I'm terribly sorry for the long wait. Life simply got terribly busy. I haven't given up on this story. Not even close. I am working on something new, though. Expect the next chapter within the week. If you're still here and reading.. Thank you for putting up with me 3

ACT II.

Lawlessness.

Part VI.

Queen Mother.

'It was beautiful.' He smiled, his teeth gnarled together, a tight-lipped affair, but his cousins tittered and giggled and agreed wholeheartedly. And perhaps it could've been beautiful, but not to Robert, not after all the shit Liam put him through to get his bloody wedding.

This fucking wedding Robert had been forced to attend with Kent – Lady Amelia Windsor, his mother and Poppy kept reminding him – and his chagrin was written plainly on his face. Written plainly whenever the cameras weren't directed at him, which, he'd discovered very soon on, was a lot less often than he had expected in the first place. Wasn't this Liam's day? The reporters didn't seem to think so and beneath his obvious irritation, he was loath to admit satisfaction lingered.

I'm still King, Liam. More important than you are. No matter how much you pity me.

He sighed, muted the sounds of Maribel and Penelope's voices, and glanced over at Liam and Willow, seated on the dais, elevated above their guests. Liam was speaking animatedly with a distant cousin – Hector, Henry, unimportant – while Willow's hand rested contently on his forearm. The perfect image of marital bliss.

No matter how much I pity myself.

He chuckled, a low sound lacking any humour, and Kent turned to him. The smile on her face was soft, calm, serene.

'Are you all right, Robert?' She squeezed his arm and moved her fingers down. Brushed his wrist. He pulled his hand away before she could take hold of it, pretended like he hadn't meant anything by the move when he winked.

'Simply enjoying myself,' he said. 'And of course, the company.' He smiled, broad and all teeth and fucking charming.

She giggled at that, as his cousins sighed dreamily.

'Such a catch,' Penelope gushed. 'Why are all the good men taken? Really, Maribel, you'll find someone someday.'

'He's not taken,' Maribel said sharply. 'They're here as friends.'

She turned to Robert, seeking his confirmation. He feigned ignorance. Slung an arm almost offhandedly around Kent's shoulder, managed not to stiffen when she leaned into his touch. He heard the familiar flash of cameras – click, click -, bend towards her. Brushed her hair with his nose – she smelled of roses – and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Nonchalantly. Just a moment.

Dispassionately.

Click click, click.

'Just friends my ass,' Penelope said smugly. Maribel kicked her beneath the table and Robert rolled his eyes at the both of them. Penelope was romantic to a fault; Maribel her almost bitter counterpart. He suspected the loss of Maribel's boyfriend had disillusioned the younger twin completely. Lost him to her sister. Robert could sympathize. He knew from personal experience the pain – dull, dull, nothing compared to his present emotions, nothing – of having someone you trust steal away the one you care about.

Brother, girlfriend, love, life.

He had greeted her earlier, Kathryn. Had shook the hand of her new beau, a handsome enough fellow, better-looking than Liam, not even close to me, though. It hadn't been awkward, not even when Liam joined them. When Willow – slightly awkward Willow who when nervous apparently said whatever came to mind – had commented on how at least Kathryn had good taste considering all three her men were exceptionally attractive. It had, though, become uncomfortable when Poppy had laughed, a smile not reaching her eyes and a sound lacking cheer.

But perhaps it had simply been his imagination, because when he had bumped into her sometime later, she had looked happy enough, telling the caterers where to set up, while texting someone – who? – on her phone. Her private phone.

A Royal wedding only a couple of hours away and she was texting on her private phone. He'd hissed, a sharp intake of breath and he had almost choked on it, embarrassingly so. Had stalked past her without even a sidelong glance, a word, a thought.

Private phone. He had no right, but he had been curious. Was curious.

He had spoken to her every day after that morning in his bedroom. Their unspoken agreement. Her devotion which he had selfishly accepted, even though he knew he could never give her the same in return.

But she never expected anything from me in the first place.

She had stayed with him the entire day. His head in her lap; her hands in his hair. Spencer had served them lunch, dinner and a bottle of whiskey too, two, maybe three. The chamberlain had arched an eyebrow, but had said nothing. He had almost made Robert feel bad for firing him a couple of years ago.

