply happened to run in discreet circles that flew under the radar of the press. Whereas you had the misfortune to fall in with a crowd that were loud and showy, and after years of getting nothing from Ant and myself, they had a field day with you. I know Anthony could be hard on you, but he was never truly unhappy with you Col. It was simply that he wanted you to find your way, his way. You’re not and never have been the failure you purport yourself to be. Look at how you’ve done these last few months. You’ve gone above and beyond, and somehow already managed to bring the monarchy back to a point where people don’t just tolerate us but actually like you.”

Colin shrugged dismissively, the tips of his ears warming up.

Benedict sighed and took a sip of his drink. After a moment of silence he said, “Did I tell you I have taken up painting?”

“No?” Colin said, shocked, “Tell me all about it.”

“Oh, well, I dabbled when I was younger, but it was a hobby that fell to the wayside when I started to fulfil my role as the heir presumptive,” Benedict began, dismissively, “But now that I have time for myself again, I have come to realise that it might just be my calling.”

“I’m happy for you, brother,” Colin said sincerely.

“Thank you,” Benedict smiled briefly, then he said, “You looked very happy, you know.”

“When?” Colin asked with a frown.

“At that factory fire a couple of months ago,” Benedict explained, “Well, perhaps ‘happy’ is not the right word for your feelings during a disaster, but, fulfilled. Because that was your calling, wasn’t it?” Colin didn’t respond, looking down at his glass. “I am sorry that you had to give it up.”

Colin shrugged, “It is not your fault that Anthony died.”

“Nor is it yours,” Benedict snapped, sitting up suddenly. “You seem to forget that, Colin. It is that woman’s fault. She killed Anthony and Kate by chasing them through the streets of London drunk behind the wheel. It was her jealousy, pure and simple that Anthony chose Kate over her. That was what killed them.”

“We were first on the scene,” Colin said quietly. “If we had got them out of the car quicker…”

“Colin…” Benedict groaned, exhausted, “They were gone before your crew even arrived. It was simply cruelty that they crashed near your base, that you were the closest crew to take the call.”

Colin’s chin quivered, his eyes watering, “He was my brother, and my king and I was sworn to protect him. For King and country, Benedict. And he died because I didn’t get there fast enough.”

“No!” Benedict insisted, sitting up and slamming his glass down on the table between them, “You did all you could! They were gone the minute she hit them! You got them out of the car before it went up in flames! You said yourself that if your crew hadn’t arrived when they did that car would have become ash. You were the reason we had bodies to bury.” Benedict clenched and unclenched his jaw with a sigh, “I know that it must have been hard, seeing him like that, something that you can never forget. But even if you cannot forget, you must let go. You have a country to reign over, his country, and he would want you to focus on that. On your duty.”

“I rather think he’d prefer that you focused on the country,” Colin quipped as he wiped his face.

“Probably,” Benedict agreed, “But if his love for Kate was as fervent as mine is for Sophie, I think he’d understand. The crown is yours now, Colin, and tomorrow it will truly be so. Father and Anthony, and, even I, although I cannot be there in person, will be watching over you. They will guide you, and even if you have forfeited your calling for this duty, I know you will be able to carry the weight of it.”

“I still hate that you cannot be there,” Colin muttered, plucking mindlessly at the edge of a cushion.

“It wouldn’t be right,” Benedict said softly, “I retired entirely from public affairs, which includes this. Plus, there is always the risk of it being seen as inappropriate; by birthright I have greater claim over the title than you and as I have already had a coronation, it could be seen as blasphemous for you to be crowned as I stand there before you, living and breathing.”

“I know,” Colin acknowledged, “I just…hate it.”

“Well, there may be one way I can be there with you,” Benedict said. He reached up and unclasped a chain from around his neck. On it, as a pendant, he had threaded a ring. He took the ring from the chain and turned it in his fingers as he spoke, “This was gifted to our grandfather by our grandmother on the day of his coronation. When he passed, she kept it secretly then passed it on to Father on his. Our mother did the same for Anthony, and then for me. I suppose I should have given it back to her when I abdicated, but I couldn’t help but feel that each man that came before us would have liked to pass it on directly if they could have. I don’t remember a day when I never saw it on Father’s hand, nor Anthony’s from the day of his own coronation onward. I myself only took it off after I had filmed that final speech as king. But as you can see, I couldn’t bear part from it fully.”

Benedict leant forward and held the ring out for Colin to take. Colin examined it, running his thumb over the design. It was a signet ring; the royal coat of arms intricately carved onto the surface.

“It is yours now, and I hope that one day, your wife, whomever she may be, will pass it on to your son as well” Benedict finished.

Colin, feeling the weight of the history of the ring, but also the support of each man who had worn it before him, slid it onto his pinkie and said simply, “Thank you.”

Benedict nodded then lifted his glass again and said in toast, “God save the King.”

*

Colin’s valet was helping him into his jacket when the knock on his door sounded. It was his old RAF uniform. Too simple really, even after he’d had it embroidered specially with the various emblems of Scotland, England, Wales and Northern Ireland. The thread used was a matching navy blue and the intricate work could only be seen if you were up close or if the light hit it just right, but it was absolutely stunning regardless. This had been his compromise for what he wished to wear. The committee had pushed for at least his ceremonial uniform if he didn’t want to wear something custom for the day, but it was something he couldn’t explain, he just needed to wear his regular one. He had seen so many important days in this uniform, including but not limited to Penelope’s graduation and Anthony’s funeral. It was a comfort to him, a second skin. He wore it on important days, and this day was the most important of his life. The embroidery was simply to transform it from a regular uniform to coronation garb.

“Enter,” he called, accepting the belt from the valet and fastening it around his waist. He wasn’t sure who it could possibly be. His mother and most of his siblings had already been by to make their theoretical curtseys and wish him luck.

“Hello.” Penelope said from the doorway, smiling fondly. He secured the belt buckle and strode over to her, pulling her into a tight hug. She let out a tinkling laugh and asked, “Nervous?”

“Of course,” he groaned, releasing her. His valet was holding a clothes brush and glancing nervously at his watch. Colin stepped back into the centre of the room to allow the man to do his job. Penelope however held out a hand and muttered kindly that the valet could leave. She stepped up to Colin and took her time brushing over his shoulders, down his sleeves, down the panels of his jacket.

“This is beautiful,” she commented, fingering at an embroidered thistle on the sleeve. “Even the uniform I’ve seen you in a thousand times is regal now.”

“And yet it’s still the same man inside,” he smiled, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes, smiling back at him.

“Exactly.”

“Are you going to wish me luck?” he whispered.

“You don’t need luck,” she said simply. She put the brush down and stepped back, inspecting him up and down. “Perfect.”

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Her lips formed a little pout like she was about to say something but then she sucked her lips in and let out a heavy sigh.

“There are so many things I wish to say,” she admitted, “But they all seem inadequate.” She stepped back up to him and hooked a hand around his neck, “As I said, you don’t need luck, but…just in case.”

His heart rate picked up as she stepped up onto her tiptoes and pulled him down to her slightly. She bent her head round and…pressed her lips firmly against his cheek. Disappointment washed over him. Instantly he was scolding himself that he couldn’t expect much more than this anymore but oh, how he wished that he could. Instead, he focused on the feel of her soft lips against his skin and that maybe just that alone could get him through today.

“Good luck,” she whispered when she’d lowered back to the ground and released him. She was still standing right in front of him and by force of habit his hands had settled on her waist, his thumbs rubbing her sides.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

A knock sounded three times on the door and Danbury’s voice called out, “Five minutes, Sir.”

“I better go,” Penelope smiled, stepping back out of his grasp, “I really should be at the abbey already. Better beat the crowd.”

He chuckled, knowing that she meant his entourage. With a final little wave, she departed, and he turned to the mirror to look over himself one last time. He took in his appearance and squared his shoulders, pulling at the hem of his jacket. He gave himself a reassuring nod and left the room.

 He made his way downstairs. The palace was in a flurry as he moved through it. Servants bustling about, security reviewing the plans, Danbury at his heel, making and taking calls, shouting to people as they passed. And he was at the centre of it, walking through like a ghost despite being quite literally the most important person in the room. Despite his resolution in his chambers only moments before, his stomach began to churn.

He stepped out into the courtyard and met with his small procession. In coronations past this was much larger, a carriage, and various mounted riders in front and behind, not quite a parade but still grand. Colin’s plans for a humble occasion didn’t allow for that so instead he, and four of his siblings (or rather, three siblings and a sibling-in-law) were to be riding alone on horseback down The Mall and along to Westminster Abbey.

Colin petted his mount’s strong neck, trying to somewhat calm himself and when he was given the nod, he climbed up on to the beast’s back. After a beat the others moved on ahead of him and the churning in his stomach increased. He followed at a slow, even pace and in mere minutes he was passing through the gates of Buckingham Palace, onto The Mall and out to the deafening roar of the crowds. He tried to force a smile but the feeling in his stomach was preventing him from allowing more than a grimace passing across his face.

He looked down at the crowds, the people that had come to see him. His people.

How long had they all been out here? Standing in the boiling hot July sun, waiting for his appearance?  He felt very sorry to them, they were undoubtedly hot, dehydrated, even sunburnt, they would likely have sore feet, and many would be getting jostled by the impatient with a poor view.

And there he was, indeed not in a golden carriage, not even in the safety of a car, but on horseback, still comfortable and looking down on them from on high. He pulled on the reigns of the horse. The procession ahead continued on but he stood there, still and silent, almost frozen in place by that horrible feeling in his stomach and the scrambled state of his mind.

He dismounted.

He glanced about and his eyes fell on Eloise, one of his outriders; Daphne and Simon formed the front quarter of the box that surrounded him, and she and Gregory formed the back. He caught her eye, and she questioned him with a single look. All he could convey that this was what he had to do. She gave the slightest of nods and he held the reigns up to her. She trotted forwards and took them, expertly guiding his horse away from the procession and back into the gates only perhaps a hundred metres back.

He looked round at the crowds from his position on the ground. All he could see was the flash of camera lenses glinting in the sun and the waving of hands. Perhaps there was confusion about his strange actions, perhaps not, but somehow, now that he was on the ground, on the same level as all these people, that feeling in his stomach eased.

He smiled, warmly, genuinely and turned back to face the direction he was supposed to be heading. Raising his head high, he rolled back his shoulders and started to walk. At first, he remained stony-faced, the dutiful soldier marching to his destiny, but then he recalled that conversation he had had with that old man, months and months ago. The one he couldn’t seem to quite forget. Was it on his very first day as king? He had met so many people since that day he couldn’t be certain, but he suspected it was that first day. The man had recalled the coronation of Colin’s grandfather, the man remembering specifically that his grandfather had made a point of waving at the children.

Colin turned his head left, then right, he couldn’t see specific people, he couldn’t register faces, there were too many, but he could see the continuous waving of hands. He tried again for a smile and found that this time, the expression spread across his face with ease. Then he raised his hand and waved. He turned his head to the other side and repeated the action.

Up ahead Daphne and Simon had finally caught on to what he had done and had slowed their pace. Behind he could hear Eloise on her mount, rejoining the group and like that, his family on horseback, and he, the King, on foot, walked to Westminster Abbey.

When they arrived, he was greeted by several officials quietly. The crimson and ermine Robe of State brought over and draped over his shoulders. His page boys arrived with it, and he greeted them enthusiastically, if silently. They took up position on each corner of the robe’s train and then the procession carrying all the regalia inside started and they followed, making their way up the enormous church. He supposed he was meant to look ahead and be stoic, but he couldn’t help looking around at all the faces that had come here for him and smiling politely to each of them as he did so.

Once he made it to the sanctuary, he settled in his Chair of Estate, clasping his hands in his lap beneath the robe and hoping that nobody could see the whiteness of his knuckles as he did so.

Once the choir ended their song, a boy, one of the choristers stepped up to him. Colin smiled warmly and the boy, with a clear, determined voice said, “Your Majesty, as children in the kingdom of God, we welcome you in the name of the king of kings.”

As the boy spoke, Colin took a small calming breath. Once the boy had finished his part, Colin, barely glancing at the cue card being held by the bishop next to him as he’d spent days pouring over every word he needed to say, and exactly when it needed to be said, responded, “In His name and after His example, I come not to be served but to serve.”

The Archbishop of Canterbury stepped up before the altar then and began his opening words. Colin could barely hear a word he said, so focused on his own next part. His pages appeared again, and he stood, stepping out from the chair and walking to face the East.

The archbishop called out, “I here present unto you King Colin, your undoubted king. Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?”

The congregation responded, “God save King Colin.” Recognising him as the King. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to face the South. The process was repeated three more times, South by a representative of the Order of the Thistle, West by a holder of the George Cross, then North, by a representative of the Order of the Garter. Each time the congregation recognised him, his heart did a little flip, as if he’d been expecting them to reject him.

He returned to the Chair of Estate and was presented with the bible upon which he would swear his oath. The archbishop stepped up to him and asked Colin if he was willing to take the oath.

Without wavering Colin responded, “I am willing.”

