Page 143 of The Unlikely Heir
“What’s the problem then?”
I raise my gaze to meet Toby’s. “My problem is I can’t imagine ever wanting anyone but him.”
* * *
My helicopter lands at an airfield in North Wales, and I transfer straight into a waiting car on the tarmac.
I’m one of the many dignitaries arriving for the event, but before I’m allowed in the castle, I’m ushered into a marquee to be put through a metal detector.
“I’m sorry, Prime Minister, but protocol states all guests except the royal family must go through security.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
But understanding seems to be in short supply from the security officer who processes me. She’s wearing a Prince of Wales insignia and a badge with Callum’s face on it, and she looks at me with outright hostility.
“I’m gobsmacked you decided to show your face here. Ain’t it going to be awkward, given you’ve been trying to end the monarchy?”
Actually, it’s going to be awkward for a whole other host of reasons.
I decide not to say that aloud. Instead, I address her accusation.
“The government, not me personally, has introduced a referendum to let the British public express their opinion. We are not trying to end the monarchy. We are simply giving the citizens of this country a chance to decide whether the institution remains relevant in twenty-first century Britain.”
“Smooth words,” she scoffs. “I’d expect nothing less.”
I feel slightly off-balance that someone wearing a badge with Callum’s face is being so outright hostile to me.
I love him. I want to tell her.I love him more than you can imagine. Don’t you understand that knowing I’m hurting him feels like I’m shredding my soul?
Once through security, I’m greeted by the Lord Chancellor and Dennis, the member of my security team who drew the short straw to walk through the street towards the castle with me.
There’s nothing but support for Callum and the monarchy everywhere I look. Union Jacks and the Prince of Wales standards wave furiously from the crowds lining the street. The crowds press against the barriers, bright faces alive with anticipation.
There’s a polite smatter of applause as we walk along the road but also some jeers, the royalists letting me know how they feel about my decision to call a referendum on the monarchy.
Inside the castle, the crowd is calmer. These are the invited guests seated to watch Callum. The dais is in front of me, ready for the investiture ceremony. The gray walls of the castle press in towards me, and for a moment, I struggle to draw a breath.
I ball my hands into tight fists to keep my composure as I approach my seat.
My assigned seat is behind the dais, where I’ll be able to see Callum’s face as he takes his vows.
I try to distract myself by watching the royal family arrive. Amelia is dressed in pale blue, carrying a handbag with a daffodil, a nice nod to the national flower of Wales. She stops to talk and smile at a few people as she takes her place on the left-hand side.
A woman sitting next to her has an identical handbag to Amelia’s. Obviously, they’re the latest fashion at the moment. They’re a slightly classier bit of memorabilia than badges with Callum’s face, in my opinion.
Nicholas, looking somber in formal clothes, comes in after Amelia. How does he feel about the whole thing?
When Callum becomes king, Nicholas will be his heir. Until Callum has children, that is.
The thought of Callum having children, watching from afar as he builds a life with someone else, is like a crushing weight on my chest.
Because it feels so wrong that anyone besides me should get to wake up to his smile.
The orchestra breaks into the familiar notes of “God Save the Queen,” and my stomach clenches.
Queen Katharine moves down the path between the crowds looking elegant and regal. Her bright-yellow outfit contrasts the moody backdrop of the gray castle and the gloom of the weather. She takes her place on the dais in one of the two thrones. But my gaze doesn’t remain focused on her for long.
Because there’s another tune being struck up by the band, one that indicates another important person has arrived.
