by Phil Geusz
She blinked. "David… You're a prince. Not many bunnies would complain about that."
"Only because they've never been one!" I retorted. "No Rabbit should ever be a prince—we're not built for this sort of thing. I only took the job because I thought it'd shorten the war—which I believe it actually did, by the way. James made me a promise once that I'd rule by his side, and he's kept it in full. But… I never wanted to rule, Hon! I didn't believe he meant it literally! And all those Rabbit-tourists back at home…" I shook my head again. "I want to lie around and crack jokes with them, not be worshipped! Never once in my entire life have I sought to be admired or looked up to, much less worshipped! Some humans, I hear, live for that sort of thing. If so, they must be off their rockers! All I really want is a quiet engine room somewhere to work in or maybe even run, with you waiting for me in my cabin to rub my shoulders after a long, hard shift." I smiled, and Frieda smiled back. "Honestly… I think this royalty-thing is driving me insane. And I haven't even been formally crowned yet!"
"I see," Frieda said, her voice warm and soft. "You're still the shy little boy I had such a terrible crush on, deep down inside."
"Yes! That's it exactly!" I agreed. "And oh! how much happier was the boy than the man he grew up into. King Albert was the same way. He yearned for freedom more than any slave ever did, I think. The war's over, hon. Why is it that everyone else can go home and get on with their lives except me?"
For a while we sat in silence. "You need a vacation, David," she finally said. "Worse than anyone I've ever seen. And yet for the life of me, I can't see how you can ever take one."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Me either." Then we sat in silence for a few minutes longer.
"Go ahead, if you like," Frieda finally said. "I'll love you just as much either way. So will Nestor and the rest of your inner circle, once they come to understand. Even James will come to accept it, eventually."
"Go ahead and what?" I asked.
"Refuse the crown," Frieda replied, laying her head on my shoulder. It was soft and beautiful and fragrant; one of her ears tickled my nostrils temptingly. "And don't tell me that isn't what all this has been leading up to. Even if you don't know it yourself yet."
21
Temptation is a terrible, terrible thing. There were only a little more than two days left before the Big Day; by any reasonable standard it'd been far too late for me to back out of being crowned for weeks already. To flinch now would not only be among the rudest and ungrateful things I could possibly do, so many questions would be asked that James's hold on the Throne might even be weakened. It was obvious to any rational observer that by now I had to go through with it—there just wasn't any choice in the matter.
Or at least that's where my brain stood on the subject. My heart took an entirely different position, however. I've been screaming at you for years to turn back! it whispered to me practically every second of those last two days. You know you'll never be happy as a monarch! Who are you kidding, David? For the love of god, run for your life! While you still can!
It was amazing, in some ways. Here I was the holder of four Swords of Orion and the veteran of several rather challenging campaigns. And yet… Ordering Richard's course set towards Imperious instead of away was nothing compared to forcing myself to sit silent and uncomplaining as the final hours passed. Charging the Imperial Line of Battle against orders wasn't half so difficult, nor making the second attempt at grappling Sword of the People after the first had burned me almost to death. I'd just been a boy then, and it still hadn't been so hard. Not even defending Zombie Station—when I was quite certain the attempt could only end in everyone's death—had been so heart-rippingly difficult.
"Nestor," I finally said on my last night of freedom, sitting in my private lounge with a cup of tea in my hand. "I'm terrified."
"I'm not the least bit surprised," he answered after the barest hesitation. "Heavens know I would be too. Marriage is a terribly serious matter."
I couldn't help but chuckle even though I wasn't certain if my old friend was joking or not. "It's not Frieda—that decision I'm completely confident in. It's the crown."
Nestor blinked—apparently he had been serious. "Well… Sir, you sort of committed to that a long time ago."
"Yes," I agreed. "In practical terms, you're right. But…" I gestured around the room and its rich trappings. "I did it to end the war, was all. In truth, I didn't think much beyond that."
Nestor nodded and sighed. "With respect, sir… If you have one great flaw in your character, it's that you tend to disregard the potential costs of your actions. Especially the personal costs. Normally I'd chalk that up to your military background and training, but from what I can tell your risk-taking tendencies predate that." He shrugged. "You won your first Sword while still a boy."
I sat back and closed my eyes. Oh, how long ago that'd been! "I've taken insane risks," I agreed. "Absolutely mad risks! It's a miracle I've lived through them all. Or that so many of my men have. But…" I wriggled uncomfortably in my overly padded chair. "It was the war, you see. That was what drove everything. War is in and of itself an insane activity, so it shouldn't be surprising that sometimes the key to victory is being just a little battier than the other lunatic."
"Your record in such matters speaks for itself," Nestor agreed. "And my own limited experience leads me to agree with you, if that makes you feel any better. Yet…" He sighed and shook his head. "This is difficult for me, sir. But I have to say it."
I smiled. "Nestor, on the day that you cease to speak the truth to me I'll go stick my royal head in the royal oven and turn on the royal gas."