He reached forward then and placed his fingers on the bible, pressing his fingers determinedly into the leather cover. The archbishop continued, asking Colin if he would swear to govern the people according to the laws and customs.

“I solemnly promise so to do,” Colin said with a slight nod.

 “Will you, to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy to be executed in all your judgements?” the archbishop asked.

“I will,” he responded. Then he moved off the chair to kneel, bringing his other hand to the bible as well. He gripped it. Of course they had all been raised as Christians, the King was the head of the church of England, and they had to follow their father’s lead. As such, Colin had attended church dutifully his whole life, but it was the modern age, and he had felt disconnected from the religion. He wasn’t sure he would ever truly believe the way the Kings of old had, he certainly wasn’t convinced that he was chosen by God as his representative on Earth. Still, in that moment, on his knees, fingers pressing into the same bible that had been made specially for Benedict’s coronation, as the archbishop asked him if he would maintain the Laws of God and the true profession of the Gospel, he felt the closest to God that he ever had. Than he was sure he ever would again.

He had read the words that the archbishop spoke in practice a thousand times but still they all blurred together as he listened to each part, but he tried his best to hang onto every word and dutifully replied, “All this I promise to do. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep. So help me God.”

He bent forward and kissed the bible as expected, to seal that promise.

“Your Majesty, are you willing to make, subscribe and declare to the statutory accession declaration oath.”

“I am willing.” Colin repeated, he found his eyes locking onto the bible he was clutching, as if he was swearing straight to it as he recited, “I Colin, do solemnly and sincerely in the presence of God profess, testify and declare that I am a faithful protestant. That I will, according to the true intent of the enactments which secure the protestant succession to the throne, uphold and maintain the said enactments to the best of my powers according to law.”

The written version of the oath he had just made was brought to him as he moved back to a sitting position and he had to will his hand not to shake as he accepted the pen to sign ‘Colin R’ at the bottom. He took deep breaths as his hand moved, aware of the cameras broadcasting his every action.

The archbishop moved on then, going through various elements of the service that Colin wasn’t directly involved in. When he’d been rehearsing alone in his study, he’d read each and every part, considering the whole service to be of the utmost importance but now, all he could think about was the parts he had to get right, and he didn’t hear a thing.

When the ampulla was brought to the altar and the archbishop started to recite the prayer, Colin was brought back to reality. He listened with intensity and when the archbishop was done, and the opening bars of Zadok the Priest began, Colin stood and was helped out of the Robe of State. He removed his belt and handed it over, then unbuttoned his jacket and gave it up too. Finally, he unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt.

The screens had been brought out as he disrobed and he walked forwards, between them. Nervously, he perched on the Coronation Chair, at first only on the edge, like he wasn’t supposed to, feeling more than ever like a little brother playing at acting like his older brothers. As the archbishop walked towards him however, the ring on his pinkie caught his eye as he dug his fingers into his knees. The gold of it glinted, the crest almost twinkling. Benedict had said that their grandfather, their father, Anthony and even Ben himself were all sitting here with him through that ring and he supposed in a way that was true. Each man had faced a different archbishop and had worn different clothes, but each had sat on this chair, in this abbey, and worn this ring. In that moment, with the shared experience with those men he had looked up to his whole life he realised that this was, truly, where he was meant to be. He slid back, sitting on the relic properly.

The archbishop smiled kindly at him as the oil was poured out onto the coronation spoon. He dipped two fingers into the liquid and Colin held out his cupped hands, his realisation quelling their previous shaking. The archbishop drew the cross in his palms with the oil.

“Be thy hands anointed with holy oil.” He repeated the process, this time through his open shirt, making the cross on Colin’s chest, “Be thy breast anointed with holy oil.” He completed the process by drawing the cross on Colin’s forehead, “Be thy head anointed with holy oil. As Kings, priests and prophets were anointed. And as Solomon was anointed King by Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet, so be thou anointed, blessed, and consecrated King over the peoples whom the Lord thy God hath given thee to rule and govern, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

“Amen,” Colin whispered reverently, nodding to the archbishop. As each element of the ceremony passed, he could feel the heaviness in his chest increase, and his eyes watered. As if the completion of the various elements were locks, chaining him to his new role and titles forever.

The screens were removed as he stood, buttoning up his shirt once more and the priestly garments were brought forth for him to wear, the white tunic colobium sindonis, for humility and the golden supertunica for splendour.

He sat down once more on the Coronation Chair, remembering as he did so, now that they had reached that part, the significance of the very chair itself, a cradle for the Stone of Scone, the Stone of Destiny. No more than a block of Scottish sandstone, but the seat upon which the Kings of England, then Britain had sat upon after Edward I and all the ancient Scottish King’s before them. He was a part of that history now, over a thousand years of it.

The investiture began then, and the Coronation Regalia was presented to him one by one, The Spurs for chivalry. The Sword for justice and mercy, given to him then surrendered to the church to be placed on the altar in service of God. The bracelets for sincerity and wisdom. Then the Royal Stole, draped over his shoulders. The orb was brought next and as Colin held it in his palm, cold and heavy, the cross perfect and golden on top, he could feel the reminder that what was now his own kingdom is only one in the kingdoms of God. The ring was brought forward next, the wedding ring of England. Colin slid it on his finger, the covenant between himself and both God and the people. Then he pulled on the glove, to hold authority with gentleness and grace.

“Receive the royal sceptre, the ensign of kingly power and justice,” The archbishop said, passing the item into his right hand. Then into his left, “and the rod of equity and mercy. A symbol of covenant and peace. May the spirit of the lord who anointed Jesus at his baptism so anoint you this day, that you might exercise authority with wisdom and direct your councils with grace, that by your service and ministry to all your people justice and mercy may be seen in all the earth”

As the Archbishop turned his back, Colin looked between the sceptre and the rod in either hand, quite disbelieving suddenly that this was happening, that he was genuinely holding these sacred items, that there was only one more item that needed to be presented to him. How could he, Colin Bridgerton, third son of King Edmund truly be here, quite literally being crowned King?

He watched the archbishop’s back as he stood at the altar. The man took St. Edward’s crown gently from the cushion upon which it was being borne and raised it, reciting, blessing, “King of kings and Lord of lords, bless we beseech thee, this crown and so sanctify thy servant Colin, upon whose head this day thou dost place it for a sign of royal majesty. That he may be crowned with thy gracious favour and filled with abundant grace and all princely virtues through Him who liveth and reigneth supreme over all things, one God, world without end. Amen.”

He turned and Colin’s eyes flitted between the man walking towards him and the crown in his hands. He stopped before Colin, a solemn expression on his face but a smile in his eyes. He raised the crown high above Colin.

His pulse pounded in his ears and the archbishop’s arms moved in slow motion as they lowered the crown onto his head. He gasped involuntarily, feeling it’s weight. He had worn it already of course, practiced holding his head up with it, walking around in it, but somehow, sitting there, on the Coronation Chair in Westminster Abbey, upon the Stone of Destiny as the Archbishop of Canterbury himself lowered it onto his head as the Nation watched. It weighed ten ton.

He set his jaw as it tried to quiver.

“God save the King,” the archbishop called out reverently.

 “God save the King!” the congregation chanted.

Colin blinked, only once, long and slow. As his eyes opened, a single tear rolled down either cheek.

As the fanfare rang through the abbey, Colin really felt that should be the end. There he was, decked out in the regalia, crown upon his head. The act felt as though it should be done, and he wished more than anything that he could go sit by himself for a little while.

But of course, that was not the end. For why would his predecessors make it easy for him when they could draw out the service and ensure that there was a ceremonial element for literally every conceivable symbol of his new power. So, soon he was up and moving, at a snail’s pace with the crown on his head, over to the throne which sat opposite the Coronation Chair. There he remained, enthroned as he received homage from the archbishop.

Then Gregory stepped forwards. Only sixteen, skinny and awkward and far too young to have to take on this role, but there was nobody else. Somebody had to come forward to pay homage, he supposed Simon, or one of the other dukes could have done it, but it wouldn’t have felt right. Colin had performed the role for Benedict, as Benedict had done for Anthony, and now here Gregory was for him. His little brother knelt before him and his heart squeezed.

“I Gregory, Duke of York, pledge my loyalty to you, and faith and truth I will bear unto you as your liege man of life and limb, so help me God.”

He stood and gently touched the crown then bent down and kissed Colin’s left cheek. They smiled at each other during the exchange and blinked a nodding acknowledgement of support. Colin could see that Gregory’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. He doubted it was from the overwhelm that Colin was experiencing. He wondered if Gregory was instead sorrowful that another of his brothers needed to devote himself to the crown that none of them chose.

Gregory stepped back and the archbishop led the congregation in the chant of, “God save the king. God save king Colin. Long live King Colin. May the King live forever.”

Colin was truly struggling to hold back his tears further. He sighed a breath of relief as he returned to the Chair of Estate and was allowed to remove the crown for the communion and his equerry very subtly handed him a handkerchief as they did so. Colin briefly wiped his eyes then handed it back.

After the communion they went through into St Edward’s chapel and as soon as he was out of sight he let out a great sigh of relief and sat down, upon the nearest surface, still bedecked in all the finery and held his head in his hands. He took several shuddering breaths and when he looked up, several of the clergymen and aides that were there to assist him looked alarmed.

“Forgive me,” he said, forcing a smile, “I just needed a moment. It’s very overwhelming, I’m sure you can imagine.”

He stood up and allowed the various items and robes to be removed from his person. When his uniform jacket was brought over, his smile became genuine, sliding his arms into the sleeves and feeling comforted by the familiar garment. Then, the weight of duty returned as the purple Imperial Robe was draped over his shoulders and the Imperial State Crown placed upon his head. The procession began back out of the chapel and Colin was handed the orb and sceptre to carry down the abbey as God Save the King was sung.

Outside, his horse was waiting, and he eyed it uncertainly. Someone must have brought it round from the palace while the ceremony took place. He handed off the orb and sceptre again and the crown was removed to be placed in a transport box. Had he allowed the carriage, he would have been expected to continue to wear it so he was quite glad he had put his foot down if it meant he could give his neck a longer break. The robe was removed again and folded up over somebody’s arm.

Colin turned to his pages who were moving to step aside and with a wide, warm smile said, “Well done boys, you all did very well. Thank you.”

They looked sheepish but nodded with uncertain smiles. During the rehearsals he had spoken comfortably with the boys, gotten to know them so they knew he appreciated their small role, so it felt awkward to be so formal with them all of a sudden. He ruffled one boy’s hair, and the lad chuckled pushing his hand away. Colin laughed and then pulled the boy into a hug to thank him properly. The others surged forwards and formed a group hug. When they all stepped back, everybody was grinning and laughing and Colin reiterated his thanks, looking each boy in the face as he did so.

He was directed back to the road and his waiting horse. He stepped up to it and rubbed his neck a few times. He supposed he really should, it was strange enough that he had dismounted on the way there, but the discomfort in his stomach told him he really couldn’t do it.

“I shall walk,” he said.

“Sir?”

“I wish to march,” Colin corrected for their benefit, “It is a military parade after all.”

Nobody jumped to point out that there were several mounted regiments being represented in the parade, but he could see everybody thinking it.

“That is not what was planned, Sir,” someone said uncertainly.

“No,” Colin agreed, “But I shall do it anyway.”

The parade was still a great spectacle. He had managed to cut it down as much as was reasonably possible, instead of whole regiments there were a few representatives from each branch, but it still made for quite the procession. They moved slowly and as Colin walked, completely alone, he smiled and waved and greeted the people at their own level.

Once he was back in the palace he was dressed once more in the crown and robe that he couldn’t have worn as he walked (or rode on horseback).

“I’m not sure this outfit suits you,” Eloise said idly, turning up her nose as she watched his robe be fastened.

“I quite agree with you El,” he nodded, before lowering his head to allow the Imperial Crown to be lifted onto it. She pouted, clearly having intended on teasing him and disappointed that he’d agreed and cut her off in her tracks.

“I think he looks marvellous,” Hyacinth said enthusiastically. “I certainly think you’re going to make a more handsome stamp than Benedict.”

“Hey!” Benedict said in outrage. Although he couldn’t participate officially, he had made a point of being here to receive Colin and give him a massive congratulatory hug upon his arrival. Sophie, who he’d quietly married in a private ceremony a few months prior was also there and had given him a hug too. “My stamps looked great!”

“But you didn’t stick around long enough to see them printed,” Daphne chimed in.

“No,” he corrected, “The stamps were printed, it was the money that never went into circulation.”

“Good lord,” Colin muttered, thinking of his face on every bank of England note and every single penny and pound up and down the country. He hoped that most people nowadays used their cards and that he wouldn’t be in too many people’s pockets.

“I say the same thing I thought at Benedict’s coronation,” A voice from the door said. They all looked around and several excited greetings were called out at the sight of Penelope, “And at Anthony’s; it’s very unfair that when God was selecting His representative on Earth that He chose the Bridgerton brothers who are unreasonably handsome for their own good.” She came into the room properly and put an arm around Eloise who reciprocated immediately. She continued, mournfully “Not even a single bald spot between you.” She paused dramatically then finished, “But wasn’t that the point, I suppose…you all can make the crowns and jewels look natural, and do indeed look bloody good on a stamp.”

