A/N: M-rating for this chapter.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

It was a bloody long day. Harry had been to two coronations now. The first had been long and stressful, as Ruth was assisting her father and Harry himself was just annoyed by the whole thing, since he was required to be there through the whole thing. But this one was a thousand times more exhausting for them both. Ruth more so, of course. She was the one being crowned queen. Harry just had to be there to watch.

And it was a true honor to watch, as much as he often hated the ceremony of things like this. Ruth, his darling Ruth, had her very own coronation. Queen Louisa had reigned for just over a year since her father's death, but being crowned made it all feel much more official. The ceremony of this was more than just ritual for its sake. It solidified her place. And Harry's place alongside her.

She looked more regal than he could have ever imagined. The gown she'd chosen—well, the gown that had been chosen for her—was absolutely exquisite. He'd not seen her in anything so formal and beautiful for quite some time, and as much as getting dressed up for royal things was a bloody pain for them both, he had to admit that it pleased him to see her looking so regal.

The procession as she walked in wearing that gown and the cape and such nearly took his breath away. Ruth, the young woman who'd dropped files from running straight into him in a hallway, was queen. And she looked it. She acted it. He did not kid himself that his Ruth was a very poised and elegant person. She was usually stuttering and clumsy unless she had to try really, really hard to be otherwise. But here, taking her place on the throne that was her accidental birthright, she looked natural and perfect in a way he'd never really seen.

Harry's favorite part of the whole thing—and the part that tore at his heart the most—was when the next in line for the throne had to crown the queen. His sweet little Emilia, his loud and brash and wild five-year-old, carried the ancient crown that would one day sit on her own head. Ruth was crowned by her own child, and Harry had to sit by and watch the destiny of his wife and daughter play out in front of his eyes. He wished more than anything that he could ease their burden and take this great responsibility from his wife who never wanted it and his daughter who he never wanted to force into anything. But that wasn't what Harry was there to do. There was nothing any of them could do about it. All he could do was stand tall and support them both as best as he was able.

And that was exactly what he had to do today. As royal consort, he was the first to kneel before his queen and pledge his fealty. Considering he'd been shot in the knee three months earlier, he wasn't expected to kneel. But he wouldn't let Ruth down. More than that, he was a soldier at heart and he wouldn't let down his queen. So unbeknownst to Ruth, he had been doing extra physical therapy and nearly driving himself to insanity and beyond exhaustion to build up his strength. He walked with a cane, but he hoped in time he wouldn't need it. For now, though, he had practiced kneeling. And he was confident he could do it.

The look on Ruth's face as he knelt before her and kissed her hand made it all worth it. It was a surprise to her, he knew, and he also knew how much his efforts and his unwavering desire to support her would mean. That was what mattered.

At long last, however, after all the pomp and circumstance and the dinner reception following the coronation, after they had said goodnight to Emmy and Charlotte, after they had thanked the Leader and the nobles and the Members of the Legislature for their support, everyone finally left the palace. Harry and Ruth were allowed to leave the throne room and banquet hall at long last. They went up the stairs to their suites. Ruth did her best to keep from tripping over her gown, and Harry had to move slowly as he maneuvered with his cane.

Harry stopped her before she turned to go into her suite. "Ruth," he said softly, catching her by the wrist.

She turned and smiled at him, placing both her hands up on his chest. "Yes, Harry?"

He didn't actually want to say anything to her. Not just yet. Instead, he placed one hand on her waist where it was cinched by her gown, the other holding onto his cane, and he leaned in to kiss her. Ruth might have just expected a gentle brush of his lips against hers. But that wasn't what Harry had in mind at all. He moved his lips over hers insistently and traced her bottom lip with his tongue. Her hands slid up his chest to wrap her arms around his neck to pull herself closer as their kiss deepened. Harry's own hand moved up to massage her left breast through her gown, making her moan into his mouth. At that point, Harry had to pull back.

Ruth blinked up at him, smiling. "That was very nice."

Harry grinned back at her. "Call your maids and get out of that gown. I'll be in soon so we can continue on."

She bit her lip, giggling delightedly. He couldn't remember her having done that since their honeymoon. "Don't make me wait."

He winked and turned to limp into his own suite. He rang for his valet to help him undress from his formal uniform, not having the same mobility he was used to yet and not wanting to damage the uniform he was proud to wear. But he otherwise dismissed the valet quite quickly.

Harry tightened the tie on his dressing gown as he hobbled through his sitting room and through the double doors to the queen's sitting room and right into the bedroom. He did not bother knocking.

"Get out," he barked, seeing that one of the maids was holding the queen's gown in her arms and the queen herself undressed to her corset and stockings.

Ruth looked to Harry with a little glint in her eye. The poor maids were a bit startled. But Ruth turned to them and said, "If you'll just take the gown, that will be all, thank you." She had lived with a staff all her life, so she was much better than Harry in dealing with them. But then again, she was always much nicer to people than he was.

The maids curtsied to Queen Louisa and backed out of the room, closing the doors behind them.

"Alright we're alone now," she said, turning to him.