He smiled back, but the expression was fleeting. "Sir… You've always been an excellent officer and leader of men, but with all due respect you make a terrible nobleman. As do I. As will all Rabbits, I suspect, until a few more generations have passed. Even James… Sir, you know I like James very much indeed. He's been terribly good to me."
"Yes," I agreed.
"Yet even so… Sir, I can speak to you as an equal. I've always been able to, once we got past those first few days when we Beechwood Rabbits didn't know what to expect or how to be anything but groveling slaves. It's not just me, either, or even just Rabbits and Horses and Dogs. There's something about you, a sort of inner beacon that not only radiates 'commoner' but goes even further. 'Commoner', it says, 'and proud of it'." He smiled again. "The humans react to it as well; they often speak of how 'approachable' you are, and 'down to earth'." Then he frowned and looked away. "I don't get that from James. He's a Marcus noble through and through—you can see it from the way he carries himself and the ease with which he dominates his Court. A place, by the way, where he's the total, complete center of attention at all times. And where you, sir, still fumble badly on almost a daily basis. Because you're so uncomfortable with getting all the attention and holding all the power."
I nodded slowly.
"Sir," Nestor continued. "You've asked me to speak the truth to you, always. And I love you far too much to dishonor you by lying regardless. Though I admit that I might not've seen it so clearly had I not been elevated to a Peerage myself, you face a lifetime of inescapable misery. This I fear is to be your reward for serving the interests of the various humanities so well. No Rabbit alive is truly suitable for the job you're about to formally undertake, though perhaps we may eventually morally degenerate to that point. In the past you've always done your duty as you've seen it—silently, courageously, splendidly. But against the background of war the course of righteousness was always crystal-clear, and the worst you had to fear was torture or death. Now you face something far more odious and corrupting, and your victories will ever after be measured in shades of gray." He shook his head, and to my shock a tear was running down his cheek. "Sir… They owe you better. But it's not their fault, really. Almost none of them understand. It's just how the universe works, is all. Except for the very luckiest of all, I mean. Like Alexander the Great. He conquered his universe just like y
ou did yours, but died before he had to pay the price."
22
At least the morning of the Big Day wasn't too awful—marrying my one true love was a joy regardless of all else. James gave away the bride in lieu of Frieda's long-dead father, while Nestor stood tall and proud next to me as best man. There were dozens of others in the wedding party as well, royal ceremonies being what they were. I didn't know any of the maids-in-waiting, though I was pleased to see that over half were Rabbits shipped in from Boyen Twelve for their moment in the sun. My own groomsmen were mostly human, including good old Josiah and Lieutenant O'Toole, though I'd also found room for my old canine friend Fidel from Wilkes Prime. And of course there was Snow, the only other living Rabbit besides myself to carry a Sword of Orion. He still seemed a bit awkward and uncomfortable at all the attention, even though he'd been an instructor-sergeant at the Academy for over two years now. I wondered what his snotties thought of him.
Other than those few the rest of the Chapel crowd was made up of the bluest of blue blood; while all the old prejudices and jealousies still simmered just beneath the surface both sides seemed willing to work things out with the other, to forgive and forget and let bygones be bygones. My career was perhaps a small factor in how we'd made so much progress so quickly, I admitted to myself as I daydreamed during the too-long and forgettable sermon. So perhaps my life so far hadn't been entirely wasted. Quite contrary to all the rules of decorum I reached out and gave Frieda a little squeeze. She'd played no insignificant role in it all herself, and…
Well, so long as she was around there was a limit to just how bad things could get. For our love was indeed true, no matter how artificial it might or might not be.
Then the vows were exchanged, I slipped an ancient Marcus fire-lily-themed ring onto her slender finger, and we kissed long and hard and deep. The chapel bells rang, the onlookers cheered, and for a moment there was only peace and joy in the universe.
"I love you," I whispered into my wife's ear.
"Honey," she replied. "I've been holding something back from you for this moment, though I think you'll understand. They tell me it'll be a boy. And I hope that he'll be just like you. Because you're so perfect, and because I love you so very, very much!"
My jaw dropped, my knees almost buckled…
…and then I was kissing her again in renewed passion as the crowd, not knowing what'd just happened, laughed and cheered some more. Then we finally separated long enough for the organ to play something joyous and the wedding party, headed by James and Gwendolyn, to lead us to the exit.
After that things were sort of a blur for a while—I don't remember much except being paraded in a ground-limo past endless cheering crowds, the members of which were disproportionately of a furry nature. They were going mad, waving brooms-and-pennants similar to the one Richard had triumphantly flown into internment. Someone in the souvenir business was making an absolute killing on the design. Frieda and James and Gwendolyn and I all waved back, which made them happier still. For the first time ever I found that I didn't mind being cheered—not on this one very special morning at least. "May I tell them?" I asked Frieda, nodding at the other royal couple.
"Well," she replied, her ear-linings darkening in a deep blush. "Gwen already knows."
"Knows what?" James asked, looking at me helplessly.
"What women always know first," I replied with a smile. "It'll be a boy."