There was a round of tittering before the family greeted her in earnest, gathering her up in hugs and asking after her health. Colin however stood completely still, unable to surge forward and embrace her warmly as the others could, encumbered as he was by his crown. Once Hyacinth had released her however, she crossed the room and threw her arms around him. He hugged her back tentatively, unable to lower his chin or cheek to her head as he usually would.

She didn’t release him but tilted her head all the way back to look up at him, grinning widely, “You look very distinguished.”

“Thank you, Pen,” he smiled back, eyes the only thing facing downwards and wishing desperately that he could bend over and be closer to her.

“I fear I might lose after all,” she said quietly. He quirked an eyebrow, so she explained, “Those tears were very, very moving. I would be tempted to say they might defeat me.”

“The Crybaby King?” he asked. “I think I’d rather lose if that’s the alternative.”

“Hm,” she said with a slight shake of her head, “More in the region of sincere or tender-hearted.”

“King Colin the Soft-hearted doesn’t sound much better, Pen,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“And yet that suits you better than Colin the Destroyer,” she laughed.

“Colin the Conqueror, Colin the Impaler,” he suggested jestingly.

“Colin the Beloved?” she offered earnestly.

“We’re moving back into People’s King territory, Pen,” he pointed out. “I thought we were looking for a nicer way to say ‘crybaby’ so I can rightfully win.”

“Colin the Good, Colin the Kind, Colin the Gentle?” she suggested.

“How about Colin the Annoying?” Eloise added, moving closer to them and interrupting their conversation. “Why are we choosing a cognomen for you?”

“Because it’s fun,” Penelope lied, unwilling to explain the details of their bet to the entire family. She released him and stepped back.

“Colin the Hungry,” Benedict suggested.

The family, including Colin, all laughed, but Penelope rolled her eyes and said, “Well I don’t want to play anymore if none of you can take it seriously.”

The corner of her mouth was turned up though and as the conversation moved on, Colin wondered if she had only said that to stop the game and end their real conversation.

When Violet arrived in the room, she strode straight over to her third son and took his face into her hands. “You have done well.”

“Thank you, Mama,” he muttered with a small, teary smile.

“Sir,” Danbury said, interrupting gently, “It is time.”

He nodded and turned to the opening doors. The cheers coming in from outside were almost deafening. His eyes flitted over to Benedict, Sophie and Penelope, who had all stood over to the side, out of the way. His brother nodded in reassurance and Penelope beamed at him. He smiled back, genuine warmth washing over his anxiety as he met her gaze.

He looked forwards again and stepped out onto the balcony, to greet the awaiting crowd.

*

The morning after the coronation Colin rose as usual. The day was bright, he didn’t have any engagements, nor his meeting with the Prime Minister so once he’d finished his paperwork, the day was his. He felt light, almost bounding down to the breakfast room. Everyone was still in residence so for once the room was noisy and animated.

He greeted his family, and they called out to him and slid into his usual seat. It felt strange, sitting at the head of the table with his entire family either side, but he supposed that was always going to be the case now. The day before had more or less sealed the deal on that, he would have to get used to it.

He piled his plate high and took a few bites before turning to his newspapers. He unfolded the Observer, the Guardian’s Sunday newspaper first and quite unsurprisingly saw a large photo of himself immediately after being crowned, the tear tracks clearly visible on his cheeks, the two droplets hanging off his chin, desperate to fall. His face looked hard and pained and very much like he really didn’t wish to be there. He winced because while that was true, he didn’t want for it to come across like that, he was supposed to be stoic and serious and respected. That was how his brothers had come across at their coronations. The cutline read ‘Emotion overcomes King Colin as he is crowned at Westminster Abbey, watched by millions worldwide, yesterday.’

He put it aside to look at the Sunday Times. It showed a photo of him smiling from the balcony, the headline reading ‘A Crowning Achievement’. Scanning through the first few lines, its angle seemed to be regarding the success of maintaining tradition while being mindful of the circumstances that led to his accession.

Finally, he picked up the Sunday Mirror. Surprisingly, rather than from the balcony, it had a photo of him during the parade, smiling widely and waving at the crowds, unadorned in his embroidered RAF uniform. There was an insert in the corner of him in full splendour in the abbey as well, but the focus was most definitely on the other picture. The crowds could be seen behind him as he stood on level with them. The headline read:

King Colin I

A KING FOR THE PEOPLE

He had lost.

Chapter Text

Four Years Ago

Colin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and bobbed his head along, belting lyrics to the radio. There was a knock on the passenger side window and he turned around to see Penelope peering in the window with a quirk of her head and a growing smile. He turned the music down and pressed the button to roll down the window.

“Cab for a Lady Penelope?” he asked.

“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, leaning against the frame of the open window.

“Giving you a ride to uni.”

“I can get the tube like a big girl,” she told him defiantly, but the grin was still dominating her face.

“I’m sure you can,” he agreed, “But you only get one last first day as a student.”

“I could get a PhD,” she countered.

“And you probably will,” he acknowledged, “But indulge me and get in before you make me make you late.”

Her eyebrows drew together as she tried to unravel his phrasing, “I’m so glad that it’s me studying English and journalism and not you.”

“I can write!” he said defensively as she opened the door and clambered in.

“Sure,” she agreed teasingly, throwing her bag into the back seat, “But I think maybe stick to putting out fires as your day job, yeah?”

“You only say that because you like the uniform,” he murmured, leaning across to grab her seatbelt, crowding her so their faces were inches apart. He lingered there, waiting for her response. Her teasing smile was replaced with a seductive pout as she gasped in surprise, her eyes drinking in his face.

“Isn’t that the whole point?” she asked breathily, a hand subconsciously drifting to grasp his bicep.

“I dunno,” he said in the same low tone, “I quite like the saving lives part.”

He leant in ever so slightly, ghosting his lips over hers but not touching, not quite. She closed her eyes and tilted her head. Then suddenly Colin drew back, pulling across her seatbelt and clicking it securely in place. He had secured his own again by the time she’d realised what he’d done and come back to her senses.

“Colin Bridgerton you fucking tease!” She whined.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with faux innocence, “I’m just ensuring the safety of all my passengers so we don’t become statistics.” She scowled at him darkly and he took her hand, clasping it tightly with his own and kissing the back of it. With a proud sincerity that hadn’t touched any other part of their conversation he murmured, “Congrats on starting your Masters, Pen, you’re going to smash it.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Now let’s go before I actually am late.”

He put the car into drive and pulled out, immediately reaching his hand out for her to take again. She took it eagerly, threading his fingers with her own and drawing mindless circles on the back of it as he manoeuvred through the streets of London. He found a space impressively quickly and surprised her by jumping out of the car as well.

“What are you doing?” she asked incredulously as he opened the back door to get her bag.

He held out a hand, “Taking you to uni.”

She rolled her eyes but took his hand again and they walked together to her lecture hall as she told him about her schedule and the classes she was most excited for as he listened with soft eyes and rapt attention. When they came to the bottom of the steps into her building, they stopped and turned to each other. Colin tucked a stray hair behind her ear and slowly brought his hand to her cheek, trailing his fingers along her skin until he was cupping her jaw.

“Go be brilliant, Pen,” he told her quietly before bending down to bring his lips to hers. There was no lingering this time, no teasing, just the soft caress of his lips on hers as the whole world melted away around them. Penelope went up onto her tiptoes, winding her fingers into his hair. When he finally pulled back, he murmured, “Don’t you think that was worth the wait?”

She scoffed, shoving his chest and stepping back with a chuckle, “Why do you always have to ruin the moment?”

He grasped her wrist gently and pulled her back to him, smiling, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He slid her bag off of his own shoulder and carefully placed it on hers. He ran a hand down her arm and lifted hers to his mouth, pressing the lightest kiss on her knuckles, “Have a good day, Pen.”

She was still pouting at him disapprovingly but she sighed dramatically and a smile teased at the corners of her mouth, “You’re too charming for your own good.” She tilted her head, considering him, then relented and said sweetly, “Thank you Colin.”

He smiled and brushed his lips against her hand once more before releasing it and watching as she climbed the steps. Someone she knew called out to her and threw their arm around her waist excitedly.

“Your boyfriend is so sweet,” the friend commented, glancing over their shoulder at Colin still watching Pen’s retreating figure.

Pen laughed awkwardly, “Oh he’s not my boyfriend, we’re just friends.”

“Oh…” the friend frowned uncertainly, looking over her shoulder at him again. He gave a little awkward wave and retreated, leaving the complicated explanations to Pen this time. Once back in the car, he found himself for a few moments with his hands on the wheel and staring into the middle distance, mildly wishing there was no need for explanations.

*

“Colin…Colin.”

Colin was startled into waking by a slapping sensation on his bare chest. He blinked into full consciousness and looked up at Penelope who was whispering and waking him. As he took in her face, hair falling loosely around it, he could see terror in her eyes. He sat up immediately, very awake all of a sudden.

He rubbed a soothing hand on her back, “Pen, what’s the matter?”

“Colin, I think there’s somebody in the house,” she whispered, “I heard a noise.”

He looked towards the door and they both fell silent, listening. Moments later there was a thud somewhere down the hall. They exchanged a scared glance and then Colin was back to rubbing soothingly on her back.

“Don’t worry Pen,” he whispered, “It’s probably nothing.”

“Will you go out and look?” she asked, her voice shaking and nails digging into his arm as she clutched onto him.

“Of course,” he brought his hand to her face and rubbed his thumb over her cheek softly, “It’ll all be okay yeah?”

She nodded uncertainly and he climbed out of bed, finding a pair of joggers to pull on. He glanced around the room for something resembling a weapon and the best he could manage was one of Penelope’s stilettos. He opened the door gently, wary of it creaking and stepped out tentatively into the dark hall. He padded softly down the corridor and saw that the kitchen light was bleeding out of the ajar door. He raised the stiletto as menacingly as he could and placed a hand on the door.

He felt small hands on his waist and looked over his shoulder to see that Pen had followed him out. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she nodded in response to tell him that she was sure. He returned the nod and pushed gently on the door. He stepped inside, eyes searching around the room and leapt three feet in the air when his eyes fell on the other person in the room.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled in shock and behind him Penelope shrieked. He lowered his stiletto and doubled over clutching his chest, “Fucking hell. Pen, Pen! Stop screaming, it’s just Gen.”

She stopped and peeked around him to see her friend at her cooker, frying bacon. The other woman was standing there, hair a mess, makeup smudged, a tear in her tights and smiling sheepishly.

“Breakfast?” she asked, holding up her fish slice.

“Oh my God Genevieve," Pen groaned, clutching Colin’s arm and burying her face against it, “I thought you said you would be gone until Monday?”

“Yeah…plans changed…”

“What time is it?” Colin asked.”

“Almost half past six…” Genevieve offered.

He rubbed his face, “Christ, it’s hardly worth going back to bed, I should be getting up to go to work soon.”

Penelope rubbed his arm and said, “Stay and have breakfast with Gen, love, I’m going back to bed, I don’t have any lectures until this afternoon.”

Then they both froze, staring at each other as they realised what she’d called him. She cleared her throat, said goodnight to Genevieve and scampered off. Slightly dazed, he dropped into a chair at the kitchen table as Penelope’s flatmate served up two full English’s. He set the stiletto on the table beside him.

As she sat down opposite and slid his plate over she said with raised eyebrows, “You know, if you asked her to move in with you, you wouldn’t have to deal with these kinds of things…”

“Don’t start Genevieve,” he warned, “How many times do we need to tell you that it’s not like that.”

He could’ve sworn he heard her mutter, “Sure that’s what it sounded like,” under her breath but before he could demand what she meant, she said out loud to him, “Well, maybe it should be.”

He just sighed with a shake of his head and ate his food. Maybe, his mind said silently.

*

The sound of a clacking keyboard filled Colin’s sitting room. Penelope was sitting on the other end of his sofa, laptop perched on a cushion on her knee and her feet stretched out, resting in Colin’s lap. He sat with one hand holding open a book while the fingertips of his other hand ran up and down her shin, drawing patterns absentmindedly on her pale skin.

“Remind me when this essay is due?” he asked with a pout.

She smirked and looked up at him over the top of her glasses. She didn’t wear them often, usually preferring her contacts but every time he was blessed with the sight of her in them he wanted to squee and squeeze her cheeks which he was sure was a totally normal reaction for a grown man to have.

“Not for another two weeks.”

“So…you can take a break soon right?”

“Well no,” she replied, the smirk not relenting, “Because I have two more due around the same time plus an article for the Guardian.”

“I still have no idea how you fit in working part time for them around your studies,” he told her, watching the trail of his finger on her skin.

“Perserverance,” she told him.

“And if I persevere,” he said, running his hand to the underside of her leg and gripping her calf, “Are you going to take a break with me?”

