by Erin McRae
She made a startled noise. “Right there,” she said. “Right there.”
Arthur obliged.
Amelia closed her eyes to force herself to give into the pleasure which shot through her body and crept up into her brain. There would be a madness to it, once she surrendered. And letting go had never been something she was very good at. She shoved her hands into Arthur’s hair.
“I can’t,” she said in despair. She was so close, but it was all too much, as if her body were too overwhelmed to relieve her of this want and burden her with its consequences.
“Yes you can,” Arthur said against the skin of her neck. He lifted his mouth to her ear. “Do it for me.”
That was all it took. Amelia was coming, pulsing around him, and laughing in delight and at the absurdity of her body obeying Arthur, as if she were kingdom to his not-so-meaningless crown.
Before she could even catch her breath Arthur tipped her backward, his hand cradling her head as she hit the mattress. She wrapped her legs around him and urged him on with the heel of her foot now that he could thrust into her in earnest.
All his earlier restraint was gone. Amelia felt powerful, like a witch having summoned the wind, to be the cause of it. There was a sheen of sweat across his forehead, and his hair was a wild wreck from where she had run her hands through it. She was counting the flecks of gold and green in his eyes, when he closed them and came with a shuddering groan.
*
“What do you think the papers will say?” Amelia asked Arthur’s shoulder. She was quite enjoying her blossoming relationship with that part of Arthur’s anatomy. And, indeed, every other part of his anatomy. Even if there was an awkward wetness between her legs. It didn’t feel bad, just new. And the rest of her felt fantastic. Even the pull of unfamiliar muscles was pleasant.
“You mean about the state dinner?” Arthur’s voice rumbled through his chest. He stroked one broad hand down her back, a line of pleasant warmth as Amelia gradually became aware of the cool air around them.
“Mmm.”
“Probably that we’re disgusting young things that couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”
“Do you mind?” Amelia asked.
Arthur blinked at her. “Why on earth would I mind?”
“We were rather supposed to woo Canada. Not each other.”
He smiled. “People love a good romance, and I love a media that isn’t angry with me or fomenting unrest. Although, I was dancing with you simply because I wanted to be,” Arthur said with a squeeze to her waist.
“You were definitely a better dance partner than most of the people I danced with. Especially the Prime Minister.”
“He’s a brilliant politician.”
“Good thing too. He can’t find the beat to save his life.”
Arthur chuckled. “All of my partners were perfectly lovely.”
Amelia lifted her head so Arthur could see her roll her eyes exaggeratedly. “Always the gentleman.”
“Mmm, not always.” Arthur’s hand wandered onto her arse and pinched.
“Can I ask about Helen?” Amelia ventured. “Not jealousy, mind. Just, curiosity. I’m still learning who you are and trying to understand the history — the personal history that is — that I’ve been dropped down in the middle of.”
Arthur frowned, but in thoughtfulness not anger. “Helen and I have been friends for decades. Really, since we were children. We did almost went to bed together once, after Imogene died. Never mind that she prefers women, it was just too absurd to go through with. We even talked of getting married. If we weren’t in love, at least we both would have had companionship and security. But she met Margaret, and the marriage laws changed, and it hardly made sense anymore. But for a while, that was my plan. Our plan,” he corrected himself. “So then I got a new one.”
“Me,” Amelia suggested.
“Not you, specifically, at first. But, yes, you.”
She rolled onto her back. To her surprise, Arthur went with her, resting his head on her chest. She pushed her fingers into his hair and marveled at finally being allowed to touch; maybe she’d been wrong, maybe she had never needed permission at all.
*
Amelia woke because she was cold. She pulled the duvet up more snugly under her chin, rolled over in search of Arthur to curl up against, and encountered…nothing.
She squinted her eyes open. The room was dark, except for a beam of light filtering in from the sitting room. Arthur wasn’t in bed with her — because Arthur was sitting on the sofa, fully dressed, one knee crossed over the other, looking at something on his tablet. The clock on the nightstand said six a.m. Their first event wasn’t until nine.
“Arthur?” she said.
At first she thought he hadn’t heard her; he certainly didn’t look up from his tablet. She had just sat up to go out to him when he spoke.
“You’re awake.” There was no pleasure in his voice, only something like dread.
“Yes?”
“Please explain this to me.” He held out the tablet.
“I can’t see what you’re talking about.” Amelia’s stomach squirmed unpleasantly. What had happened back in England? Was it the ravens? Had York done something terrible?
“Very well.” Arthur’s voice was hard and cold, the way it was when he browbeat particularly intransigent wedding committee members into doing things the way he wanted. For all their difficulties, he’d never turned that voice on her before. “It’s a tweet, from the University of California at Santa Barbara. Congratulating you on your acceptance and welcoming you to the next matriculating class.”
Amelia didn’t understand. “You knew I was applying to graduate programs.”
“Yes, before we got engaged. Our wedding date is weeks away.”
“I wanted to have options,” Amelia said slowly.
“Options.” Arthur repeated.
“I got the acceptance almost a year ago!”
