This is all COMPLETELY in jest. Nothing is serious about this story. Just thought I'd let you guys know again. Because it's getting bloody ridiculous.

ACT I.

Ahasuerus

Part I.

David, Onan & Boaz

He'd been in a right mood ever since the garden party – banishing Jasper to the children's table and forcing the man to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner with Mister Hill's extremely delightful little pigtailed rakshasa hadn't even managed to improve that, though the sight of the two of them, Sarah Alice ecstatic and Jasper positively cramped, as the girl fed him bits of scrambled eggs and forced him to drink tea with her, also hadn't ceased to satisfy him immensely.

The only positive part of my life nowadays. Laughing at my bodyguard's misery.

Because he had his own half-pint cacodemon sitting across from him, face leaning on the palm of her hands, looking for all intents like the cat that's got the cream, with a bloody Bible – and the paradoxical contrast wasn't lost on Robert – between them. She had it filled with sticky notes, wiggling her eyebrows at him expectantly, but he wasn't inclined to respond to her – not even one bloody bit – because she was the Devil, this was the Bible and he was definitely going to burn in Hell, just for sitting there.

'What do you think, Robert?' she asked, when she realized he wasn't going to speak first.

Because her plan was bloody ridiculous - and maybe slightly appealing to him, because of - obviously - females - but no, she was bloody ridiculous and so was her plan.

And he still wasn't entirely sure what the Biblical way was and in all honesty, there was some nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that this was just some elaborate plot she had concocted to marry him herself – and that'd mean #KingLiam would be back in full effect, because he'd rather abdicate and spend the rest of his life on a deserted – been there, done that – island than in holy matrimony with this malefic ogre.

He grunted and she arched a carefully plucked eyebrow at him.

It truly was a shame she was actually pretty decent looking. Had he not known her, he might've thought she was quite a catch. But the moment she opened her mouth all such notions went flying out of the window.

Such wasted beauty.

'Are you done staring?' she asked and he grunted again.

'I am not staring,' he replied, 'just wondering how a pleasing-looking package can contain such an atrocious character.'

'I feel like your corruption should be made visible,' he continued. 'You know, to warn off potential suitors. Perhaps a tattoo on your forehead, saying "I am evil".'

She laughed, quite loudly, and he smirked at her.

'Well,' she said, 'at least you're honest.'

'Yes, because your dishonesty landed me in this situation.'

'Actually,' she grinned, 'your lack of romantic relations landed you in this situation. My, in hindsight not so smart, wit and big mouth landed me in it.'

'I have romantic relations. Just not publicly.'

'Sure you do,' she nodded and already he felt the need to throttle her. Or maybe the feeling had just never left.

Throttle, throttle, throttle.

Soothing to repeat in the safety of his mind. Maybe one day he'd act upon the thought and blame it on temporary insanity. Runs in the family, Lord Chief, just look at my uncle Cyrus. To escape prosecution altogether he could simply ask the Grand Duchess to get rid of the body. Apparently she was good at covering up murders and he was, after all, her favorite grandchild. Not much competition there, though, because honestly, who else was she going to choose? The drug-abusing Princes not-dating the bodyguard or the wimpy blonde, who despite being one of a twin, looked like he was conceived by an entirely different set of sperm – Alistair, Alistair, Alis –

Poppy was speaking and he – once again – wasn't listening, his eye on the telly behind her.

'They are showing it again,' he informed her. And it was his bloody announcement to the entire fucking Kingdom that he was serious about this nation, serious about its people – his people – and serious about his responsibilities as the Supreme Governor of the Church of England, which – and as he watched himself speak those words for the umpteenth time, he still felt the bile rising – meant finding a wife the Biblical way and securing an heir – Gods forbid Eleanor or Liam should take the throne after him. He was quite certain his country would perish.

'Every time I see it,' he said, 'it just gets worse.'

Poppy shrugged.

'At least you look good,' she said.

I always look good.

He eyed the Bible on the table again and she saw.

'What do you think, Robert?' she asked again and they were right back at the beginning, when she had asked first and he had let his mind stray.

'I think you're bollocks,' he said slowly. 'Not right in the head.'

And maybe, just maybe a bloody genius.

Because after she had made him announce his Biblical search for a wife on national television – and he wasn't certain which was worse, almost dying in an airplane crash and spending months on a deserted island, or that act of wickedness -, throwing her newly appointed job title as his Royal GCHQ liaison – thank you, Mother – in his face, her latest plot actually did not sound that bad.

It was bad, without a doubt, just not that bad.

Just bloody ridiculous.

'Read it to me again, demon,' and if she took affront to him calling her that – in all honesty, he had thought and said much worse the past few days – she didn't show it. Just opened the Bible between them and leafed through the pages until she found the right one.

Esther 2:2-4a.

'Then the king's servants who attended him said: "Let beautiful young virgins be sought for the king.'

She looked at him, one side of her mouth lifted in what Robert could only describe as predatory.

'I know you are not a virgin, so don't even think about it,' he snapped, then motioned for her to keep reading.

She dutifully did so, but not before winking at him.

Cheeky git.

He liked her better, two years before, when she was still in awe of his general greatness and her only affront to his person had been trying to poison him with cheap whiskey and bad dancing.

