Chapter 19: A kingdom in mourning

The grand bells of Westminster Abbey tolled mournfully, their solemn echoes carrying across London, as though the city itself wept for the fallen king. Draped in black, the streets were eerily quiet, save for the occasional whispers of grief-stricken citizens. The air hung heavy with sorrow as the kingdom prepared to lay King George to rest.

Emma sat beside Eleanor and Alfred in the grand nave of the abbey, her hands tightly clasped around a black lace handkerchief. She felt the weight of the occasion in her chest, her breath shallow under the oppressive stillness of the mourning crowd. Harrison sat at her side, his jaw tight, his face as unreadable as stone. Behind them, Beatrice and Thomas sat with somber expressions, Thomas unusually quiet for once.

The abbey was resplendent in its sorrow. Velvet drapes in black and royal purple hung from the arched windows, while silver candelabras illuminated the somber faces of the congregation. At the center of it all was the king's coffin, an exquisite casket of mahogany and gold, adorned with the royal crest and the crown placed at its head. A sea of white lilies, the flower of mourning, surrounded it, their scent thick and overwhelming.

When the ceremony began, Prince Adrian stepped forward, his black suit sharply tailored, his face pale but composed. The weight of his father's crown—and the burden of his loss—seemed to press down on him as he ascended the steps to address the assembly. His voice, deep yet steady, filled the silent cathedral.

"My father, King George, was more than a ruler," Adrian began, his tone measured but laced with restrained emotion. "He was a protector, a symbol of strength and stability in a world often beset by chaos. His love for this kingdom was unyielding, his devotion unmatched. Today, we do not merely bury a king; we mourn the loss of a man who was, to many, the embodiment of honor and duty."

Emma felt a pang of sympathy for Adrian as his voice wavered, though he quickly recovered.

"As I stand before you now, I am filled with both grief and questions," he continued. "Questions that may never be answered. My father's death was sudden, unjust, and shrouded in shadows that I cannot yet dispel. But I promise this: the light of truth will prevail, and justice will be served in its time."

Gasps rippled through the crowd at the veiled suggestion of foul play, but Adrian's stoic demeanor revealed nothing more. He bowed his head briefly, and when he looked up again, his eyes glimmered with unshed tears.

"To my father, I say this: May you rest in peace, knowing that your legacy lives on in the hearts of your people and in the strength of this crown."

The room erupted into a murmur of respectful applause as Adrian stepped down, his expression hardening into an unreadable mask.

After the ceremony, the mourners filed out of the abbey to pay their final respects at the gravesite. Emma, clutching Harrison's arm, whispered, "I should say something to him."

Harrison glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "Are you sure? He doesn't seem... receptive."

Emma nodded resolutely. "It's the right thing to do."

She approached Adrian as he stood near the freshly dug grave, his gaze fixed on the casket being lowered into the earth. His shoulders were stiff, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"Your Highness," Emma began softly, her voice almost drowned by the tolling of the bells.

Adrian turned slowly, his expression as cold and unyielding as the winter wind that swept through the cemetery. His piercing blue eyes met hers, devoid of warmth.

"I wanted to offer my condolences," Emma said, her voice faltering slightly under the weight of his gaze. "Your father was a great man. The kingdom mourns with you."

Adrian's lips thinned into a line, and he inclined his head curtly. "I appreciate your sentiment, Lady Emma," he said, his tone formal and distant. "But condolences do not bring back the dead."

Emma blinked, stunned by his coldness, but she recovered quickly. "No, they do not. But perhaps they remind us that we are not alone in our grief."

For a brief moment, something flickered in Adrian's eyes—pain, perhaps, or regret—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"Alone is precisely what one must be to bear such a burden," he replied, turning back to the grave. "Excuse me."

Emma hesitated, her hand hovering in midair as though she wanted to reach out to him but didn't dare. She turned and walked back to Harrison, who stood waiting with a concerned expression.

"What did he say?" Harrison asked, his voice low.