She rolled her eyes and set her laptop on the floor before crawling up the sofa and throwing a leg over him to straddle him. Instantly his hands were on her hips, digging into her soft flesh. She took his face in her hands, and slowly dragged her eyes down it. He tried to lean down to her but she held him firm, studying him. Finally she stopped when her gaze found his lips and she leant in, pressing a single open-mouthed kiss against them before kissing up his jaw and gently taking his earlobe between her teeth.

“Pen,” he gasped, as her fingers moved into his hair and she tilted his head for better access to his throat and ear.

She leant over, bringing her lips to his ear and in a breathy, seductive voice said, “No.”

She immediately clambered back off of him and was back up her own end with her laptop on her knee again, grinning like she’d just won the London marathon. He groaned painfully, clutching his heart and slumping down like he’d just been shot as she chuckled. In the haphazard heap he’d slumped into he gazed up at her fondly as her eyes were back on her screen, her expression hard and serious and her fingers flying furiously over the keyboard.

He smiled. He supposed that even this much of her was enough, her hair tied in a messy bun, glasses perched on the end of her nose, dressed in one of his old t-shirts and a pair of pyjama shorts, laser-focused on the craft she loved. He was the luckiest man in the world to be the only one allowed to see this side of her.

He got to his feet, padded through to the kitchen and made two mugs of tea. When he came back through he passed hers over the back of the sofa which she accepted gladly with a beaming smile, taking a large sip before setting it aside and returning to work. He kissed the top of her head, resumed his original seat, lifting her feet back into his lap and picked up the book he had abandoned. The luckiest man in the world indeed. 

So why was there something missing?

*

Penelope was baking. Colin wasn’t certain she could even cook but she had commandeered his fancy kitchen that he only used once a week when he was feeding Hyacinth before taking her to hockey practice. A sport for which thankful he was not an eleven-year-old girl because his baby sister running around in a sweet little skirt with a hard wooden stick and a hard plastic ball was the most terrifying thing he had ever watched.

Although, Penelope baking was a close second. There was flour and sugar everywhere, including in her hair. She had already slipped twice, once in spilt milk and he had no idea what caused the other but he was starting to consider finding a mop and walking along in front of her with it.

“Why are you determined to do this yourself again?” he asked with a pained sigh as he watched her pick eggshell out of her batter.

“Because don’t you think it’ll be lovely?” she grinned earnestly. “Your mum’s literally a queen and wants for nothing, I think some homemade Christmas pastries is something she’ll never have wanted for herself but will appreciate greatly.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that, his heart turning to goo. She was too lovely sometimes.

“While I understand that, Pen,” he said softly, “I think this is a little out of your wheelhouse. Why did you not pick something simple instead of Klen…klen…”

“Klenäter,” she finished for him. “Because don’t you think an unusual Christmas treat is more fun than a plain old mince pie?”

“Yes,” he agreed, “And if this is a success I look forward to eating the misshapen ones you don’t want to give my mum but you can literally buy pre-made pastry and jars of mincemeat and it can still be a lovingly made homemade treat.”

“That’s cheating!” she gasped.

“Only for experienced bakers,” he countered.

“So you don’t have faith in me?” she asked, crossing her arms and pouting.

“It’s not that Pen,” he insisted, moving to her and holding her waist comfortingly, “I’m just scared you’re going to take yourself out the next time you slip.”

She sighed and looked around the kitchen, “It is a bit of a mess huh?”

“A little,” he agreed.

“Well…help me tidy up and then figure this out with me?”

“Of course,” he smiled, bringing his lips tenderly to her flour dusted ones.

They cleaned out her egg-shell infested first attempt then wiped down the counters and the floors before starting again. They started again and together produced a surprisingly successful pastry dough.

“Oh!” she said in panic, reading the next step “We’re supposed to leave it overnight in the fridge! We don’t have time for that…”

After a frantic google search they decided to try putting it in the freezer. Colin insisted Penelope go take a shower while they wait and washed the rest of the dishes in the meantime. When she reappeared, she was fresh-faced and adorable, her hair wrapped up in a towel and dressed in cozy Christmas pyjamas.

“Do you think we could heat the oil now?” she asked, checking the time. “So it’ll be hot by the time we need it.”

He shrugged and she decided that made the most sense, setting up a pan of oil on the burner. He watched, leaning against the counter and when she was done she stepped between his legs, running her hands up his arms so she could hold onto his shoulders.

“Will you dance with me tomorrow?” she asked dreamily. Often their family Christmases ended in Francesca on a piano and the rest of the family throwing each other around the room in spirited dances.

“You’ll be the first person I ask,” he promised, running his hands up and down her back.

“You have to dance with me until midnight, Your Highness,” she teased, referring to an old childhood memory.

He chuckled, “Until dawn if you’ll allow it.”

She pretended to think and then nodded.

“Should we get some practice in?” he asked, “So our feet don’t hurt as much tomorrow.”

He took one of her hands in his and started waltzing her around the kitchen. She grinned and giggled as they twirled and spun and he was entranced by her in spite of her plain, cozy attire.

Then, as he was triple spinning her under his arm, making her laugh harder and harder, there was a sudden whooshing sound behind them and heat filled the room. He instantly stopped her and turned to see a fire emerging from the pot she had but on the burner.

She shrieked and he immediately said, “Pen, Pen stop, calm down.”

He looked around the room, thinking quickly and calmly. Terrified and clutching onto him, she said “A damp tea towel right?”

“No,” he replied simply and pulled away from her, and promptly found a metal lid in the cupboard. He turned off the burner and carefully put the lid on the pot, dousing the flame instantly.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, rushing forward to pull him away from the cooker and hold onto him tightly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen, I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay, Pen,” he said softly, caressing her hair, “It’s out and neither of us were hurt. I should have remembered about it before I started to dance, I’ve seen enough oil fires to know better.”

“Maybe we should go get the stuff for mince pies after all,” she said pathetically, tears starting to run down her face.

He chuckled and wiped her tears with his thumbs, nodding his agreement. God, this was everything, he wished he could bottle it.

*

“Happy birthday!” Colin called excitedly, pulling the blindfold from Penelope’s eyes.

She frowned.

“You’re giving me a plane?”

He let out a brief laugh, “No, I’m taking you on holiday for the weekend.”

Her head snapped around to face him, eyes wide and round, “What?”

“Come on Pen, you need a break,” he insisted, “You work incredibly hard and exam season is coming up. Plus your dissertation is already taking up all of your time. I think a three-day holiday before the final furlong is in order.” He slipped his arms around her waist, bringing his mouth down closer to her ear as they both looked at the waiting plane, “Think about it, darling, sun, sea and you and me for three whole days.”

She leaned back into him and sighed, “You’re a terrible influence, Colin Bridgerton.”

“Don’t worry,” he hummed, “I made sure to pack your laptop in case you get a surge of inspiration.”

She turned in his arms and her eyes were unbelievably soft, “I…you’re the best Col.”

He found himself smiling as he bent over and brought his lips to hers.

“Let’s go though,” he said after they parted, taking her hand and leading her to the plane, “We do have a departure time.”

He helped her up into the passenger side and made sure she had her headset firmly over her ears. He walked around the small plane and climbed up himself, headset on, seatbelt secured. He started flicking switches.

“Wh-where’s the pilot?” she asked wide-eyed, looking around somewhat frantically.

“You’re looking at him,” he chuckled.

“What!?” she gasped, “You don't know how to fly a plane!”

He paused what he was doing and looked over at her incredulously, “I’m literally in the RAF Pen.”

“You’re a firefighter.”

“In the RAF,” he insisted.

“Don’t ‘in the RAF’ me,” she squealed, “They’re literally two separate roles. You have no reason to know how to do this.”

“Yup,” he agreed, “But I did the pilot training separately because I wanted to.”

“And your copilot?”

He chuckled, “We don’t need one in an aircraft this size.” He looked over and took her hand, “Relax Pen, you trust me to drive you in a car, don't you? You can trust me here too.”

Her tense expression softened, “I would trust you with my life Colin, you know that.”

He nodded and returned to the controls.

In the end she spent most of the weekend working on her dissertation anyway, but he was comforted by the fact that at least she got to do it on the beach. Plus in all the moments between her determined writing, her full attention belonged to him. He wanted to make sure it was a weekend she would remember. He only hoped they could do it again and again.

*

Colin was running late. Her exam was due to come out at four. It was quarter to and the queue in the ice cream shop was diabolical. But he couldn’t show up empty handed. This was their ritual. He joined the back of the queue and bounced on his feet, biting his nail.

The woman in front of him looked over her shoulder at him with narrowed eyes, like he was annoying her and he flashed her his friendliest smile. She blinked, disarmed. That gave him an idea.

“Excuse me,” he said warmly, “This might seem rude, but how would you feel about letting me jump the queue.” Instantly he could see her guards going back up so he hurried on, “It’s only, it’s my girlfriend’s…” an exaggeration but it worked better for the story, “Final exam today, ever. And she’s due to come out in,” he made a show of checking his watch, wincing painfully, “Ten minutes. I promised her I’d be waiting at the door with her favourite ice cream – it's kind of our thing…”

Which was actually true. Every time she’d had a significant ‘hard day’ he made sure to end it with an ice cream and laughter. It started when they were fifteen. She’d done her obligatory 2-week work experience placement with the Guardian. How she’d managed to secure that high-profile job he’d never known but he’d been impressed with her all the same. He’d come to meet her excitedly afterwards and she’d ended up crying into his chest that it had been very hard and very scary and that she hadn’t wanted to go back.

Once her tears had dried, he’d dragged her to the nearest ice cream shop and bought her the biggest cone he could to make her feel better. After that it became the standard after any significant ‘big day’. Her last day of school, the first day of her internship at the Guardian two years later, her first day of uni, after the first exam she ever sat and after the last exam of each year since. Whether she wanted him there or not, he would be outside the building with an ice cream cone and a warm smile. Every time.

And he wasn’t about to let this be the first time he failed.

“I’m sure,” he continued, “You can understand the heart of a man hopelessly in love, who doesn’t wish to let his sweetheart down?” The woman was softening but still didn’t look convinced. He lowered his voice and confided a lie, “Actually I’m going to propose to her today, I need it to be perfect.”

“Oh, all right then!” she said stepping aside, exasperated but smiling wistfully.

He managed to sweet-talk three more people into letting him in front of them and was, five minutes later, flat-out sprinting to the exam hall with two ice creams. Just as he arrived, the doors opened, and a flood of students started pouring out. He was breathing heavily but he went up on tiptoes to find her red hair.

As she emerged, the knot in his chest untwisted and watched as she walked out, her nose buried in the notes she would likely have been studying right up until the moment she would have had to abandon her bag at the door and take her seat. As her eyes skimmed the pages, her face softened with each word, happy that she’d answered well.

She finally looked up, her head immediately glancing round. When her eyes fell on him, her face lit up and she bounded over, holding her hand out for the ice cream expectantly. He handed it over wordlessly then allowed himself to be pulled down with her free hand, so she could press her lips to his.

“Thank you,” she grinned then turned her attention to the ice cream, walking off with it happily. He followed immediately, licking the drip cascading down the side of his own cone and slipping his hand into hers, listening attentively as she started telling him every detail of her exam. He could listen to her like this for a lifetime.

*

Colin took one last look in the mirror, pulling down the hem of his jacket, straightening out what was already straight. He picked up his hat and put it on his head. Then looked into the mirror and took it off because it was overkill. He gathered up his phone, his wallet, the card and gift he’d bought her and readied himself to leave. His hat was staring at him across the room.

He recalled the day she’d admitted to thinking he looked handsome in his formal uniform. They had met up for lunch and he’d just come from an open day at the station, dressed in his best. Her eyes had roved over him during the meal and when he’d asked why she was looking at him like that she’d confessed with the prettiest pink blush across her cheeks that it was hard to focus on him when he was dressed like that.

Surely the hat made the uniform, no? He strode across the room and tucked it under his arm. At the very least he could take it with him, he didn’t have to wear it.

He headed straight to the hall after he had his driver stop off at the florist, he’d put an order in last week and collected the enormous bunch of congratulatory flowers he’d asked for. At the last moment he pulled his hat onto his head and filled his hands with the gifts so he couldn’t change his mind.

The courtyard was busy with people. There were several like him, he was sure, friends, boyfriends, extended family who couldn’t attend the main ceremony due to limited ticketing per graduate but still wished to celebrate with their loved one. He stood on the other side of the courtyard, out of the way, but made a point of being within line of sight of the doors so he might spot her when she came out.

He had timed it perfectly and didn’t have to wait long before a stream of graduates in gowns surged from the entrance. His eyes caught a flash of red hair, and he grinned, opening his mouth to shout for her. At that exact moment however, her own eyes caught on him, her face lit up and she waved happily across the courtyard. She murmured something to the friend she was walking out with and then left her, pushing past her fellow graduates. When she was clear of the crowd, she broke out into a run and he found himself walking toward her as well, as if they were being drawn together. When she was getting close, she didn’t slow and his body reacted before his mind realised what was happening, his arms coming out to catch her as she jumped through the air at him.

