Page 30 of The Echelon (Spy Girl 7)
When she flings the double doors open, I see another dress on a form. More ballgown than wedding dress in a beautiful rich golden silk satin, the bodice covered in beading. Upon closer inspection, I discover that the beading is set in the flaming hearts design, matching the Arcadian tiara.
“The queen’s imperial robe is navy with gold braiding, so I felt that the gold would coordinate better. What do you think? Dior did a rush job on it.”
“I think I’m cool with wearing this,” I tell her with a wide grin. “I mean, how could I not?”
“That’s what I was hoping you would say. Your coronation gown will be recorded in Montrovian history, much like your wedding dress.” She instructs me to sit down, so she can carefully remove the tiara from my head.
I put on the gown and make my way to the lavish throne room, coming to stand outside the stately wood doors.
“In a few moments,” Dr. Kate says, "the doors will be opened, and you will walk down the small aisle, much like you did at the church.”
When the doors open, she says, “Smile pretty for the cameras,” but her advice isn’t necessary.
My face beams the second I see that Lorenzo is at the end of the room. Just like his coronation, the colors in the room are brilliant—from the bishop’s richly hued robes to the banners displaying the country’s flag and crest and the choir’s bright red robes.
I don’t think I could ever walk into this room and not be impressed with the massive blue marble pilasters, the wall coverings made of the finest of silks, the gilded moldings, and the large crystal chandelier—all colors that match the Montrovian flag and symbolize the country’s maritime roots.
When Lorenzo was crowned king after his father passed away, the queen’s throne was removed from the room since Lorenzo was not married, and it makes me so happy to see him standing in front of two ornate gold thrones, waiting for me. I’m not quite sure what I’m getting myself into, becoming the queen of a country, or if I even have what it takes, but I do know that anything is possible when Lorenzo is by my side. When we work together.
I love him so much.
After my procession to the front of the room, I’m draped in the Imperial Robe and then the bishop nods for me to sit on the throne next to Lorenzo. I’m handed the Royal Scepter and the Rod of Equity and Mercy. Then, a smaller version of the precious jewel-encrusted crown that was put on Lorenzo’s head is removed from a gilded platter and placed on mine.
“God save the queen!” is shouted three times.
The bishop completes the ceremony and pronounces me as Huntley Penelope Calliope Bond-Von Allister Vallenta, Queen of Montrovia.
Trumpets play, bells chime, gun salutes sound, and I walk proudly down the aisle with my husband and out to the balcony to officially greet his—I mean, our—waiting countrymen.
As we step out on the balcony where I first laid eyes on Lorenzo, the memory of my mother’s voice fills my head.
“Maybe, someday, you can be a princess.”
Who knew she could be prophetic?
Lorenzo and I wave to the crowd that has gathered.
“I told you,” he whispers to me, tightly holding my hand, “if you played your chess pieces right, you could end up by my side, history unfolding for both of us together.”
“And I’m very glad you were right about that!”
Lorenzo introduces me as his wife and Montrovia’s queen.
I expect to hear more, God save the queen, but instead, they start chanting, “KISS! KISS!”
And there, on the balcony, the orphan girl who saved Montrovia gives her husband, the king, a kiss completely inappropriate for television.
When we pull away to more cheers, Lorenzo makes sure the microphone is off and says, “I’m looking forward to our wedding night.”
“It’s not like we haven’t slept together,” I tease.
“Not as man and wife. Well, legally as man and wife.”
“True.”
“Except that, tonight, we will be practicing to make an heir to the throne.”
“I expect it will take quite a lot of practice,” I say, not wanting to spill the beans just yet. I’m waiting for just the right moment and hoping I will know when that is.
“It most certainly will,” he says. “A most exciting mission.”
“You know what they say, it starts in Montrovia,” I reply.
Ares finishes watching Huntley and Lorenzo cut their wedding cake at the reception. The reception decor is as equally over the top as the ceremony was, but he guesses that’s to be expected at a royal wedding. He’s curious about the significance of the single queen chess piece atop their eight-tiered floral cake but doesn’t bother to ask about it. He feels so happy right now; he can almost forgive Kelley for not telling him about his children.
He takes a seat next to his old friends.
“Here’s to Gio and Jack,” Malcolm says. “We’ve avenged their deaths.”
“We have,” Ares says, “but look around.”
Malcolm smiles as he watches all their children, looking happy and together, starting the futures they were destined for.
“I will admit, when I heard you were alive, I was mad,” Aleksandr says.
“I was quite distressed when I had to make myself dead,” Ares counters.
Aleksandr nods, weighing the two in his head. “I’d say we’re even then,” he says with a laugh.
“Thank you for taking in my children, no
questions asked,” Ares says gratefully. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
“Oh, we had plenty of questions,” Malcolm says, “but all you had to do was look at Aristotle or hear Huntley speak to know they were undoubtedly yours.”
“She’s going to make a good queen,” Aleksandr says, looking out at the happy couple on the dance floor.
“I’d say she already has. She saved the world,” Malcolm says and then turns to Ares. “With your help, of course.”
Ares shakes his head. “She deserves all the credit.”
“The credit she doesn’t seem to want. I have a feeling, she was involved a lot more than what Lorenzo spoke of today.”
“She most definitely was. Someday, I’ll tell you all about it.” Ares grins. “But, for now, I guess I can take a little of the credit.”
“Oh, here we go,” Aleksandr jokes. “Now, you’ve bested us. You always were a braggart at poker.”
“Only because I always won!” Ares says.
“And, now that you had a hand in saving the world,” Malcolm agrees, rolling his eyes, “we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Ares looks down, overcome.
“Oh shit, you’re not getting all emotional, are you?” Aleksandr asks, his own eyes clouding with tears.
Ares looks at his friends.
He looks back at their children, dancing.
“She’s pregnant,” he says. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Lorenzo doesn’t even know yet. She told me as we were walking down the aisle.”
“Oh boy,” Malcolm says, his eyes becoming misty as well. “A grandchild. That makes all your sacrifices worth it. It’s funny how we joked that you were the Phoenix, that you would die and then rise from the ashes. Now, you have.”
“And what a beautiful new life it is,” Ares says.
The men hold their glasses in the air, sharing an emotional moment.
“Here’s to our futures,” Aleksandr toasts.
“Have you decided where you will live,” Malcolm asks, “what you will do? Are you going back to running your company?”