They had talked, him and Poppy. About everything and nothing. Even though he couldn't remember the words, wasn't able to recall what they had spoken about, he clearly remembered the feel of her fingers running through his hair. The soothing quality of her voice. Her eyes, looking solely at him. Her scent – not roses, nothing as cliché as that.

A few days later she had cornered him near the kitchens. Had pressed him against a wall and he had been quick to almost instinctively move his hands beneath her silk blouse, his thumbs ghosting over her ribs. She had kissed him. Nothing more than a peck, but he had been so stunned, she had slipped from his arms before his mind had been able to catch up.

She did this often. Cornering him. Not kissing him, not ever again, and maybe he missed it, but he was glad too, because it made things easy. Easier. This way he could pretend it was okay. Just friends. Simply platonic.

The way she at times leaned into his touch. How sometimes she'd let him slip his hands beneath her shirt, fingers ghosting over ribs, hands resting on hips. Her hand on his knee during dinner, hidden beneath the table. Her soft sigh when he kissed her forehead and held her close a bit longer than was necessary.

'You look like you're enjoying yourself, brother.' He blinked. The sarcastic tone wasn't lost on him and he mustered up his brightest smile, before he turned towards the voice.

'Eleanor,' he drawled. 'Dearest.' She bared her teeth at him, something resembling a smile, and he grabbed her hand, kissed her knuckles. 'Your High-ness.'

She laughed, the glint in her eyes and Jasper's rolling of his evidence enough.

'You can't expect me to remain sober through this entire ordeal,' she said, holding up her flute of champagne.

'Besides,' her voice dropped to a whisper as she came closer. 'No one is paying attention to me. They're all too curious about the King and his lady.'

Kent smiled, but Eleanor's fingers had wrapped themselves around Robert's hand and she pulled him nearer.

'I overheard the Queen Mother speaking with the Duchesses,' she said, barely audible over the general hum in the Throne Chamber, but Robert heard her well enough, 'so I suggest you tone down this little charade, brother, King.'

He disentangled himself from Kent, locked eyes with Jasper, whose stone-faced expression showed just the slightest hint of..

Of what?

He rubbed his thumb over Kent's bare shoulder while he stood up. Smiled at her apologetically.

'Go, go,' she urged. 'Have a dance with your sister. Penelope was just telling me about her boyfriend.'

Their boyfriend.

He was grateful she so grossly misinterpreted the situation as he followed Eleanor from the room, Jasper lingering, but not far behind. She meandered through the hallways, left, then right and up a floor, until they had reached her wing. Hers and Jasper's.

She sat down on a low, vintage cabinet next to her bedroom door. When he arched an eyebrow, she shrugged.

'The room reeks,' she offered as an explanation. When he seemed unimpressed, she added, 'of sex', causing Jasper to snort and Robert to fake a gag.

'Barbarians,' he muttered.

'We're not all as celibate as you are,' Eleanor and his 'if only you knew' earned him a hard glare from his bodyguard. He could care less.

'Now out with it,' he said. 'The Queen Mother? My so-called charade?'

'Your charade,' his sister started, 'is having an entirely undesirable effect.'

'What charade?' he questioned. Innocent until proven guilty. They had decided upon it together, him and Poppy.

His mother had been hounding him.

Look at Liam. Where's your fiancée? You only have five months, four months, three months left. Do not take me for a fool, Robert. I will take your crown.

She will take my crown.

Spend time with Kent, Poppy had said. Invite her to the wedding. There will be reporters there. Show her off, but not too much. Introduce her, but leave it vague. Don't lead her on, but make the people believe. Make your mother believe.

In what? He had asked.

In whatever they want, she had answered. Put on a charade. Just a little charade.

'Don't take me for a fool, Robert,' Eleanor hissed. 'Do not.'

'I have no idea wh-'

'Robert!' She cut him off, pressed a long-nailed finger into his chest. 'You think I don't know? You think I don't see the occasional touches? The stolen glances? The way you, whenever you're in a room together, seem to gravitate towards each other? I know you, Robert, and I've never seen you look at a girl the way you look at her. So do not, brother dear, take me for a fool. I am not blind.'

How could Eleanor see things he himself wasn't entirely certain of? This damned sister of his. She smirked, crossed her left leg over the right.

'Besides,' she continued. 'Jasper told me.'

Traitor.