As he caught her, he couldn’t hold the flowers any longer and they tumbled out of his grip but holding onto her was so much more important than some measly flowers.

“Hi,” she gasped, her forehead touching his.

“Hi,” he replied, just as breathless as her despite the fact he hadn’t done any running. His instincts were pushing him to kiss her. It wasn’t a want but a need, an urge to feel the press of her lips against his. Rational thought reminded him that he shouldn’t, they weren’t really together, not like that. Her family would be out soon and there was no use in causing misunderstandings. Still, he tilted his head to make the connection.

And she said, “You came?”

He shoved the feeling down and grinned, “Of course. I’ve seen every late night, every essay, every cram session. It would be madness if I didn’t come to congratulate you!”

In truth he had booked the day off for leave the moment she’d told him the date. This was the most important day of her life so far and it was imperative that he be by her side.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, her voice low, her grip around his neck tightening.

“Penelope! There you are!”

They both gasped, the electricity that had been buzzing between them had made them blind to where they were for a moment. He gently put her down and revelled in the brush of her body against his as he did so. She turned to greet her mother and sister who had made their way out from the audience gallery, and he swept up the abandoned flowers.

“Prince Colin!” Lady Featherington said suddenly, “How lovely to see you!”

“You as well Lady Featherington,” He greeted uncomfortably.

“Are those for Penelope?” she asked with an excessive sweetness that made him squirm.

“Uh,” he looked down at the flowers in his hand, “Yes…yes they are.” He looked at his friend again and held them out with a polite smile, “Congratulations.”

She took them with a shy smile, hugging them to her chest.

“I have more,” he confessed, taking the card from inside his jacket pocket and handing it over first. With a cheeky little grin, she accepted it gratefully and extracted the card, her eyes softening when she read the words inside.

“Thank you,” whispered meaningfully, looking up at him, tears forming in her eyes.

“What is it?” Her sister Philippa asked, looking over Penelope’s shoulder to read the inscription. Penelope snapped the card shut.

“It’s just a kind note of congratulations,” she told her sister, shoving the card back into the envelope.

“And finally,” he said, pulling the little box out of his back pocket. He snapped the lid open and extracted the contents, asking Lady Featherington to hold the box. Gently he took Penelope’s hand and turned it over, palm up. He drew the item around her wrist and clasped it carefully. He ran his thumb over the secured clasp before turning her hand over again to allow her to look at it. He took half a step back, once again pushing down the urge to have kissed her inside wrist instead of simply running his thumb along it.

“Oh Colin,” she sighed, examining the exquisite aquamarine tennis bracelet. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

She pulled him into a hug, her arms holding tightly onto him in a manner he was certain he was reciprocating in equal measure, his face buried into her hair. When they parted they smiled meaningfully at one another then they turned to her family who were watching on in amused interest.

“Shall we take some photos then?” Lady Featherington said jovially, her hand automatically reaching for Penelope’s new bracelet, examining it with a curious eye. Penelope nodded happily and turned to her sister, moving to stand together for the photo. Lady Featherington raised an impressed eyebrow at Colin then politely ordered him to go stand in the photo. As he grinned at the camera, his hand solid on Penelope’s back he only wished that he could be there for every single moment for her.

*

The curtains weren’t shut properly. Colin knew this because despite being thick, heavy and practically blackout, there was a single line of perfect sunlight streaming in. It cut across the room and the middle of his bed and had made its way across the fair skin of Penelope’s back. He gently placed a finger on the line and ran his finger over it in a zig-zagging wavy line, like his finger was dancing along it. She shifted her head, and her eyes opened, looking up at him fondly as he focused on the path of his finger, mapping the freckles and tiny moles visible in that tiny sliver of skin.

“Good morning, love,” she said sweetly.

“Good morning,” he smiled. His finger had reached the end of its path, and he lay his entire hand over her back instead, wanting to feel her warmth beneath his fingers for as long as possible. His eyes shifted to meet hers and his heart raced the way it always did when he looked at her, or more accurately, when she looked at him. His soft eyes drank her in and without prompting the words, “Do you think we should take the next step?” fell out of his mouth.

She stilled, tensed. She pulled away from his touch, moving into a sitting position, a hand grasping the sheets to come with her and cover herself from him. She stared at him for a long moment, blinking in confusion.

“What step?” she asked.

He shrugged, “This – you and I – we’ve been messing around for nearly two years. I can’t help but think that the next natural step is to date officially.”

“To what end?” she asked, guarded, “Do you not like our current situation?”

“I like it very much,” he chuckled disbelievingly, “Which is why I think we should consider what’s next.”

She seemed to swallow uncomfortably and said, “But this works. Don’t you know not to fix something that isn’t broken?”

“So, you don’t want to date then?” he asked, shrinking in on himself.

“I- no, I’m not saying that,” she said quickly, “I suppose, I’m just surprised. This all feels a little out of the blue, and I want to understand what thinking got you here.”

He gave a timid little shrug and looked over to the wall, inspecting the wainscoting with feigned interest as the edges of his vision blurred with moisture. He blinked the building tears away, reminding himself that she hadn’t outright rejected him. It frustrated him how quick he was to tears. His mother had always called him sensitive, the boys at Eton had called him a crybaby.

He needed to think rationally. His feelings had blurted the words out, but Penelope was asking for the thoughts that led to the feelings. He tried to unjumble them, sitting there for a long time, sorting each one individually. When he’d started in the army, he had begun a journal. Originally, it had been simply something he could refer to when he was writing to someone, or calling them, so he could tell them how he was doing, and about the training he was receiving. A tool so he could recall all the details and explain with accuracy about the little things. Soon enough however he found he rather enjoyed it. The act of putting pen to paper and unscrambling his thoughts and feelings was cathartic and helped him understand himself. In that moment he wished he had the luxury of mulling over his thoughts on the page, but Pen was waiting so there wasn’t the time.

“I…” he tried before he was sure, “I think I know that I like you, and I know that I like having sex with you. Every relationship I’ve had with other women hasn’t felt right. It’s not…comfortable, or, or natural the way it is with you. So, I suppose if I like you and sex with you, and am comfortable with you, then I think starting a relationship with you makes sense.”

She nodded understandingly, “That does make sense. But…do you think a relationship with each other would be the right thing because it's comfortable or because you want to be with me? Like, go on dates and buy me flowers because you want to? Because you want romance with me, because of love? Or would you simply do those things because that’s what a boyfriend does? Because you think we make a good match and could be comfortable together?”

He pondered this for a moment then with difficulty said, “Both? I would want to romance you because I was your boyfriend. Not because of the obligation of the title but because as the holder of the title I would wish to shower you with affection.”

“Right,” she said slowly, picking at the sheet, “But my point is, you don’t want to do those things now? You would only wish to do them because we were together?”

His head was spinning, “Yes?”

She let out a somewhat defeated exhale though her nose, eyes shut. Then she looked up with a deep inhale and nodded assuredly.

“Here’s how I see things between us,” she said confidently, “We are very good friends, the best, truly, and sex with each other is fun and exciting. But as far as I can see, that’s all it is. I understand where you’re coming from, I do, because you’re right, I think that becoming a couple would be…easy for us. But I don’t know about you, Colin, but I don’t want easy. I want passion and romance, and…” she rolled her eyes at herself and finished, “True love. We aren’t that for each other, we’re safe and comfortable.”

She was right. Except it made his heart ache because he so desperately wanted her to be wrong.

“And we’re only twenty-one,” she added, “We’re so young right now. I’ve only just finished uni. You’ve not even started doing the diplomatic side of being a royal yet. It’s too early to look at the safe, comfortable, easy person and say, ‘let’s make a go of it’. If we were having this discussion ten years from now, when we’ve had more relationships, more experiences, if we’d already loved and felt heartbreak then yes, I think this would be a prudent discussion but right now? I’m not so sure.”

“So, it’s a no?”

“I think so.”

He sighed and nodded. There was an uncomfortable silence as they both settled into that understanding. That single shaft of light was now cutting in the space between them and despite the empty feeling that had been building inside of him through the course of the conversation he wanted to laugh at the cruel poignancy of it. Ten minutes ago it had been hope and light and Penelope and now it was nothing but a barrier between them. 

“Do you think…” he started then cut himself off. She cocked her head and waited so he just said it, “Do you think that we should end it altogether then?”

She blinked in surprise, “Why?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “If it’s not going anywhere then what are we doing? Messing about until the right choice comes along? What if we miss the right choice because we’re still standing in this middle ground together?”

“I see your point,” she agreed.

“Surely, it would be better to return to being only friends so we’re not confusing ourselves or wasting each other’s time?” he finished. In the back of his mind he also wasn’t certain that he could continue knowing that it could never be more now that he’d considered that as an option.

She clenched her jaw and nodded, voice monotone, “Yeah. You’re right, I think that would be for the best.”

“So, this is the end?” he asked, and she nodded again. He held out a hand to her, “Friends?”

She smiled ruefully and took his hand, shaking it firmly, “Friends.”

Forever, he supposed, was an impossibility after all.

Chapter Text

Colin’s car arrived at the restaurant and Dunwoody opened the door the moment it stopped. Colin stepped out and walked inside, his car pulling away again. He nodded at the other two bodyguards on the door and followed Dunwoody’s direction around the restaurant into a private room. He dropped down into the waiting chair and thanked his bodyguard, dismissing him.

“Have you ordered?” he asked Penelope. His eyes skimmed over her, taking in her fitted emerald green dress that accentuated her curves and made her red hair, which she’d braided back into a ponytail, glow. He could tell that she had applied very natural makeup, with a soft pink lipstick that made her lips look like they were carved from the sweetest marshmallow. Immediately he brushed that thought off as hunger but still smiled as he appreciated how pretty she truly was, especially since she didn’t have Portia dictating her fashions anymore. Although he would be called a liar if he said he didn’t adore all the frilly, frothy yellow gowns that Portia had forced her youngest daughter into when she was a girl. She had been far too cute back then for him to agree with her own assertion that the dresses had been ugly as sin. Yet, the cuteness of the little girl was nothing compared to the confident woman in front of him, the one who knew herself, inside and out and wasn’t afraid to be that person.

She stirred her drink with the tiny straw and instead of answering him just said, “You’re late.”

He took that as a ‘no’ and lifted the menu in front of him, flipping it open, “I was actually perfectly on time, but Dunwoody wasn’t happy and wanted to do extra security checks. My driver circled the block four times until he gave the all-clear.”

“I have a date after this Col,” she whined, “I can’t be late!”

He froze then let his eyes flick up from the menu. He took in her appearance again and realised that she was pretty dressed up just for lunch with him. He bristled childishly disappointed, “You have a date after a lunch date?”

She waved her hand dismissively, “This is a lunch meeting not a lunch date. Besides, he’s taking me to the Natural History Museum so it’s fine that I won’t be hungry.”

“This is a first date?” he asked casually, picking at the edge of the menu. She hadn’t mentioned to him before that she was seeing anybody. Had she?

She averted her eyes and bit her nails, “Yes?”

He closed the menu and dropped it on the table, leaning both elbows against the surface and dropping his face into his hands. “What’s the real number Pen?”

She shrugged, “Like, seven, eight?”

He scoffed, “And how did the other six or seven dates go? Where did he take you?”

“They were fine…”

“That’s reassuring,” he cut in, irritably.

“And…” she cleared her throat, “We’ve been to the Museum of Zoology…”

Now he threw his head back and laughed, “Wow this guy sounds like the real deal. I can hear wedding bells. What’s next, the Croydon Natural History and Scientific Society Museum?”

Her face flushed.

“Pen!” he exclaimed, delight starting to fill him, “There’s no way he took you there before the Natural History Museum?”

“No!” she said insistently, “We did go to the Natural History Museum on the first date! It's just…there’s a new exhibition so we’re going back…”

“Oh Pen, please tell me he’s taken you to dinner at least once,” he giggled.

“Of course,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “But he’s a scientist, it interests him, so tease all you like.”

“Pen that’s like you taking him to the British Library and the British Printing Museum as date ideas.”

The flush in her face changed from pink to scarlet.

“Pen…” he groaned, “You didn’t?”

“No!” she squeaked, “But he did take me to the library.”

Colin snorted with laughter and dropped his face onto the empty side plate centred in his place setting. He was still giggling into the plate when their waiter walked in, eyes round in alarm. Colin shot up and had to clamp a hand to his mouth as the man cleared his throat uncomfortably and stepped into the room. Colin couldn’t look in Penelope’s direction lest he burst into another round of giggles while he ordered his food and the waiter all but ran out to escape the mad king in his private dining room.

“I hate you,” she muttered, pouting after Colin had composed himself. “He’s a really nice guy.”

“I’m sorry Pen,” he promised, completely sincere, “You just caught me off guard. I understand a museum visit or two but, surely you expected him to mix it up after a while?”

She shrugged, dejected. He reached out across the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing it.