“And you said yes?” Arthur dropped the tablet in a clear fit of incredulity.
Amelia clutched the sheets to her. “I didn’t say no!”
“After everything we agreed to! I proposed to you. I’m uniting the country for you. I created a new kind of queen for you!” Arthur was on his feet now. “I shouted at the Prime Minister, to keep that crown on your head!”
“Did you?” Amelia put her hand over her mouth. There could be no more inopportune moment to ask the question, but she hadn’t known that particular detail.
“I have spent years’ worth of political capital and have no fallback position. I’m flying without a net here, Amelia, and you deferred your admissions!”
“It happened before any of queen pari passu, Arthur. I didn’t know if our experiment would work out, I wanted some insurance and made the best choice I could. And then, when I should have been notifying them of a change in my plans, I was trapped in limbo!” Amelia shouted back. She got out of bed, went to her wardrobe, and began pulling on clothes. She could not have this argument naked, she was far too vulnerable.
“I saw the ministers coming,” she said as she pulled on a sweater. “I know what they wanted you to do. You met with Helen, but you didn’t tell me anything. All I had was the speculation of the papers to go on and the crumbs George would bring me! What was I supposed to do, sit and wait until the headsman came?”
“Helen!” Arthur exclaimed as she marched out into the living area. “Did you hear anything I said to you about her last night? I had to decide what to do with you, and she’s one of the only people I trust. She spent two weeks convincing me not to pack you off back north to your family!”
“Maybe you should have!” Amelia spat back. Angry tears stung her eyes, but she willed herself not to cry.
“After this,” Arthur snatched the tablet up again, “What reason do I have not to?”
Amelia’s coat was in the hall closet. She grabbed it and then pulled the door to the hallway open. She did not slam it behind her — queens to be did not slam doors — but s
he came close.
“Ma’am, can I help you?”
Amelia jumped at the unfamiliar voice. They’d been given a Canadian security detail when they landed, and she didn’t recognize the man standing outside the door.
She put on her very sunniest smile and hoped her eyes weren’t too red. “No, thank you.” She darted down the hall before he could say anything else or think to stop her.
By the time Amelia got to the lobby — she pulled her hood up to avoid the eyes of strangers and the snow swirling outside — she was completely alone. It was so cold outside her breath contracted in her chest, and she coughed involuntarily. The tears froze and stung on her face.
For a moment she considered going back inside. She certainly had no intention of freezing on a random street in Toronto. But going back inside would mean facing Arthur. There was no way their argument could end well, although at least if he did break their engagement off now, she could flee to the States for school. Amelia laughed at the absurdity, and realized, suddenly, that she was completely alone for the first time in months. No Priya, no Arthur, no Macsen, and no Edward — he didn’t come on duty for at least another hour.
Amelia took a deep breath. This time she didn’t cough. “Well, come on then,” she muttered to herself, before choosing a direction at random and setting out. Who knew when she in her impending ignominy would ever return to Toronto. She might as well see it.
Toronto was not, she quickly realized, an early-rising city. The sky was a dark, heavy blue, just turning light with the coming day. The area around the hotel was mostly ugly tall skyscrapers, surely lively during the week, but empty and silent this early on a Sunday. They’d driven through many interesting-looking parts of the city over the last couple days but this was not one of them. Increasingly, Amelia was sure she’d made a mistake: Not just in storming out, but in agreeing to this entire ridiculous experiment.
For the lack of any other particular destination — and because it was freezing out — she looked for coffee shops. It didn’t take long to find one, and she breathed a sigh of relief when it was actually open.
The girl behind the counter had to be about Amelia’s age. She looked up from a textbook and dog-eared notebook when the bell over the door rang.
“Hi, what can I — oh my God, you’re the Princess,” she said all in a rush and bolted to her feet.
Amelia meant to say “I’m not a princess,” but what came out was a sob.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Lost?” the girl behind the counter asked frantically. “Do you need me to call someone?”
“Please don’t do that,” Amelia managed through her tears.
“Are you sure? You, um….” The girl pulled a few napkins out of a dispenser and held them out for Amelia. Amelia took them with a mumbled a thank you, blew her nose, and scrubbed at her eyes.
“I’m —” Amelia said. “I, um, wanted to get away. Arthur and I had a fight.”
“Arthur — you mean like, King Arthur. Or Gregory. Whatever he is now.”
Amelia nodded. “Gregory. King Arthur sounded stupid.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.” Amelia shook her head. “No. Nothing like that.”
“Do you want some coffee? You could hide in our storeroom while I get it?” The girl pointed awkwardly. “Am I supposed to curtsey?”
“I’m not a princess,” Amelia said again. The girl flipped up a segment of the counter and dragged Amelia behind it, before pushing open the promised storeroom door.
“Sorry, it’s full of stuff.”
Amelia shrugged helplessly. She was happy to sit down on a cardboard box and brush the worst of the snow off her coat while her rescuer bustled back to the counter and returned a moment later with a steaming paper cup of coffee and a carton of doughnut holes.