"Nothing kind," Emma replied, her brow furrowed. "But... I suppose I didn't expect him to."

As the crowd began to disperse, the weight of the day settled over them like a shroud. Emma glanced back at Adrian one last time, standing alone at the gravesite, the weight of his new responsibilities clearly etched into his posture.

"To wear a crown is to carry the weight of the world," Harrison murmured, as if reading her thoughts.

Emma nodded, her heart heavy with an ache she couldn't quite place.

The following days were marked by an unrelenting stillness, as if the entire kingdom held its breath. Black mourning ribbons adorned the streets of London, the windows of shops shuttered in respect for the fallen monarch. The papers speculated endlessly, their headlines screaming about the mystery surrounding the king's death.

Emma found herself pacing the drawing room of Hastings Manor, her mind restless. Harrison sat in the corner, his brow furrowed as he read through the latest issue of The Times. Thomas sprawled lazily on the chaise lounge, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched his sister.

"Would you stop that?" Emma snapped, glaring at her younger brother.

"Stop what?" Thomas asked, his smirk widening.

"Staring at me like you're plotting something mischievous," Emma replied, crossing her arms.

Thomas shrugged, his expression mock-innocent. "I was just wondering, dear sister, if you're planning to pace your way right into the ground. At this rate, you'll create a trench in the floor before your wedding day."

Harrison chuckled softly, glancing up from his paper. "He has a point, Emma. If you're going to worry, you might as well sit down and do it comfortably."

Emma shot them both a withering look but relented, sitting down with a sigh. "I just can't stop thinking about how much has changed. First the king's death, and now... the postponement of the wedding. It feels like everything is unraveling."

Thomas leaned forward, his grin playful. "Oh, come now. A postponed wedding isn't the end of the world. Besides, it gives you more time to fuss over your dress and make sure everything is absolutely perfect. Isn't that what brides do?"

Emma threw a pillow at him, which he dodged with practiced ease. "I hardly think now is the time for jokes, Thomas."

Harrison set the paper aside and leaned toward Emma, his expression softening. "He's just trying to lighten the mood, Emma. And he's not entirely wrong—this delay doesn't change how I feel about you, or what we're building together. We'll have our day, even if it's not as soon as we'd hoped."

Emma managed a small smile, grateful for his steady reassurance. "Thank you, Harrison. I know you're right. It's just... difficult, not knowing what's coming next."

Thomas rolled his eyes dramatically. "Goodness, you two are insufferable with all this seriousness. If you ask me, the real tragedy here is that I've been deprived of a wedding feast. Do you have any idea how much I was looking forward to the cakes?"

Emma couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking her head. "You're impossible, Thomas."

"Impossible but lovable," Thomas countered, flashing her a cheeky grin.

Their lighthearted banter was interrupted by Eleanor entering the room, her face a mask of composure that barely concealed her weariness. "There's been word from the palace," she announced, drawing everyone's attention.

"What word?" Harrison asked, his tone cautious.

Eleanor hesitated, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. "The funeral has left many in the court unsettled. There are whispers... whispers that the assassination was not the work of a foreign power, as many assumed, but someone within the palace."

Emma's eyes widened. "Someone within the palace? But why would anyone—"

"Power, my dear," Eleanor said grimly. "There are those who would stop at nothing to claim it."

Harrison frowned, his jaw tightening. "And yet Adrian said nothing of this during the funeral. Either he doesn't know, or he's choosing to keep it quiet."

Eleanor nodded. "Precisely. It seems there's more at play here than we realize. And until the truth comes to light, we must tread carefully."

The room fell silent, the gravity of Eleanor's words sinking in. Thomas, for once, looked serious, his playful demeanor subdued.

Emma glanced at Harrison, her heart heavy with a mix of worry and determination. "Whatever happens, we face it together," she said softly.

Harrison reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Always."