“I’m sorry Pen, truly,” he said again, “I swear I’ll no longer make fun of your boring scientist boyfriend.”

“Colin!” she whined.

“That was my last dig,” he swore. “Let’s move on. Tell me then, what are your prizes? The Damehood will have to wait a bit but I can make a start on the Royal Warrant.”

Her smile returned and she sat up excitedly, “I thought about this long and hard, and I decided to go for one with maximum strangeness.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” he said warily.

“It’s a really common brand,” she insisted, “It’s just odd for you to endorse.”

“Please don’t hold me in suspense,” he groaned.

“Charlotte Tilbury!” she said excitedly.

“…The makeup brand?” he asked warily.

“Yup,” she replied with emphasis.

“I really thought you would pick a bookshop or something,” he admitted.

“Well, I thought about something that I really cared about first,” she explained, “But the more I thought about it, the more I considered that it was a bet and as the stakes were high on your side, I’d be better picking something that didn’t quite make sense for you if you lost. Which is how I landed on a makeup brand. After that it was a matter of picking a UK based company.”

“I see,” he said doubtfully, “Well, I suppose Daph will probably be happy about this turn of events.”

She grinned, “All the more reason for me to be satisfied with my pick.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “Charlotte Tilbury it is. And your special prize?”

“Well,” she said, unhooking her handbag from the back of her chair and dropping it into her lap. She opened the flap with great drama and extracted a slim black box. She slid it across the table. Colin lifted the box and flipped the lid open. Inside was an exquisite aquamarine and diamond tennis bracelet.

“The bracelet I bought you for your graduation?” he asked in confusion.

She nodded, a sly smile spreading across her lips, “I would like the King for the People to buy me matching earrings.”

He looked down at the box, then back up to her, frowning, “Is that all?”

Her mouth fell agape, and she asked indignantly, “What do you mean ‘is that all?’ I looked up how much they would cost, and it wasn’t cheap!”

“No,” he agreed, “But don’t you think you’re thinking a little small in your victory?”

“Are you really trying to convince me to extort more from you?” she snorted.

Colin grinned and took the bracelet out of the box. He reached across the table and took Penelope’s hand in his before turning it over and clasping the bracelet around her dainty wrist. When he turned her hand back over again, he ran his thumb over the jewels. Suddenly he was drawn back to the day he had gifted her this bracelet, recalling that he had done almost the exact same thing then. Was his heart beating as fast then as it was now? Something told him it was.

“Alright,” he nodded, watching the way the gems sparkled as she withdrew her hand and lifted her glass, “Deal.”

*

Colin was at breakfast when Danbury came in. That was his first hint that she was scheming. Usually, she waited until he was in his study before she ambushed him with schedules, speeches and scoldings. He folded his newspaper obnoxiously slowly and spent at least five minutes filling out his journal, stopping more than once to look into the distance and go ‘hmm’ to himself.

When he closed the journal and greeted her finally, she said dryly, “Are you quite finished Sir?”

“I think so,” he said cheerily, “What can I do for you Danbury?”

“I have had several meetings with your advisors, with the Prime Minister, with several Lords and with the Queen Mother and the general consensus is that it is time for you to consider the future of the Crown.”

“Speak plainly Danbury,” he sighed, withholding an eyeroll.

“Heirs, Your Majesty,” she clarified. “Without them the Crown cannot survive.”

“I have many heirs,” he said defiantly, “I have not only a little brother, but four younger sisters.”

“Indeed Sir,” she nodded, “But none of those five younger siblings have issue of their own and most importantly, neither do you.” He waited. “It is the belief across the board that it is time for you to take a wife.”

“Ahh,” he said, leaning back in his chair like he’d just had the most satisfying drink in the world.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and made a show of unlocking it, flicking through pages and reading intently. In reality what he was looking for was on the home page but relished in the drama to annoy her. He set the phone down on the table and gave a round of applause.

“I’m impressed, Danbury,” he said when he was done. “I had bet on about six months after the day of the coronation. Yet here you go surprising me by waiting ten whole months,” He leant forward and checked again the counter he’d had on his phone for all that time, “To the day.”

“Sir?” Danbury asked.

“The whole ‘you need a wife speech’,” He explained. “I’ve been eagerly waiting for it. Well, eager, dread, same difference. So, how’s this going to go? I propose that I invite my best friend for a pyjama party, and we eat popcorn while you click through a slideshow with all my prospects.”

“Your prospects for what Sir?”

“…a wife Danbury, keep up.”

She frowned, “What did you think I was coming in here to do?”

He mirrored the expression, “Are you not going to give me a list of eligible, approved ladies that you want me to narrow down and court?”

“Oh…no Sir,” she said firmly.

He sat up, “Oh? Then why are you here?”

“Well,” she began, “If you had let me continue in the first place I would have explained that those consulted on the matter agreed that a swift engagement would be ideal. In no more than three months if it can be done.”

“Why?” he frowned.

“Well Sir, your eldest brother waited twelve years before he selected his bride and died without issue less than a year later. Your next eldest brother abdicated within two years. The Crown is sitting in a precarious position and there is a…fear that if you don’t secure your line as soon as possible then the Crown is doomed.”

“Has anybody ever told you, Mrs Danbury, that you’re a symbol of whimsy and optimism?”

“No.”

“You shock me,” he replied, “Well then, if I am to be engaged to be wed within the week then tell me what your carefully laid master plan involves.”

She flipped open the cover on her tablet and set it down in front of him, “Stage one is the selection of your bride.”

“You just said we weren’t doing that…”

“No Sir, you aren’t doing that. We have already assessed and evaluated all the avenues in which we might present to the public the most natural romantic courtship scenario. Our findings showed that the most reasonable way to manufacture such a courtship in such a short period that the public will believe to be real is to remove the courtship element altogether.”

“You’ve lost me,” Colin frowned, rubbing his forehead.

“It was decided, Sir, that to eliminate the need for you to court somebody that we select your bride from your pool of ex-girlfriends,” she said simply.

“Excuse me?” he asked hoarsely.

“If we choose somebody that you already know then there is no need for you to get to know them,” she continued. “We intend to frame the romance as a rekindling of an old flame.”

“But…” he blinked rapidly, holding up a hand to halt her from saying anything else. “They’re my EX-girlfriends. As in, I parted with them for good reason.”

“A minor detail Sir,” she waved off.

Funnily enough it didn’t feel all that minor to him.

“So...wh-who am I choosing from? It can’t be Marina because she’s got children of her own even if her husband did die and you lot would look unfavourably on that...”

He lifted his coffee, thinking about the other options.

“The Condesa de Villada,” she said bluntly before he got carried away with guessing.

He choked on his coffee.

“Teresa?” he gagged through the choking.

“Indeed Sir, she has rank, she is well-liked and has an excellent public image, she’s charitable, she’s pretty. Your relationship with her, although brief, was well received...”

“Not by me it wasn’t!” He bellowed, startling her.

She narrowed her eyes and continued, “But it did well in the press Sir and that’s what matters.”

“You do realise that I have to live a lifetime with this woman? You’re not just hiring the best candidate for a job. Yes, she’s going to be the queen but she’s also going to be my wife, I’ll have to share a bed with her and...”

“Not if you don’t desire Sir, there are separate bedrooms in the palace for a reason. You only need to keep up appearances and produce heirs.”

“This isn’t the 1800s Agatha!” he screeched. “You…you said you spoke to my mother? She could not have approved that you choose my bride for me.”

“Her Majesty thinks that the Condesa is an excellent choice,” Danbury said smugly.

“You are dismissed,” he growled.

“Your Majesty, I have not finished briefing you…”

“Send me the file,” he interrupted, “You are dismissed.”

She left and he dropped his head to the table, making the cutlery clatter, groaning loudly. He needed to stop this. There was no way in hell he was marrying the Condesa de Villada.

*

Colin’s car pulled into the drive, and he climbed out. His mother was waiting for him, beaming. She held her arms out and he immediately fell into them, embracing her tightly. He leaned into her for support. Despite having been a queen since she was in her early twenties, she had always had time for her children and there was truly nothing more comforting than a mother’s hug.

He had read the royal engagement plan en route to his mother’s house and naturally it was well thought out. He was scheduled to meet Teresa the following week to ‘reconnect’, in the plan it had almost been framed as trying to establish if they would suit after all but based on Danbury’s unshakable stance that she was the correct choice it was most definitely just so they met again before the first public event. Then a big family lunch was planned for the end of the week, so his mother and siblings could meet and get to know her before the public did.

After that the public appearances would begin. Over the course of two months, he was scheduled to attend various public events which Teresa was also to either ‘coincidentally’ attend or attend unofficially as his guest. The intention being that they were quietly launching her to the public.

He was to propose to her officially at the two-month mark and he was to take her as his official guest to a charity ball two weeks after that. The Firm would leak photos from the event to the press over the subsequent two weeks to generate buzz and then the official press release would be sent out. It was all very regimented and as unromantic as it could possibly be. Except from the outside, it was to look like a fairytale, whirlwind romance.

“What do I owe the pleasure, Dearest,” his mother asked, slipping an arm through his and walking inside.

“Let’s talk when we have tea in our hands and cake on our plates,” he scowled.

She paused, giving him a questioning glance but she seemed to understand that this wasn’t a simple social visit and gave him a small nod. She guided him into her favourite sitting room where tea had already been laid out. They sat silently as they poured tea and filled their plates with treats.

Colin demolished five biscuits before he took a deep breath and asked, “Why did you approve this harebrained scheme to marry me off to the Condesa de Villada?”

She lowered her teacup back to its saucer and her brow furrowed. “What scheme dearest?”

“Do not play Mother,” he groaned.

“Very well,” she sighed, setting her teacup down on the coffee table. “I agree with dear Agatha that you must find a wife. Although I acknowledge that it is a shame that you cannot look around you and vet options first. Believe me I have had a list of eligible young ladies for you as long as my arm for years, waiting for you to become serious about your future. Alas I understand that time is of the essence, dear Anthony and Kate’s passing and then Benedict’s catastrophe has made things very awkward for you and I respect that the general consensus is that you secure your line as soon as possible. Agatha has put together a very sound plan to make everything run smoothly…”

“She always does,” he muttered darkly.

“Quite,” she agreed, “And that is why we must trust that she is doing the right thing for you now.”

“But the Condesa…” he groaned.

“I have met her several times,” Violet said enthusiastically, “She is very lovely, very charming, very beautiful. When you were with her, I thought you made a beautiful couple, and I confess I was disappointed when things came to an end.”

“Mama,” he whined, “I broke up with her. We weren’t a good match.”

“Well,” she sighed, “Many years have passed since then. Surely you have both matured and can make something work. Do not forget that you have three months ahead of you to get to know her again before the announcement is made. I fully believe that if not love yet, at least a friendship can develop in that time.”

He scoffed, “There is no friendship with Teresa. She dominates every room she is in, and everybody else are her humble worshippers.”

“Well now you are just being unkind Colin,” Violet scolded, “As I said, I have met her in recent years, and I did not feel that way.”

“Oh, but she’s clever Mama,” he warned, “She probably had you wrapped around her finger, and you didn’t even realise it.”

Violet sighed, pursing her lips, “People change Colin. Nobody is asking you to walk down the aisle tomorrow, we’re asking you to meet her, get to know her. I swear to you dearest if at the end of the three months you still feel the same, I will stand with you and push to find you a bride another way.”

He bit his bottom lip and petulantly muttered, “Fine.”

“Good,” she smiled, lifting her teacup once more, “Now, otherwise how are you? How’s Penelope?”

*

Colin paced the rose garden, walking circles around it. He was planning an escape route as he paced. He wondered if he should have worn trainers for a quick getaway. Did he have time to go inside and change them? Maybe he could ask someone to go and get them for him.

“Your Majesty!”

He froze, groaning internally. It seemed it was too late for the trainers. He turned slowly, forcing a smile across his face. The Condesa de Villada was a beauty, there was absolutely no doubt about that. In fact, that was exactly why his eighteen-year-old self had tumbled headlong into a chaotic eight-month relationship with her. She was tall and subtly curvy, with long dark hair that fell down her back and looked slightly red when the sun hit it just right. Her eyes were deep and warm, her lips full, and her cheekbones could cut glass. There was truly something old-worldly and timeless about her and even he could admit that if a portrait of her were put in the family gallery you would struggle to tell which era she had fallen out of if it weren’t for the clothes.

She grasped his upper arms and air-kissed both cheeks.

“Mi amor,” she smiled, “How long it has been.”

“Teresa,” he said stiffly.

“I was so heartbroken when I heard of your brother’s passing. I thought to call you and comfort you but how things ended I did not think you would receive it well,” she said forlornly, holding a hand to her heart.

And so it began, he thought. This was always her way, manipulating and playing with him.

“And then your other brother, so disgraceful, abandoning his throne,” She sighed mournfully, “You are a good man, mi amor, I do not know if I could have been so lenient with his indiscretions. You are a credit to yourself.”

He restrained a sigh, “Shall we walk?”

Immediately she took his arm and they started their amble through the gardens.