He grinned. "Thank god. It's time I properly pledged fealty to my queen," he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "Harry, don't be silly."

But he wouldn't let her brush him off. "I'm not being silly, Your Majesty," he said, his tone turning serious. "I made vows as your husband to love you and honor you and protect you no matter what until the day I die. And I sealed those vows on our wedding night. Today, I knelt before you and pledged my fealty as royal consort to the queen in front of the whole world. And now, the night of your coronation, it's only right I seal that pledge."

Ruth obviously wasn't sure what to make of that. "What do you have in mind?" she asked warily.

Harry leaned in and began to kiss her. Slowly, seductively. He indulged, tasting her tongue and getting her—well, both of them—breathless and aroused. His mouth moved over her jaw and down her neck as his hands went to work ridding her of the foundation garments that had kept her in that incredible dress. She had been Queen Louisa in all that royal regalia, but now, as he methodically rid her of each layer, she was turned back to his Ruth. And yet, that was not entirely the purpose Harry's attentions. Not tonight. For she would always be his Ruth. The trick now was ensuring that she knew that, even without the trappings of royalty to adorn her, she was still Queen Louisa. Now and always. It had been the nightmare they'd dreaded in their life together, but Harry had seen today that there was nothing to fear from it. Their life was different, certainly, and not at all what they expected or even what they wanted. But it was such a part of who Ruth was. She had risen to the task of becoming queen ever so beautifully.

Soon enough, Harry had managed to lean his cane up against the bed and get Ruth fully undressed. She was panting and reveling in his touch, which was what he wanted. He kept strict control over himself, trying to keep her hands from wandering over him and distracting him too much. He was slow and methodically, taking his time.

"Your Majesty," he whispered. "I pledge and promise and vow with all my heart to remain faithful to you, to live my life to bring honor to Queen and country. As long as my heart beats, it shall beat in your service."

"Harry, you don't…" she protested weakly.

"I do," he interrupted. "You are Ruth, my wife. But you are Queen Louisa, the monarch I serve. You aren't one or the other, you don't shed one identity to put on the other. You are both, always. And now please let me honor you properly."

She drew a shaky breath. Harry knew instinctively it was from both arousal and the effect of his sincere words.

He did not wait for her to respond before he said, "I kneel before you, my queen." And without further ado, he sank down to his knees before her. His injured knee was not entirely happy with the prospect, but he pushed through. Doing this here and now was as important to Harry as it had been to kneel at the coronation ceremony.

"Harry, what…?"

In answer, he lifted her right leg to drape over his shoulder. He kissed the soft line of her thigh as his fingers trailed against her soft, wet folds. Soft whimpers fell from her lips so distant above him. Harry smirked against her flesh and slid one finger inside her. He planned on drawing out her pleasure as he'd drawn out undressing her, but feeling her hot and wet for him caused Harry to lose all restraint. Without hesitation, he buried his face in her wet heat. His lips massaged her and his tongue curled inside her. Her whimpers turned into cries of need. Ruth isn't ordinarily too loud in bed, but Harry knows he can make her scream with a bit of concerted effort. And suddenly he wants just that. Wants to honor his queen the best way he knows how, by bringing her to a shuddering, screaming puddle of pleasure. He wants more of her: more of her taste, more of her voice echoing in his ears. He teases her with his tongue and lips, ignoring the ache in his knee. This is far more important. He shifted his grip, one hand clutching the ample flesh of her bum to hold her against his mouth. He sucked hard on her and entered with two fingers to curl up against her and thrust hard. Her own hands buried in his hair, nails against his scalp, holding herself upright.

At last, she shattered against him. Harry could feel her whole body pulse with pleasure and she let out a strangled shriek of his name. Her fingers relaxed their grip on his head. He continued to kiss and caress her through her orgasm until she finally stilled, gasping for air.

Gently, he put her leg back on the ground so she could stand on her own. "If you can, d'you think you could hand me the cane, please?" he asked breathlessly. That had been more effort than he'd imagined.

Ruth turned on wobbly legs and fetched Harry's cane for him. She looked at him with concern as he used it to haul himself upright. He winced in pain.

"I'm fine," he said, cutting off any protest of concern she might have. "Honestly. I'll be a little sore, but there's no lasting damage."

"I want the doctor to look at you tomorrow," she insisted.

He didn't want to argue with her, so he just agreed. "Fine."

"And now we ought to go to bed. Now that my knight protector has sealed his pledge, your queen would like to show her gratitude," Ruth told him with a smirk.

Well, Harry certainly wasn't going to argue with that. He was happy to let her undress him and lead him to the bed where he lay on his back as she got on top of him, teasing him until he begged for her. When she sank down on his aching cock, he thought he saw stars. It wasn't the first time they'd had sex since he'd been shot, but it was certainly the very best they'd had in a while. Words of love and desire spilled from his mouth without Harry fully knowing what he was saying. And by the time he finished inside her, she was utterly spent and collapsed on top of him.

Tomorrow his knee would be in agony, surely. And Ruth herself would probably have a bit of pain in her hips from her own efforts. But all that would be temporary. His vow to his queen, his love and devotion to her, that would never fade.