'I would've figured it out eventually, though,' she added. 'So my argument still stands: don't treat me like an idiot.'

'I like her,' he conceded. 'We had sex once, but that's all there's to it. We're just friends.'

'Good friends,' because he could at least give her that much.

Eleanor snorted, but said nothing.

'She knows I don't want to get married. Not yet anyway. So, she's helping me. Hence the charade. Appease the people, appease our mother. Hang out with Kent in front of the cameras and then in a couple of months come out with an official statement that we're just friends. As long as mother believes I am trying.'

'Cute,' Eleanor commented. 'Your GCHQ-liaison, specifically appointed to find you a wife, is helping you avoid marriage. I would've laughed if it wasn't so stupid.'

She sighed, uncrossed her legs. Bit her bottom lip and sighed again.

'I was out smoking in the back gardens,' she started. 'And I heard mother's voice. She was telling someone "your daughter's no Grace Kelly". I was amused so I stuck around and inched closer. The other person, a woman, replied that nine million pounds was very steep and mother went on a lengthy monologue. Something about propriety, sovereignty and supremacy. "My son is a King," she said. "The King."'

And Eleanor imitation of her mother was spot on.

'"She will be a Queen, lacking nothing. Nine million is but a bargain for my son's hand and the crown that goes with it."

'I only then realised mother was talking to the Duchess of Kent. Mother of Kent.'

She ran a hand through her long, dark hair and Robert followed that hand, then settled on her face again. She watched him through her lashes. He stared right back. And if his heart was pounding, he chose not to show her. She knew anyway, of that he was certain.

'Six million, Robbie,' she said. 'Eventually they decided six million pounds was a good price. I didn't hear much more than that.

'Six million pounds in exchange for a ring on Kent's finger and the title of Queen. Your wife.

'I'm sorry, Robbie. But I think mother just finalized your engagement.'

He felt hot all of a sudden. Constricted in his tight suit. He pulled loose his tie, opened up the top buttons of his shirt. Tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and it was just too fucking hot. He heard Eleanor calling his name, distantly, hadn't even realised he had started walking. Jasper was quick to follow him, but he was hardly aware as he turned a right, narrowly avoided crashing into one of the Palace employees, who had a look of surprise on his face as he registered it was his King wandering about, away from the festivities in the Throne Chamber.

'Your Majesty –'

Robert did not let him finish, asked, 'Have you seen the Queen Mother?'

'Lastly in the gardens,' the man answered. 'With the other ladies and some kinfolk.'

But Robert was already gone, striding down the hallway determinedly, his bodyguard trailing at his back. Down the stairs again. Past the Throne Chamber, where music could be heard coming from. The dancing, then, had started. He did not pause, though. Walked past without a second thought, into the entrance hall, through the great doors, out on the marble stairs. Turned and watched.

And he saw her, his mother, surrounded by a group of mostly women. Talking animatedly. Enjoying her fucking self.

He ran down the stairs, took two steps at the time, and his mother heard him coming. Smiled at him as he approached. He saw her stiffen slightly as she noticed the hard line of his jaw, his narrowed eyes, but she kept the smile plastered on her face. Opened her arms wide to welcome him.

'Robert, sweetheart,' she enthused. And there was something in the sweetness of her voice, some insincerity that he had never heard before, or hadn't bothered to acknowledge, that sparked into life a fire inside of him. It burned, how he burned, and he restrained himself, held his hands balled into fists by his side. But he couldn't keep his words from spilling out as he stepped close to her, his nose inches from touching hers. It was a testament to her courage she held her ground.

'Are you out of your fucking mind?' he spat into her face. She hardly flinched. 'Have you gone mad, woman? Trying to sell me like I'm some fucking piece of meat?'

'Your Majesty…' One of them women stepped closer to him. 'Robert.' Laid a hand on his arm and he recognized her as his uncle Cyrus's ex-wife. He snatched his arm away.

'Don't Robert me,' he snarled. 'Leave. All of you. Leave us now!'

Some lingered, but most were quick to exit the gardens and enter the Palace again. Robert waited impatiently, his tolerance diminishing with every second they were taking too long.

'Go, you fuckward,' he roared when the last of his mother's friends remained standing on the stairs, looking at them. The man fled inside almost immediately after.