“I always knew you were destined for greatness so when the news broke that you were the king now, I told myself, ‘Teresa, this was his destiny, this is why it did not work between us.’” She said with certainty. “So, imagine my surprise when I hear that you not only wish to reconnect but hope that in time we will marry.”

 “I want you to know,” he said stiffly, “That it was not I that picked you. It was everybody else. I’m going to give this a chance, but you must understand why I am reluctant.”

“Oh, mi amor, you are so cold,” she pouted, “Was I truly such a wicked woman that you still hate me after all this time?”

He sighed, “I never hated you, Teresa. I was just tired of your games.”

“We were children then,” she said, “Games were a given, but we are adults now, no?”

“Indeed,” he agreed, “So stop playing them now and giving me the innocent act. Tell me what you really feel.”

Her soft expression turned wicked, “You could always see right through me, mi amor. Very well. You were fun to play with back then, the ever-obedient puppy dog. I was honestly heartbroken when you ended us.”

He snorted, “Because you wouldn’t find as fun a toy?”

“Exactly, you understand,” she agreed, leaning into him with a playful grin, “I did not expect you to choose me to be your wife, not in a million years but once your people had contacted me, I became hungry for it.”

“You want the title? The status?” he asked.

“Who wouldn’t,” she laughed.

Me, he thought ruefully.

“And doesn’t it sound delicious mi amor, Queen Teresa,” she smirked, she gestured with her free hand as if she was reading the name in big lettering, “I think it suits me very well.”

“My people have promised me that your image is pristine, and you’re known for your charitable nature,” he said idly.

“Of course,” she insisted, “I might play dangerously sometimes but I know how to be discreet.”

He stopped and turned to face her, “And you do realise that the Queen of Great Britain and Northern Ireland has to be monogamous and show fidelity?”

“I can be faithful mi amor,” she said, pressing both her hands to her chest.

“Can you?” he asked.

She cocked her head, seemingly thinking about it. After a moment she gave a half nod.

“I can certainly try,” she admitted, “If I get to be Queen and my child becomes King.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You have three months to prove to me that you can be. Start as you plan to go on.”

She pouted, “All my amantes will be so disappointed amor.”

He leant in, “If you want that title as desperately as I suspect you might, I think you would willingly make your lovers cannon fodder in pursuit of it.”

Her eyes flitted down to his lips as he leant into her and before he could realise what she was about, her hands grasped his face and she kissed him, open-mouthed and passionate. He froze, his instinct was to push her away; to not let himself be caught in her net but he remembered the purpose of this whole nightmare and realised it might simply be easier to relent. For him to submit and see if this was truly possible as a match. So, he kissed her back, meeting her beat for beat as she devoured him.

When she released him, he was panting and breathless, his mind dizzy. Unfortunately, his chest felt the usual hollowness and his stomach was churning uneasily. But what was new.

She wiped her thumb along her lower lip, “Ah mi amor, your skill has improved. I must say, it surprises me how sweeter kissing a king tastes than a virgin.”

“Are you happy?” he asked dryly, crossing his arms across his chest, “Now that you’ve had a chance to sample the merchandise?”

“I am,” she said cheerily, “I think we can have fun together. As long as you can keep up with me.”

“Lord help me,” he muttered before she grabbed hold of him again and started pulling him towards the lake.

*

His mother had offered to hold the lunch. He had expected his staff to simply organise everything but it seemed that his mother was determined to have her own level of control over the upcoming engagement. At present that meant controlling the lunch in which the family were to meet his potential bride.

His car arrived before Teresa's so he sat in it with his head against the wheel, psyching himself up for the round of nonsense she was probably going to throw his way. He was just thankful he'd been allowed to drive himself for once. His security team were always following in their own vehicle of course but at least they gave him the illusion of freedom from time to time.

Her car pulled up and he took a deep breath before getting out. Dunwoody had already appeared and was opening her door for her as Colin walked around to her. She gave him air kisses as usual and looped her arm in his.

“Your security guard is handsome,” she hummed. He glanced over his shoulder but Dunwoody had slipped into the shadows again.

“I see your vow of monogamy is going well,” he replied.

“One can't simply look?” She gasped, holding an outraged hand to her chest.

“I fear looking is a gateway to touching when it comes to you,” he muttered.

“Does it still count as monogamous if we invited him to be our third?”

“No,” he growled, “First of all, keep your claws out of my employees and second, I’m not falling for that…again.”

“Aww,” she said sadly, “Didn’t we have fun back then?”

“No,” he scowled, pouting, “You kept pitting us against each other, it was really annoying.”

“Well I had fun,” she chuckled.

“Obviously.”

He stopped, halting them in the middle of the corridor. He turned to look at her, hands on his hips.

“Listen Teresa,” he said with a sigh, “Before we go any further, I need to ask. Obviously I’ve been pretty hostile because I didn’t choose this, didn’t choose you but… Well, your life, the way you live it, it’s so very different from how things are going to have to be as my wife. I don’t want to spend a lifetime commanding you to behave, that’s not who I am, that’s not the life I want to have. I want, no, I need a partner, someone who will share my burdens not add to them and…this life, my life, it doesn’t fit with my image of you. So the question I am asking is are you sure about all this? Do you really want to give up the life you love so much for…me?”

She threw her hair over her shoulder and mirrored his stance, hands on her hips. She held her head high and stared unwaveringly up at him.

“Mi amor,” she tutted, “Why do I like to play games?” He shrugged and she smirked with a quirk of her eyebrow, “I like power. It feeds me. What a thrill it is to pit men against each other, or to have them worship me. Why do you think I liked you back then? Because you were a heartsick virgin that I got to show what it means to be a man. And why do I like you now?”

He could guess but he kept silent to let her continue.

“Because there is nobody more powerful than a queen. She is the strongest piece on the chessboard no? You, mi amor have the top position but the queen, she is the voice behind you. Your Mamá understands that.” She gestured around them, “Her husband died how many years ago and still she has the most power. This lunch, it should be at the palace. You are the king, it should be held in your home and yet here we are. I will bet that she even helped pick me.” She returned her hands to her hips with a half-shrug, “I will give up my lavish lifestyle for that kind of power. To be the woman whispering in your ear, to be the woman whose son is next, to be a gamemaker in the next generation. So do not worry, mi amor, I am not giving up anything, I am taking the next challenge.”

“Okay then,” he sighed, defeated, “If you’re sure.”

They continued on and were shown into his mother’s dining room. Everybody else was already there – sans Ben and Sophie since this was technically an official lunch – and upon entering they all got up to hug and greet him.

“This is Teresa,” he introduced awkwardly and the family were quick to welcome and embrace her as well.

As lunch began, his mother, leading the conversation, asked Teresa about her family and her life and she talked animatedly about herself. Her perfect Condesa mask – the one he’d never actually seen before – was donned and she gave them the carefully curated version of her wonderful childhood, her rebellious youth that she barely knows how she managed to get through without scandal, her pristine public persona and her charitable works. She was a lawyer by trade, which he himself had only learnt the week prior when he was reading the profile pack that Danbury’s team had prepared for him. In short she had charmed them completely and Colin felt like a wilting flower in the corner of the room.

“Has Colin ever told you how we met?” she asked the table excitedly as the coffee was being served.

“I don’t think that story needs to be told,” he groaned.

“Of course it does!” she insisted, “We will be telling it for the next fifty years, best start now.”

“I want to know!” Hyacinth said excitedly.

“You are the last person that needs to hear this story,” Colin grumbled.

“Do not worry Hyacinth, I won’t let you stay in the dark,” Teresa promised, “So, I was at a club and I saw him, two nights in a row. The first night he had a shadow. Everywhere I looked, there he was, him and his little friend- what was her name?” she suddenly turned to him, “Paloma? Pricilla…?”

“Penelope,” he offered. He really wished it was her that was here with him right now. Then he might be having fun.

“Right,” she agreed, “So he and Penélope, they were everywhere, at the bar, on the dancefloor, hovering outside the toilets, waiting on the other being done. I thought they were lovers!” She made that last statement with great drama that made everybody chuckle. “But no because at the end of the night, I was outside, smoking, if you’ll forgive the habit, and they were on the street. Arguing. Penélope got into a cab and left him behind. He looked like a kicked puppy and then he left too. The next night, same bar, I see him again drinking alone and still wounded puppy.” She waved over her face to emphasise the point, “And my curiosity got the best of me. So I sat with him, ordered a drink and we got to chatting. He told me that he’d taken his best friend on this seventeen city summer trip and that Madrid was their first stop…”

“It was eighteen,” Colin muttered. All eyes swivelled to him and he clarified, a bit louder, “The trip was to celebrate our eighteenth birthdays together. So there were eighteen cities, but the last one was London.”

“Which doesn’t count,” she scoffed, "That's your hometown, your final destination. It was seventeen. Anyway…” she turned back to his family, “And they argued on their first night, in their first city.”

“What could you and Penelope quarrel about?” Eloise asked with a frown.

“I didn’t even think that was possible,” Daphne agreed with a chuckle.

“I don’t remember,” Colin lied.

“I do!” Teresa said gleefully. She leant in towards the two women to impart the secret, “So, some guy came up to Penélope and asked her…” she glanced at the youngest two, “...to dance. Then he noticed Colin standing like a big pathetic guard dog beside her and said, ‘unless this is your boyfriend’ and Colin, like the bumbling virgin he was…” everyone’s eyes widened, Simon choked on his drink and Colin slumped down in his chair, his face turning red. Teresa didn’t even seem to notice that her perfect Condesa mask had slipped because she barrelled on, “...said something like ‘Penélope? Oh no, no way, I would never.’ which the other guy obviously took to mean that there was something wrong with her, and she quite rightly got upset at Colin.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispered to himself but nobody was listening, they all looked outraged at his words but were still hanging on Teresa’s every word. She continued telling them all about how Penelope had gone home, furious and when he’d met Teresa the next night she convinced him to take her on the trip instead. She talked about it like it was some great adventure. And it had been, but he’d also spent the entire trip being ghosted by Penelope and distracting himself with the sights of seventeen cities and a slightly older and much more experienced woman.

The irony had been that it had been a lie. That he would never want Penelope. He had. The outbound flight and that first day had been perfect and he had spent most of it trying not to drool over her. He had never admitted it to himself, then or since, but he was sure a part of him had thought that something would have happened between them in those seventeen cities.

Instead it happened a year and a half and several terrible girlfriends later. Perhaps not quite the way he’d imagined either, not a kiss under the moonlight in Paris or Rome, or on a beach somewhere where they confessed that they liked each other as more than just friends. There was no sweetness, no romance, just a drunken game of chicken that resulted in tumbling into bed together. Two years of casual sex followed until it came to an abrupt end when Colin had suggested that they try dating seriously and Penelope pointed out that he only wanted to date her because it was easy, not because he liked her as more than a friend and fuck buddy. More terrible girlfriends had followed after that as well. 

He would be the first to admit that he sucked at love, or anything resembling it. He always fell headfirst into the romance of a new relationship, thinking that this time was going to be the time that he found happiness but by the end he always just felt that hollowness inside. A part of him had started to wonder if love just wasn’t for him, if he was deficient in whatever made your brain chemistry create love. To be honest, those few years when he and Penelope were not quite just friends but not quite anything else was the closest he’d ever come to how he imagined that happiness to be. But there was a distinct difference between being happy with your best friend and with the person you loved romantically. Wasn’t there?

Except that that was exactly why he had asked her to marry him as his prize in the bet, because a lifetime with your best friend that brought you the most happiness and made your life fuller sounded so much better than with whatever eligible woman met approval. There was never hollowness with Pen, she always brought warmth with her.

He looked over at Teresa who was talking animatedly. He didn’t hate her. He could admit that at least, she knew exactly who she was and was unashamedly herself at all times. She could be mischievous and witty and he couldn’t deny that she shone when the focus was on her. But he didn’t want to be with her. He didn’t want to marry her, he didn’t want to spend his life with her. He didn’t want to have to keep up with her and suffer mortification even if it was the truth because it made a better, more dramatic story. He really didn’t want to force himself to sleep with her, like he had had to when she kissed him the other day. Because although she was a skilled lover, the sex was always only just fine. He just didn’t click with her.

Plus while he respected that she had her own reasons for agreeing to this nonsense, since her speech when they arrived, he just couldn’t shake the discomfort that had settled over him. He didn’t want a queen that lusted after power. The throne, the crown, they weren’t positions of power, not anymore. He had said it to her moments before she started talking about power, he wanted a partner. A person to lean on when the weight of the crown was too burdensome. And once again the only person that had ever come close to filling that role was Penelope.

He couldn’t marry Teresa. He would be miserable.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the lavatory,” he said over whatever new story Teresa had moved onto.

He stepped out of the room, feeling the eyes of the room follow him. He rubbed his forehead as he walked down the corridor. What could he possibly do? It had all been decided. He had promised his mother he would give it a chance for three months but he could barely last a week. He didn’t want to upset things, upset the balance. There was a way things were done and he wanted everyone to be satisfied.

