Striking (Red Lips & White Lies Book 7)

Bellamy stands in front of me, looking like every wet dream I’ve ever had. A silk robe tied at her waist that I desperately wish I could untie, and her damp hair falling around her shoulders. Her face is free of makeup, and her skin still holds that beautiful freshly fucked glow. The one I’m going to make my personal mission in life to see on her every day.

Just knowing she’s here, that she’ll be here when I get home makes the day more bearable.

Her teeth run over her pouty bottom lip as she adjusts my tie, then flattens her palms against the front of my suit. “I’m sorry I can’t be with you today.”

This woman . . . I press a kiss to the top of her head and wrap her in my arms, wishing she could be next to me too. “Don’t be. Knowing you’re here is enough.” I raise her knuckles and kiss her rings, then spin the slim gold band sandwiched between the platinum engagement ring and the eternity band. “Have I told you this was my mother’s wedding ring?”

“No,” she answers softly, her eyes holding mine steady.

Grounding me on this day where the eyes of the world will be watching.

“For centuries, the future queen’s wedding band has been made from gold that’s stored in the vault. There’s a limited amount left, and once it’s gone, it will never be replaced. This was the ring made for my mother. I think you would have liked her.” I know she would have loved Bellamy. I think she would have been enamored by the way she looks at the world. Her strength. Her heart.

She lifts her chin and smiles a heartbreaking smile. “I’m sure I would have.”

There’s a knock on the door, and I drop Bellamy’s hand. “Duty calls.”

“I’ll be here when you get back.”

One day, she’ll understand what having her here has done for me this week.

One day, I’ll pay back the favor.

Tradition calls for the sons and grandsons of the monarch to walk behind the coffin of the king as it’s pulled from Rosenhall Palace to St. Benedict’s Abbey in a glass-enclosed carriage. Atticus, Father, and even the king himself did this for my mother’s funeral, but my father insisted Lennon wasn’t allowed. He’s always been a miserable bastard. One I couldn’t manage while my mother was alive. That was her job. The day after her funeral, it became mine. Turns out, I’m not as diplomatic as she was.

I’ve done my best to shelter Lennon the way my mother asked of me. I’ve put her first whenever I could. And today, she and her husband walk side by side with Atticus and me. My father has already been driven to the abbey to greet the foreign dignitaries as they arrive. I didn’t want to give him any chance to upset Lennon or give her husband any more of a chance to kill him. Father doesn’t know when to shut up, and Maddox has a short fuse.

The palace advisors pushed back, but they’re going to have to get used to things being done differently at some point. It might as well start now. The coronation may still be months away, but I am king, and I have no intention of biding by the archaic rules set in place a century ago.

From the moment my grandfather took his last breath until the moment I do the same, that weight is mine alone to bear. So we walk in line. Atticus, Maddox, Lennon, and me with a row of my cousins behind us, and my nephew back at Lilihill, while we lay the longest reigning monarch the modern world has ever known to rest.noveldrama

People have flocked to line the frigid, snow-covered streets, just for the opportunity to pay their respects to their king. A man who ruled with pride and love for all his people equally. A freezing gust of wind whips in, stealing the breath from my lungs, and I meet the eyes of a man easily as old, if not older, than Grandfather. He holds a black corduroy hat over his heart and bows his head in deference, and I hope I can inspire this kind of respect from my country during my reign.

My mother and grandfather taught me well, and I’m more than aware of what these people see right now. I helped orchestrate it.

A family united.

A new king.

A new era.

A new reign.

One day, my family will walk behind my coffin, and I hope when that day comes, I will have lived a life they can be proud of.

Been a king they were honored to serve.

Been a father and husband who made sure they knew they were loved, cherished, and mattered more than their titles.

The procession progresses slightly longer than one mile before we stop and watch as a white-gloved military regiment silently moves into place with beautiful precision. They’ve been practicing this for years. Not just this but so many aspects of the funeral have been planned for over a decade. There were only a few areas I could trim things back and honor Grandfather’s wishes, and today was not one of them.

I remember the day he and my mother sat me down in his office and told me I would be king one day. He told me it was okay to be scared. Fear was healthy. If a man didn’t fear the kind of power I’d one day hold in my hand, he’d be a terrible leader.

I was seven.

Fear was relative. It grew with me for years before I eventually learned to control it and ultimately accept it. By the time I was at university, I’d fully embraced my role in our country but still hated the idea of it because I’ve always known for me to reign, my grandfather and mother would both be gone. Few kings look forward to their coronation because it means they buried a parent or grandparent.

At the end of today, I will have done both.

Eight highly decorated soldiers remove the coffin from the carriage and carefully fold the flag before standing still as we all observe a single minute of silence to honor the king.

The general nods my way, signaling us into the church, and I step forward first and press my palm against the casket and offer up a silent prayer.

I will honor you. Now is your turn to find peace with Mother and Grandmother.

I step aside and wait for Atticus, Lennon, and Maddox before we make the long walk down the aisle of the abbey. The one Bellamy would have made had we upheld tradition and gotten married here instead of the quiet ceremony on palace grounds. And once we’re in front of the Archbishop, we all bow and sit down, side by side, with my father behind us.

It’s a statement.

A powerful one.

The three Windsor siblings united.

It’s also a strategic move on my part. A show of unity between us. The world may think our family is in chaos after Lennon’s wedding and Grandfather’s death, but I refuse to allow that to be what they see today. There will be enough gossip to go around once I announce my marriage. Today, they see us mourn together. They see our strength. They see our acceptance. Whether they realize it or not, today is the first act of my reign. My first step into modernizing our centuries-old monarchy.

Archbishop Calder climbs the stairs to the pulpit, with Linley and Mayson standing side by side on the dais until we all sit. Calder looks out over the hundreds filling the abbey before meeting my eyes. “It is in grief and with profound thanks we gather in this house of God to celebrate the life of a man who lived his life in service to his lord and his country . . .”

Choirs sing, and preachers of all denominations speak. Multiple eulogies are given, and I feel eyes on me the entire time. It’s different this time than when we buried my mother. Easier in some ways, more painful in others.

It’s hard not to think about the fact that one day my son or daughter will be sitting where I am right now, with this weight on their shoulders.

I pray I do as good a job preparing them as has been done for me.

And at the end of the ceremony, we’re all reminded that nothing in this world is forever.

Nothing but love.

Archbishop Calder’s voice cracks as he brings us to our feet.

“Now let us remove all symbols of power from the coffin, so that Frederic may be committed to the grave as a humble servant.”

It’s the only time in my life I’ve heard my grandfather’s name used in public without his title.

Because it no longer belongs to him.

The golden staff of the office of the king is the first to be removed from the casket, followed by his jeweled scepter, and finally the coronation crown, which is placed in my hands.

A plain, cream cloth covers the casket, and Lennon takes my hand in hers, squeezing so tightly, she cuts off my circulation.

“Life is indeed short. It is going to end. But what you do with the years you’re given is the true measure of the man. Do well and live your life in service.” Then the archbishop looks directly at me, and Lennon sucks in a quiet breath beside me, knowing what comes next.

“Long live the king.”