Rue those days.

'Let the king appoint officers in all the provinces of his kingdom,' she continued. 'That they may gather all the beautiful young virgins to Shushan the citadel, into the women's quarters, under the custody of Hegai the king's eunuch, custodian of the women. And let beauty preparations be given them. Then let the young woman who pleases the king be queen instead of Vashti.'

'And who was Vashti again?' he asked.

'The original Queen,' she answered. 'The one who defied the King and was therefore demoted to the harem.'

Kathryn.

He didn't want to think it, but the name flashed through his mind before he could stop himself.

'We could always kill Liam and then take Willow,' Poppy continued obliviously. 'Like David and Onan. But I reckon fratricide would be frowned upon by the British people.'

And perhaps she really was a demon, because her words had already happened.

Except he'd been the one dead and Liam had taking his girl.

No use dwelling on the past, though. They were all over it. And she was engaged, and Liam had Willow and bloody hell, he was sitting here concocting some elaborate scheme to find him a wife the Biblical way.

Perhaps he should've stayed on that damned island.

'Not too late, Robert,' he muttered to himself. 'Never too late.'

She gave him a look, rolled her eyes at him.

'We're not going to kill Liam,' she said sharply, misinterpreting his words. He didn't bother to correct her, replied with a sarky, 'too bad.'

She had no clue whether he was serious or not and he reveled in his victory. She looked a bit nervous too and he was pleased.

Very pleased.

Don't forget who's King, young lady. If I could kill my brother for a wife, imagine what I'd do to you.

His thoughts made him chuckle darkly and yeah, maybe he was less of a Simon and more of a Cyrus, as Jasper was always ready to point out.

But who didn't love a bad guy? A bloody good-looking one to add.

'What are you proposing then?' he asked, when the silence became too uncomfortable, even for him.

Poppy released a breath he hadn't realized she'd been holding – yes, yet another victory – and her infuriating smirk was quick to reappear.

'We're going to do the same thing,' she said. 'Only Shushan will be the Royal Ascot and the eunuch will be me.'

'You, of course, will still be the King,' she added, as if that much wasn't clear.

'So you're going to find me virgins, parade them to me at the horse races and at the end of the Royal Ascot I'm supposed to marry one of them.'

He had always been bloody good at summarizing.

Poppy shook her head.

'They're not going to be virgins, obviously,' she said. 'But the rest sounds about right.'

He scoffed and she laughed.

'Of course you're not going to marry them after spending five days with them,' she said. 'But it is in the Bible, so it is the Biblical way. A beauty contest of sorts to win the heart of the King. And who knows, maybe at the end of the Royal, you'll actually like one of them.

'It's basically a win-win,' she said. 'The Kingdom is waiting for you to make a move' – 'thanks you and your yapping to the Queen Mother and the Archbishop' and she shrugged, saying, 'Potatoes, potatoes, who's keeping count' – 'and the people will love this.

'It'll give every girl a chance to live out her dream: becoming a Princess.'

'My wife will actually be a Queen,' he corrected, but again, 'Potatoes, potatoes.'

She was positively pestiferous, potatoes, potatoes, po-fuck off.

'It'll make you seem approachable,' she said. 'The people will love it, the Archbishop can't complain because it is the Biblical way and your mother will be ecstatic, because you know she wants to secure the Royal line.'

'You're basically proposing the Bachelor, Royal Edition,' he said. 'How is that Biblical?'

She tapped the open Bible impatiently.

'It is in the bloody Bible,' she snapped, 'therefore it is Biblical.'

'So is killing Liam and marrying Willow,' he said.

'I know,' she replied. 'But that is actually punishable by law.'

'I can see this blowing up in so many ways,' he muttered. 'So we're not doing this. No matter how much I would love to have a dozen virgins fawning over me for five days.'

'It won't blow up,' she said, ignoring his virgin-comment. 'Because I am going to fix this. And nothing I do ever goes wrong.'

I can think of a couple of bloody examples of your fuck-ups, the latest being the reason we're sitting here, devil child.

But before he could voice any of his thoughts, that diabolical smirk of hers was staring at him again, mocking him, and for fuck's sake, he was already scared of what she was going to say next.

'I already cleared it with your mother and she's going to convince the Archbishop,' she said. 'Tomorrow morning we'll film the announcement and broadcast it, I'll sent out the invitations and if you're a good boy, I might even show you which lovely ladies will be attending.'

She smiled at him – the broad one, the toothpaste, charming smile – and he ran a hand through his hair.

Because how the fuck had she already selected his dozen or so virgins and had his mother agreeing to this insanity?

Who was she?

What was she?!

There was no way he was going to win this. He contemplated throwing a tantrum. But he was a King. Even though a bloody plebeian troll had him by the balls, he was still a King. He would act dignified. Not show his annoyance. Not kill her. Not threaten to deport one of her five hundred brothers – who even had five bloody brothers, four disastrous acts of judgement, a fifth because Four Horsemen apparently weren't enough and then the bloody apocalypse herself – and blackmail her.

He simply tapped his fingers on the table, calm and collected.

'You know,' he said slowly. 'I think we should just kill Liam.'

Why not?

Prison couldn't be worse than this.