'Your father always said you had too much of a temper,' Helena said sharply. If his hand itched, he chose to ignore it. Simply glared at his mother and told her to sit down. He himself remained standing, Jasper silent in his shadow. Steady.

'Six million pounds, Queen Mother?' he said scathingly. Her eyes widened slightly, but she was fast to recover as she tilted her chin up. 'What of it, King?'

'That is what you deem me worthy of?'

'That is the least amount she should pay to be ours,' she shot back.

'Ours or mine?' he said.

Helena pursed her lips, rolled one shoulder as if preparing herself.

'I was planning to talk to you after the wedding.'

'And tell me what?' he chuckled darkly. 'Son, I've sold you to the highest bidders. You and your crown?'

She sighed. Straightened out her dress. 'You weren't supposed to find out like this.' Her eyes narrowed, suspicion evident in them. 'How did you find out?'

'If Calliope told you,' she muttered and Robert whipped his head around. 'What did you say?' Her smirk had hardly been there, less than a second, and he missed it completely, as Helena schooled her face in a shocked expression, when he asked, 'Poppy knew?'

'Tell me,' he demanded, when she remained quiet.

'It was her idea,' Helena confessed softly.

Confessed.

If only Robert knew.

'She told me the story of Grace Kelly,' Helena continued. 'How she had to pay a two-million-dollar dowry to marry into the Grimaldi's. To become a Princess. Amelia, upon marrying you, would become Queen. So why then not have the Windsor's pay as well. After all, you, Robert, are King of the greatest country on Earth.'

'Some Americans might disagree with you there, mother,' Robert said drily and Jasper snorted. A most uncharacteristic sound for him, but Robert was glad for the distraction as his mother took her time sending a scathing look towards the bodyguard.

He could clearly hear her voice. Spend time with Kent. It'll be good for the both of you. Make them believe, she had said.

But in the meantime, you're plotting with my mother? Against me?

He could not believe it to be so.

'You lie,' he said, interrupting whatever it was his mother was telling Jasper. It could not have been something very nice.

Helena smiled sadly. 'I know you like her.' He raised an eyebrow. 'But she only likes your crown.' He breathed out slowly, unresponsive. 'I've seen you glance at her. The intimacy. Chasing each other in the corridors. It was fun while it lasted, but she knows her place and she knows yours.

'Marrying Amelia is a good deal and thanks to Poppy's wits it'll actually earn us money as well.'

I know you like her.

Did everybody know?

'I want to marry out of love,' he said slowly. 'Not duty. Besides, what is the rush? The people have their Royal Wedding. It's bloody still in progress while you're already planning mine. Don't you see the ridiculousness of this all, mother?'

'Don't you see it?' she shot back. 'You promised the people a marriage. You had them expected when you kissed that girl at the Ascot. And then you started spending time with one of the ladies who were there with you. Started to appear in public. Lunch, dinner, social outings. She was there more often than not. You had the people believe. Had them fooled.'

She smiled. 'Not me, though.

'I know you don't want to get married. Not to Kent anyway. And perhaps there is this one girl who you would not be entirely opposed to, to wed. Alas, that is simply not possible.'

'You are King,' she sneered. 'There is no such thing as true love, slow burn, getting to know each other on your terms. Your siblings have done it, they have even chosen plebeian partners, just as you would love to. But they have left you with exactly no freedom to do the same. You are well aware of this fact, are you not?'

'Who says I want a plebeian wife?' he scoffed. 'I don't.'

'Then what is this discussion about?'

He fell silent, looked over his shoulder at Jasper. He had no answer. Not one he was willing to speak out loud. He only knew one thing for certain.

'I will not marry her.'

'And you will not marry her either,' Helena hissed. The who? did not make it past his lips as his mother rose swiftly from her chair and stepped forwards toward him. Pressed a finger into his chest as she pursed her lips and looked up at him. He could, in that moment, clearly see the similarities between his mother and his sister. Uncannily so.

'She is a peasant. A servant. She is not worthy and never will be. Take her as your concubine, I do not care, but Poppy' – and she spat the name with so much venom, Robert physically recoiled – 'will never be your wife.'

She touched his forearm gently, smiled at him.

'Do not test me, Robert. If you do, I will take away more from you than just your throne.'

He watched her walk away from him, back to the Palace.

Queen Mother, indeed.