“Thank you.” Amelia croaked as she took the coffee and shifted so the girl — Robin, her nametag said — could set the carton down next to her. Robin then turned an empty bucket over and sat across from her. Their knees knocked in the small space.
“’Course. Um. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“I don’t want to keep you from,” Amelia waved the hand that wasn’t holding a scalding cup of coffee at the door and, beyond it, the counter.
“Eh, I’ll hear anybody come in, it’s all good. You sure you’re not hurt or anything?”
Amelia shook her head. The warmth and smell of the coffee was immensely comforting. Although if she thought too hard about the world outside of this absurd little closet, she would start crying all over again.
“Sorry,” Robin said. “I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Amelia took a fortifying sip of coffee. “I don’t have anyone I can tell about it anyway. Everyone else works for him or has way too many opinions. What am I going to do?”
“Drink coffee until noon and then drink beer?”
Amelia cracked a watery smile. Robin grinned at her.
“Arthur and I had a fight,” Amelia said again. “Because a school I applied to before we got engaged accepted me and then tweeted about it. And I stormed out. Because, for a king, he can be a stubborn arsehole.”
Robin looked torn between horror and delight.
“And now it’s seven in the morning, and it’s snowing, and I don’t even know if we’re getting married anymore.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Robin said, with a friendly pat to her knee.
“There was a lot of yelling. Like, really ugly. A normal man would consider calling it off. I should consider calling it off. But I’ve been engaged to him for almost a year now. There’s nothing else I can do. And my fiancé threatened to set me aside because I am a political disaster. I’ve failed my people. I’ve failed my king. I’ve failed myself. And the only reason I’m not scared for my life is beheading’s gone out of style.”
She took a breath and stared into the coffee in her hands. Brown, like Arthur’s eyes. “I’m in love with him, and I’m not supposed to be,” she said. “He needed a bride, and I wanted a purpose. And what we had — it could have been enough. Except now we’re furious with each other.”
“Does he know how you feel?”
“Of course not. He thinks I was going to run away to school in America.”
The bell over the door jangled.
Robin hesitated before standing up. “You,” she said, pointing to Amelia and then the doughnut holes. “Eat sugar and carbs. I’ll be right back.”
She shut the supply closet door behind her, for which Amelia was grateful. Even if she still had no idea what she was going to do.
Her mobile buzzed in her pocket and she froze in the middle of taking another gulp of coffee. It was from the trip coordinator. Morning session with BSCE cancelled, it read. Oh God. If they had to cancel appearances because she’d disappeared to a coffee shop, she was utterly out of luck. But then she read the rest of the message: Due to inclement weather. Maybe that was just what they were calling vanished princesses these days?
There was a gentle knock on the door, before it opened a crack. Robin stuck her head in. “Hey,” she said quietly. “There’s two people out here. One says he’s with your security detail? The, quote, ‘proper one, not the damned Mounties who can’t find their way out of a paper bag.’” The girl made a passable attempt at Edward’s accent. “The other one just looks worried. And kinda hot?”
“Edward? And Macsen?”
“Yeah, maybe?”
Amelia stood up and brushed crumbs off her coat.
“I can tell him to fuck off if you want,” Robin offered.
“No, it’s okay.” Amelia smiled weakly at her. “I’ll talk to them.”
Edward’s entire being sagged in relief when Amelia walked out of the supply closet. “Oh, thank God, Lady Amelia.”
Macsen just waved at her.
“See! ‘Lady Amelia.’ That’s the stuff I’m talking about. Are you sure I’m not supposed to curtsey?”
“Quite sure. Thank you,” Amelia smiled at Robin as she flipped the counter segment back up for Amelia to go through again.
“You gave us quite a scare,” Edward said. He looked like he wanted to hug her; Amelia wouldn’t have minded if he had. But she was almost royalty — at least for the moment — and in his charge. It wasn’t allowed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to let you down.”
“You haven’t,” Macsen said. “You ran away to a location where we could get a snack in the middle of the crisis, for which I think we’re both very appreciative.”
Amelia smiled weakly.
“I guess you’re here to drag me back to the hotel to await my fate?” Amelia asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Robin retreat to a discreet distance and start wiping down machines.
“Not at all.” Edward looked almost offended at the suggestion. “I am here to protect you, Lady Amelia. What that means is up to you.”
Amelia had always appreciated the extent to which Edward was in her corner. She felt something in her lungs loosen.
“I suppose I should go back, then,” she said, with a frown out the big plate glass windows. The snow was coming down harder than ever. Apparently the event really had been cancelled for weather after all. “That’s only going to get worse.”
She waved at the snow but meant all of it — the fight, Arthur, the necessity of deciding all over again whether she would submit herself to this ridiculous life.
*
“Amelia,” Arthur breathed when Amelia walked into hotel suite, Edward at her side.
“Your Majesty,” Amelia said. Arthur had been striding toward her, but he stopped in his tracks. Something in his face shuttered closed.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said.
“I must apologize for raising my voice at you,” Amelia said. She looked at the painting on the wall over Arthur’s shoulder, not Arthur himself.
“Of course. I must as well,” he said just as stiffly.