"Oh!" His Majesty replied, face brightening. "Well, then! You're off to a ripping good start! Congratulations to the both of you!"
Traditionally both coronations and weddings were held at the Royal Chapel, but given the scale of interest in this particular event—the population of Earth Secundus was temporarily up fifteen percent, the inflow of mostly ex-slaves was so heavy—we decided to hold the coronation at the Hall of Nobles instead. This was for the sole purpose of justifying the motorcade, whose path meandered so as to allow as many visitors as possible to get a good look as we rolled past. There wasn't any other way to make it possible for everyone—or almost everyone!—to see us all together. "They worked so hard to earn their fares," Gwendolyn observed, keeping her smile up but sounding sad regardless. "Yet it's all over for them in a few seconds. It's a shame that we can't do something more for them."
"A terrible shame indeed," James agreed. "But reality is reality, hon. The security-types about blew a gasket just over this little ride."
I nodded in grim agreement; a third of all kings to date had been assassinated one way or another, though most commonly in their own chambers. Plus another, I remembered sadly, that no one knew about yet. My heavens, how I wished the grand old man could've somehow lived to see this day! So much of our success was of his making—one by all his dreams were coming true. Due to his years of patient groundwork we'd not only won the war and freed the slaves but were poised for new explorations, new learnings, in fact a new Golden Age. Oh, how I wished he could be here to see it! This time I'd have made him some chocolate milk, by golly!
And just that suddenly I knew who I wanted to name my firstborn after, assuming Frieda didn't mind.
Then we were pulling up in front of the Palace, where a wide area had been roped off and three entire squads of marines in their finest uniforms stood facing stonily out into the crowd, blaster-rifles held firmly across their chests. The troops weren't merely decorative— they were busily scanning the crowd, along with not hundreds but thousands of other security-types. It was dangerous for royalty to appear in public, yet in the long run it was even more dangerous not to. So all four of us smiled and waved while the masses cheered and internally I suppressed a chill at the thought of my pregnant wife centered in the reticule of some madman's sniper-scope. Then it was time for James and I to hug as well, the way we always did on occasions such as this.
"I'm proud to be your brother, David!" James whispered in my ear. "You've been loyal and true from the moment we met, and I owe you not only my crown but my life many times over. I'd make you my co-king if I could. Not just a prince."
I felt myself blushing under the fur. "The entire Marcus family has been so incredibly good and honorable that—"
I never got to finish the sentence. The heavy, long-range slug entered under James's right armpit, struck his spine, and was deflected just enough to bury itself deep into my own right shoulder. Not that I knew it at the time—all I felt was James jerk suddenly, then go limp in my arms as I tried to support him but somehow could not. "I once dreamed…" James said as he toppled—the words were remarkably clear and distinct.
But no more of them came before I was tackled and body-slammed to the ground. There was shouting and confusion.
"The prince is hit too!" someone shouted, and for the first time I realized that I was also wounded.
"D-a-a-avid!" Frieda howled from somewhere—all I could see was a small patch of concrete directly in front of my nose.
"I'm here!" I replied. "Get down, love! Take cover!"
"She's going to be all right, Your Highness," a preternaturally calm voice said into my ear—there were thousands of people screaming and panicking all around us, and if I hadn't been a Rabbit I doubt that I could've made out a word. "There's a dozen trained men taking care of her, just like we are you. Please, don't do anything but lie limp. You've been hit badly, and trying to walk will just make it worse."
"Frieda!" I cried out, trying to pull away. "James!"
"He's out of his head," the man said—it was nearly true, I had to admit. Everything had been so sudden, so out of the blue… "On the count of three, lift and carry. Reggie! Commandeer us a room and a doc!"
They didn't even let me try to walk on my own. Instead I was thrown onto a stretcher and carried into the Hall of Nobles at a dead run. That was when the pain truly hit—it was debilitating blowtorch agony, of the sort I'd not experienced since grappling the Will of the People. I was also all wet, I finally noticed. It was blood. But not mine, so much. Judging by the smell, most of it was human. "James!" I w
ailed again.
"Be still!" a whitecoated man with the Royal coat-of-arms embroidered on his lapel ordered. He poked and prodded for several long moments, then turned to a new figure. "This one will live," he finally declared. "It's not all that serious, thank god. Just messy, and probably almighty painful. I'd like to give him something for that."
"Nothing that'll cloud his mind," a familiar voice ordered. It was Uncle Robert, by god! Dressed in full House Lord court regalia…
…and smeared with more of James's blood.
Suddenly my chest went cold. If he was with me instead of James… "No!" I wailed. "No, no, no!"
Then the elderly man's hand was gripping mine, firm and hard and implacable. "Damnit, David!" he roared. "Must you always figure things out so quickly?" Then he sighed and I saw that he'd been weeping too. "You're right, son. It's over for him. The king is dead."
"L-l-l-ong…" I stuttered. "L-long live the King!"
Suddenly Robert was staring intently in into my eyes. "My god, son! That's not for you to say! Haven't you figured the rest out yet?"
