Chapter Seventy-Three

"Oh I hate this."

His wife's quiet complaining beside him made Harry smile. On the one hand, she was utterly insane. They were walking on the beach in Gambon while their daughters played in the sand and ran around the ocean surf. Harry had never been much of one for the beach—too much sun and sand and wind and it was always bloody uncomfortable for one reason or another—but it was nice to hold Ruth's hand and feel the warmth on his skin as they watched Emmy and Charlotte giggling and running about. It should have been a perfect moment for them.

But of course, they were not a family who got to have perfect moments like that. Because their perfect moment was marred by the clicking cameras of the photographers who were documenting every second that the royal family spent in public. The girls had never known anything else, so they were good at smiling and waving to the press and behaving properly, knowing they were being watched. Harry still resented it and had to remind himself almost constantly not to get angry and physically attack the reporters. Ruth, while less violent, was equally bothered by the way the vultures circled their lives with perverse glee.

It was important though, both at home and on the royal tour. At home, it was important that the royal family not be too inaccessible to the people. Ruth was always reminding them all that the monarchy existed with the consent of the citizens. It was affection and trust and nothing more that kept their homeland from revolting and overthrowing them. Here on the royal tour, it was almost more important. It was the first royal tour that Queen Louisa had embarked on; she'd been a young mother when she became queen, and Juliet was always perfectly content to make the grand trips and visit the colonies on behalf of the crown, leaving Ruth and Harry to stay at home with their family. But she had been queen for more than five years now, and given that the former colonies were now independent nations under the commonwealth with Queen Louisa as their figurehead, it was vital that the queen and her family make a personal connection to their foreign subjects. Juliet had been the one to point it out, shockingly; Harry hated her for that. Well, Harry hated her for a lot of things.

"You're sure my dress isn't see-through?" Ruth grumbled.

Harry glanced over to see that the pale blue fabric was certainly thin and it billowed in the ocean breeze and showed off her body quite nicely. "No, it's not see-through," he assured her. "But you do look very beautiful. No one's ever seen you so casual, have they? Other than inside the palace and away from the press," he asked.

She thought for a moment. "No, I don't think so. I try to keep my battle armor on whenever I need to be doing royal things. First while princessing and now while queening."

He chuckled at her phrasing. Those were the terms he'd been using for years to tease her. He knew she did not take her royal duties lightly, but Harry rather thought that being able to speak about things with a small hint of a joke might help her relax a little. It seemed to be having that effect. "I'm glad they can see this side of you," he said, leaning in to kiss her temple as they walked together.

"Oh you know better than that," she scolded lightly.

From where the photographers were, they could not hear what the queen and prince were saying, thankfully, but Harry knew they were watching. Closely.

Ruth sighed, "I wish we didn't have to put on the show of all this, but maybe you're right."

"I think so," he said. "You're still young for your position, but you are so full of love and kindness, Ruth. We can dance around a ballroom and smile and wave at crowds just fine, and we hate doing that in front of the photographers, but let them see you as a mother to our children. Let them see you as a wife to me. Let them see the softness in you. They've all learned by now that you've got steel running through your veins. They ought to know you this way, too."

She rested her head on his shoulder, thinking. He knew she was remembering when, after he was shot protecting her from an assassination attempt on Emancipation Day, she had stood on the steps of the palace and given a speech to the world while wearing the clothing that was stained with his blood. Harry also knew she was remembering the way she'd practiced standing tall to appear as regal as possible at her coronation. And perhaps she was even thinking, too, when she had given the eulogy at her father's funeral and, in spite of her overwhelming grief, she had delivered the most beautiful and emotionally powerful speech Harry had ever witnessed. Queen Louisa had proven herself more than equal to the task of queening, and the whole world knew it.

But she was also so much more than that. And it was that knowledge that caused Harry to agree to the royal tour when Ruth suggested it. He had always been proud of her, whether it was when she was a brilliant analyst in Army Intelligence, when she was his fiancée and they could go to the ballet together, when she was a beautiful princess in her ballgown, or when she had given birth to their daughters less than a year apart after all the torment that pregnancy had caused. So many of those things the rest of the world would never see—nor should they. But the people deserved to know the full glory of their queen. To know her a bit more and to love her more fully.

And here they were, back in Gambon for the first time since their honeymoon nearly fifteen years before. They'd told Emmy and Charlotte about that, though there wasn't much to tell; parents certainly weren't going to tell children of nine and ten about a honeymoon that consisted of sunbathing on the deck of a yacht and shagging at every single possible opportunity. Still, it was a special place for them because of their past, and sharing it with their girls was a joy. And that joy was something they could in turn share with the people through the photographers who captured their happy family moments.

"Mummy, come race with me!" Charlotte called.

Harry lamented that he no longer could race with his athletically minded youngest child. After being shot in the knee, he was lucky to be able to walk more than a mile at a time without being in agony. Running was absolutely out of the question.

But Ruth, while not the sportiest of people, could never deny their girls much in the world. Not when it came to playing with them and talking with them and teaching them. And so Queen Louisa allowed the world to see her as Ruth more plainly than ever before. She kissed Harry's cheek and let go of his hand to tear off after Charlotte. She caught their little girl and grabbed her around the middle and swung her around. They giggled joyously and ended up tripping—Ruth never was the most coordinated of women—and fell down in the sand and got soaking wet in the waves.

Emilia came over to join her father, taking the hand her mother had relinquished. "They're not going to be laughing later when they're cold and sandy and gross," she pointed out wisely.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. Emmy was growing into the perfect little princess. She knew what life had in store for her, and she took it seriously. She would not be unprepared the way Ruth was. She would face her fate head on. But she could sometimes be a little too focused. Harry worried she would grow up too fast as a result. So he told her, "I think they're having a lot of fun, and it's wonderful. And I bet you'd have fun, too, if you go run and play with Mum and Charlotte."

Emmy looked up at her father, squinting in the sunlight. "What will you do?"

"I shall watch you all have fun and smile along with you."

"That doesn't sound very fun."

Harry smiled down at her. "Something you'll understand more when you get older, Emilia, is that there is nothing better in all the world than seeing the people you love more than anything be deliriously happy. Even if I don't fall in the sand and giggle with you all, I promise I'll have fun, too."

"Alright, but I think you should fall in the sand and giggle with us anyway. Because then we can all feel happy to see you be happy, too," she countered.

Already at ten years old, she had such unexpected wisdom. She really was her mother's daughter. And she'd be a wonderful queen when the time came.

Without a word, Harry yanked Emmy by the arm toward the waves. He spun her around and took her further and further into the surf. Harry didn't care that he was fully dressed in the ocean up to his waist. Not when he had his daughter in his arms and the sound of her laughter mixed with that of Charlotte's and Ruth's ringing in his ears.