In the days following the funeral, the kingdom was awash with both grief and anticipation. Whispers of uncertainty turned into rumors, and soon the palace made its declaration: Adrian, the late King George's only son, would ascend the throne as the new King of England. The announcement sent ripples across the country, and preparations for the coronation began at once.

On the morning of the coronation, the streets of London were a sight to behold. Union Jacks waved proudly in the hands of citizens who lined the cobblestone roads, eager to catch a glimpse of the royal procession. Bells from Westminster Abbey echoed across the city, their tolls heavy with significance.

Emma, seated in the reserved section for nobility, found herself in awe of the splendor before her. The abbey was adorned with gold and crimson banners, symbolizing the monarchy's enduring legacy. The air inside was thick with the scent of roses and lilies, which had been meticulously arranged along the nave.

Adrian entered the abbey, his demeanor regal and composed. He wore a deep navy tunic embroidered with gold thread, his cape trailing behind him like a river of crimson. The weight of the moment was visible in his eyes, though he masked it well with a stern expression.

As the archbishop began the ceremony, every eye in the room was fixed on Adrian.

"Do you, Adrian William Henry, solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of this United Kingdom and the Commonwealth realms according to their laws and customs?" the archbishop intoned, his voice reverberating through the sacred space.

Adrian's reply was firm. "I solemnly promise and swear to do so."

The crown was lifted and placed upon Adrian's head, its jewels catching the light in a dazzling display. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath as the new king rose, now officially the ruler of England.

"Long live the king!" the archbishop declared, and the congregation echoed the cry, their voices a chorus of reverence and loyalty.

Emma stole a glance at Adrian, who now stood at the center of the abbey. He was the picture of power and poise, yet there was something guarded in his expression. The weight of his new role was evident, and Emma couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him.

After the ceremony, as nobles and dignitaries filed out of the abbey, Emma approached Adrian, her hands clasped in front of her. Harrison watched from a distance, his posture protective but understanding.

"Your Majesty," Emma said softly, curtsying deeply. "Please accept my sincerest congratulations and condolences. I know this must be a bittersweet day for you."

Adrian's gaze flicked to hers, his expression unreadable. "Thank you, Lady Hastings," he said curtly, his tone devoid of warmth.

Emma blinked, taken aback by his coldness. Before she could say more, Adrian turned and walked away, his cape billowing behind him.

Harrison stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on Emma's arm. "Don't take it personally," he murmured. "He's under a great deal of pressure."

Emma nodded, though the encounter left her unsettled.

That evening, back at Hastings Manor, the mood was decidedly lighter. The family had gathered in the drawing room, the fire crackling warmly in the hearth. Eleanor and Violet exchanged knowing glances before rising from their seats.

"Emma, Harrison," Eleanor began, her voice tinged with excitement. "Violet and I have a surprise for you both."

Emma and Harrison exchanged curious looks.

"You've both been so patient and understanding with all the delays," Violet continued. "So, we've decided to take matters into our own hands."

Eleanor clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling. "We've arranged for your wedding to take place in three weeks' time."

For a moment, the room was silent as the words sank in. Then, Emma let out a gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Truly?" she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Eleanor smiled warmly. "Truly, my dear. Everything is already in motion. The guest list, the arrangements—it's all being handled."

Harrison rose from his seat, his face breaking into a wide grin. He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling Emma into his arms. "Did you hear that? Three weeks!"

Emma laughed, her tears of joy spilling over. "I can hardly believe it!"

Thomas, who had been lounging nearby, clapped his hands together dramatically. "Finally! I thought I'd be an old man before this wedding happened. And more importantly, does this mean there will be cake soon?"

Everyone laughed, the tension of the past weeks melting away in the warmth of the moment.

Eleanor and Violet exchanged a satisfied glance, their hearts full as they watched the couple bask in their happiness.

"Three weeks," Harrison murmured, cupping Emma's face. "I'll count every single day until then."

Emma smiled up at him, her heart soaring. "And I'll count with you."