Except in the pursuit of pleasing everyone else he was going to make himself unhappy. He was letting everybody else walk all over him. He was supposed to be a king, not a puppet. And before he was a king he was a person. A person whose free will was being taken away from him, a punishment enforced on him because his brother chose to abdicate for love. The frustrating thing was that he was fine with the concept, he agreed with the plan, he just wished they had given him a choice.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his foot along the ground forlornly. And his fingers closed around an object in his pocket. He pulled it out and stared at the car keys in his hand. For some reason his heart started to beat harder at the sight of them. Something about them felt like a chance. He had been allowed to drive himself. It was a little thing, a tiny little nugget of freedom in the regimented structure that was his life. He did agree with the plan, he was fine with being asked to get engaged within three months and marry before the end of next year. He just needed to access the nugget of freedom that could be found in that route.

He just needed to choose for himself his greatest chance at happiness.

The pace he set off at was brisk at best. He urged to run but it wouldn’t do to cause suspicion before he had had his chance to make his choice. Funnily enough, although he was only speedwalking he felt as though he was flying. He clicked the unlock button on the fob as soon as the car was in his sight, hammering his thumb against it rapidly until the lights flashed in acknowledgement at him. He clambered in, secured his seatbelt and within moments was pulling out of the drive. He drove like a very careful madman – he really didn’t need to be on the news for causing a car accident – rattling back into the heart of London at just over the speed limit.

Colin threw the car into a space and leapt out, not even looking back to ensure the lock had engaged as he clicked the button over his shoulder. He strode into the building and straight up to the reception desk. The receptionist looked up at him boredly, but her eyes went wide as she took in the man standing in front of her. She stood immediately and gave a very uncomfortable half-bow, half curtsey.

“K-King Colin, I-,” she stammered.

He waved a dismissive hand and said, “I need to meet with Ms Featherington, editor-in-chief for the Guardian. Which floor?”

She gave a cartoon gulp and dropped into her chair, sending her manicure click-clacking frantically over her keyboard.

“Seventh floor, office 718,” she said.

“Do I need a keycard or anything to get there?” he asked.

She shook her head frantically, “Just take this lift up to seven and it’ll be down on the left.”

“Thank you,” he said graciously and strode towards the lift. Several people jumped out of his way as if he had some kind of forcefield that repelled others. Multiple cameras were held up in his direction as well but he was more than happy to ignore them. He was just thankful that everyone was in a state of shock and not trying to crowd him. He entered the lift and nodded at a man that was already there as he pressed for seven. The man cleared his throat uncomfortably and tried to shift away as if he had no right to be in the same lift as the King.

The other man scrambled out when they arrived on three and Colin smiled to himself at the drama he was accidentally causing as the doors shut once more. Once on the right floor, it seemed he was walking in general through the Guardian offices and naturally in a crowd of journalists, photos were being taken, and questions were being asked as people hurried alongside him. He smiled politely but responded to nothing.

He came to 718 and beamed at the shiny plaque under the number displaying his friend’s name. He knocked three times but didn’t wait on a response and stepped inside immediately. Penelope looked up from her computer in shock, her eyes round and fingers hovering in mid-air over the keys.

“Colin?” she gasped, standing up abruptly, and behind him she could hear murmuring from her staff at the casual greeting. He turned around and closed the door in their faces. “You know they’re going to be pressing their ears against the glass,” she commented.

“They wouldn’t be good journalists if they didn’t,” he acknowledged. He leant against the door, taking her in in her white work blouse, her fitted grey skirt, the soft pout on her lips and a multitude of questions in her round eyes. She was a world away from the dramatic glamour of Teresa’s beauty and yet he couldn’t help but feel that she was a thousand times prettier.

“What in the name of God are you doing here, Bridgerton?” she asked in disbelief, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk and dropping back into her own seat.

He grinned boyishly, “I might have escaped my nanny.”

“You know,” she said, leaning forward and dropping her chin on her clasped hands, “Kings are supposed to announce their arrival in advance and be followed around by an entourage.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Like I said, I escaped.”

“I thought you had promised to behave when Benedict abdicated?” she asked.

“And I have!” he said indignantly, “This is the first out of line thing I’ve done in over a year!”

“Well, what does an escaped King have to do in my office at this time on a Thursday?” she asked.

He leant forward as well, mirroring her stance. He looked her over, studying every plane of her face. He licked his lips and blurted, “I know I lost the wager Pen, but I need you to marry me.”

She let out a disbelieving scoff, leaning back in her chair again.

“Colin…”

“No, listen Pen,” he insisted, leaning forward subconsciously closing that distance again, “I was so right, so unbelievably correct. The Firm has decided that I have to get married as soon as possible, as soon as looks natural.”

“Okay?” she shrugged, “Then suck it up and select one of the delightful young women they’ve hand-picked for you? I know it’s a shit deal, but duty is duty.”

“No but that’s just it,” he complained, “They didn’t offer me a list to choose from. They’ve already decided.”

She cocked her head, “Wait, like a proper old-school arranged marriage?”

“Pretty much,” he nodded. “But to make it look oh-so-natural and romantic and real they selected the candidate from a very specific pool.”

“Which is?” she pressed.

“My ex-girlfriends,” he said darkly.

“Oh,” she said, amusement filling her voice. She covered her mouth with her hand to hold in her accompanying laugh, but her eyes were still alight with it. “Not ideal.”

“No,” he agreed, “But the narrative is to be that I reconnected and have decided to move forward with an engagement. That way we can skip over the whole dating, getting-to-know-you part and get to the point.”

“And you’re not happy with who they’ve picked?”

“Pen, all my relationships ended because they weren’t right!” he whined, “But yeah... They’ve picked the Condesa.”

Her hand slapped against her mouth again and her eyes flared with laughter. She cleared her throat and forced out, “As in, the Condesa that you lost your virginity to? As in the one who was a couple of years older than you and treated you like her plaything?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“Oh Col, this I know this isn’t funny but it’s absolutely hilarious,” she trilled. Taking in her friend’s dejected expression however, she reigned herself in and said, “Can’t you have a look back yourself and tell them which ex you’d prefer to pick?”

He raised his eyebrows, gazing intently into her sparkling blue eyes.

“Oh,” she said in realisation, leaning back in her seat. “I’m your pick.”

“Naturally they didn’t even consider you because nobody knows what happened between us,” he said, “But actually, a best friend turned lover is a much more convincing story than a long-lost flame. Think of the narrative; a young prince, suddenly turned king through unforeseen circumstances, leans on his oldest and dearest friend for support in this turbulent upheaval of his life. That support turns into something more and they realise that maybe they’ve been missing a trick this whole time.”

She let out a sigh of agreement. “I admit your narrative is better than theirs.”

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Colin...you’re asking me to give up my whole life for you. My job, my flat, my independence. To be your brood mare.”

“No,” he said fervently, “I admit I’m asking you to give up everything for me, but not just for heirs,” he said the last word with distaste. “For the story we just told. Is it a lie that I’ve leant on you since I became king? Pen, you’re the first person I called when I found out. We’ve talked more in the past eighteen months than we did in the four years since we decided to end our fling. That was the hardest thing I have ever done. No, this has been hard on me, and you have made it easier. Your support, your friendship, it has tied me down when I’ve been at risk of floating away. I’m not asking you to be my brood mare – although yes, if you agree, we will have to have children – I’m asking you to be my partner, my rock. You’ll have to give things up, yes, but I will work with you in the framework we will have to make living as fulfilling as possible. For both of us.”

She tutted, “You’re too damn good at this Bridgerton.”

“You’ll do it?” he asked eagerly.

She considered him and for a brief second he thought he saw something in her expression that said she wanted to but then with a shake of her head said, “I just don’t see the benefits for myself Colin.”

He furrowed his brow, seriously considering what he could actually give her. Then he remembered a conversation, the very one that he had tried his hardest to forget for nearly five years. He swallowed nervously. 

“You once asked me,” he began tentatively, “If I wanted to be with you because it was easy or because I genuinely wanted to be with you romantically. Back then I didn’t have a straight answer and I barely do even now but…today I can assure you, I’m not picking you because you are the easy, comfortable option. In fact, I am desperately hoping that you will pick me because this isn’t going to be easy. If there is a woman on this planet that could face the impossible task of being the Queen of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, it’s Penelope Featherington.”

He took a deep ragged breath and pressed on, “Back then, you told me that you longed for love and passion. To have the kind of romance that sweeps you off your feet. I know that back then you didn’t want me to be the ‘perfect boyfriend’ just because the duty of that title dictated it so, this might come off as hollow and flat but…I care for you, so, so much, and I know that it’s not the kind of true love that you’ve dreamed about but it’s rooted in our years of friendship, and I think that’s pretty special but I will use everything I have, all the passion I possess so that every damn day, for the rest of our lives you will never feel that you are lacking for the romance you deserve. So you might never regret choosing me.” She still seemed hesitant, her eyes guarded. So, void of any shame in front of her, he found himself begging, “Please Pen. I need you.”

Her eyes softened, searching his expression. She bit her bottom lip.  

“Okay,” she breathed, barely believing that the word had fallen from her own mouth. He sat up excitedly and almost seemed as though he was ready to bound out of his chair. Nervous of his excitement she held up a staying hand, “But, only on the condition that you, by yourself can convince Danbury.”

“Done,” he agreed readily.

“And I refuse to give anything up until they give me no other choice,” she told him.

“I’m fine with that,” he nodded eagerly.

“And when the time comes, you’ve got to offer me a real proposal,” she grinned.

“Obviously,” he smirked, with a roll of his eyes.

“Alright then,” she nodded. The smile that was spread across her face was completely uncontrolled, her body reacting despite her brain telling her that she was mad for agreeing.

“Alright?” he checked, grinning just as widely, his heart racing. He could barely believe it, he had wanted her to say yes, of course he had, but the knowledge that she had, that this was happening, that she had really agreed to marry him, he felt like he was going to burst out of his own skin with glee. He stood up then, an uncontrollable urge to touch her, to close all distance between them overtook him and took her face in his hands, leaning over her desk and kissing her deeply. When their lips parted, he whispered, “To seal the deal.”

She was incredulous at the level of giddiness she was feeling when she had just agreed to marry her friend out of duty rather than love but decided to not question or fight it. Instead, she allowed herself to lean into it and chased his lips, kissing him gently again before he drew back fully.

“Can I have the exclusive when the time comes?" she smirked.

“Not up to me,” he snorted, then raised a cheeky eyebrow, “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“Shame I’m not a tabloid,” she teased, “It would be so much fun to write an article about the king literally bursting into my office unannounced and kissing me out of nowhere.”

“I think upon the acceptance of a marriage proposal isn’t exactly out of nowhere,” he complained, leaning palms flat against the desk as he gravitated towards her.

She shrugged playfully, “That was pretty out of nowhere as well, let’s be honest, Your Majesty.”

He opened his mouth to argue but she spun in her desk chair back to her computer, turning away from him. She pointed at the door.

“The exit is that way, Sir, some of us have a workday to finish.”

He pouted but leant over her desk further to kiss her cheek, “I’ll see you soon, darling.”

Her unrestrained smile returned, and she turned to face him again. Her eyes dropped to her lips and both of them  She tilted her head back and allowed him to give her a final peck on the mouth. Then her eyes took in his face properly and wiped his bottom lip with her thumb.

“Best not walk out of my office with lipstick on, Sir,” she chuckled as he leant into her touch.

“Thank you. Bye-bye,” he breathed and very, very reluctantly, left.

In the corridor the huddle of journalists had dispersed – although most were still somewhat hovering nearby – and his bodyguard was standing guard over the door. He clapped the man on the shoulder.

“I suppose you found me then,” he sighed.

“I have been asked to remind you, Your Majesty, that there is a recommended protocol you need to follow,” Dunwoody said stoically.

“And while I know that,” Colin agreed, “I don’t think it’s wrong to keep you on your toes now and again. Besides, I had an urgent errand that needed me to be free of the protocol for a brief half-hour.”

“Mrs Danbury has scheduled a meeting for you for the rest of the afternoon,” Dunwoody informed him.

“Oh goody,” Colin said sarcastically, walking down the corridor, “I can’t wait for my scolding for not being her obedient little boy.”

“I believe she just wants what’s best for you Sir,” Dunwoody offered, falling into step beside him.

“And I appreciate that Dunwoody, I do,” he sighed, “But it’s frustrating to literally be the King and to still be constantly getting in trouble with a stern school-matron.”

“I don’t mean to overstep Sir, but-” Dunwoody began, and Colin braced himself, “Did you not have routine and protocol in the army as well?”

Colin’s eyes flashed with amusement, “Ah but that’s the thing Dunwoody, why do you think King Anthony was constantly exasperated with me? Surely you don’t believe the tabloid gossip that I was a party boy. It was in fact that I was simply a rubbish soldier.”

Dunwoody chuckled at that and said no more about it.

“Never mind,” Colin sighed, “It’s for the best because I have something important to speak to Mrs Danbury about today anyway.”