TWENTY NINE

Edward's security didn't even make a move to stop my dad when his fingers inched toward the hostler. In fact they're honestly amused.

Not even a crown prince is completely free from the intimidation of a father who's daughter has been scorned.

The tension in the room was palpable as my father's hand hovered near his weapon. Edward's smirk faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He may be royalty, but he was smart enough to recognise the dangerous glint in my father's eyes.

"Now, sir," Edward began, his voice smooth as silk but with an undercurrent of nervousness, "I assure you there's been a misunderstanding."

My father's fingers twitched, and I saw Edward's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. The guards exchanged glances, clearly torn between their duty to protect the prince and their reluctance to interfere with a father's righteous anger.

I stepped forward, placing a hand on my father's arm. "Dad," I murmured, "just… it's going to be okay."

"You two are useless," Edward looks to his guards.

"I have a daughter, highness," one of them says in explanation.

Edward's eyes widened, realising he was outnumbered not just physically, but morally. He cleared his throat and attempted to regain his composure, straightening his posture and adjusting his jacket.

"Perhaps we should discuss this matter civilly," he suggested, his voice strained. "Over tea, perhaps?"

My father's hand remained near his holster, his jaw clenched. "Tea won't fix what you've done, boy," he growled.

I could see the wheels turning in Edward's head as he desperately searched for a way out of this situation. His gaze darted between my father, the guards, and me, looking for any sign of sympathy or support.

Finding none, he took a deep breath and did something I never thought I'd see a crown prince do. He lowered his head and said, "I hurt your daughter. I'm greatly sorry. But know that I will spend every last breath ensuring her heart is guarded more securely than my own. I am sorry sir."

The sincerity in Edward's voice caught me off guard. I glanced at my father, whose hand had stilled on the holster. His eyes narrowed, scrutinising Edward's face for any sign of deception.

"Pretty words," my father growled, "but actions speak louder, boy."

As if on cue the TV blares with news of an engagement. My head has never turned so fast.

"Edward," I look at him pained.

He'd lied to me.

"No," he says quickly, "no. This… I swear to you this is not my doing. My father must have found out. He intervened. You have to believe me. I will call my uncle right this moment."

Edward's face paled as he fumbled for his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialled. The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the tinny ring of the call connecting.

"Uncle," Edward said, his voice strained, "what the hell is going on?"

We could all hear the booming voice on the other end of the line, though the words were indistinct. Edward's expression cycled through shock, anger, and finally, determination.

"No," he said firmly, cutting off whatever his uncle was saying. "I won't allow it. I've made my choice, and it's not negotiable."

My father's hand finally fell away from his holster, his eyes never leaving Edward's face as the prince continued to talk with his uncle. I felt a flicker of hope in my chest, but I tamped it down, afraid to believe.

"I don't care about that. This is my life Carlisle. I love her," he shouts, "I want her."

He pauses listening.

"What do you mean? Riots?" he asks.

He hangs up and looks to me.

"My country… they… they're furious. The engagement news sparked a fire. They're calling on my father to pass the throne to me," he explains.

My heart raced as I processed Edward's words. The implications were staggering. His people wanted him on the throne, but at what cost?

"What does this mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Edward ran a hand through his hair, his eyes conflicted. "It means we have a choice to make. A big one."

My father, who had been silent throughout the phone call, finally spoke up. "What kind of choice?"

Edward took a deep breath, his gaze shifting between my father and me. "If I accept the throne, I can nullify the engagement my father arranged. I can choose you," he said, looking directly at me. "But it would mean taking on the responsibility of ruling an entire nation. We'd be thrust into the spotlight, our every move scrutinised."

I felt my knees weaken, and I sank into a nearby chair. The weight of the decision pulling me down like bricks attached to my heart.

"And if you don't accept?" my father asked, his voice gruff but no longer hostile.

Edward's shoulders sagged slightly. "Then the engagement stands. My father remains on the throne, and I... likely lose my crown to the people." he trailed off, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of pain and longing.

"And you marry someone else," I finished for him, my voice barely audible.

The room fell into a heavy silence. The guards shifted uncomfortably, averting their eyes from the intimate moment unfolding before them. My father's hand, which had been so close to violence just moments ago, now hung limply at his side.

I stood up slowly, my legs shaky beneath me. "Edward," I began, my voice stronger than I felt, "I can't make this decision for you. This isn't just about us anymore. It's about your country, your people."

Edward closed the distance between us, taking me into his arms, ignoring the fact my father is there.

"I don't deserve you. I know that. But say the word and I will abdicate my claim to the throne. We can leave all of this behind – the politics, the pressure, the spotlight. We could start a new life together, somewhere far away from here."

His words sent a shiver down my spine. The idea was tempting – so tempting. A life of anonymity, just the two of us, free from the burdens of royalty and expectations. But as I looked into his eyes, I saw the weight of his responsibility, the love he had for his people.

"You can't do that," I whispered, my hand cupping his cheek. "Your people need you. They're calling for you to lead them."

Edward leaned into my touch, his eyes closing briefly. "But I need you," he murmured.

My father cleared his throat, reminding us of his presence.

"If I may," he begins, "I think a life running from public scrutiny is worse than accepting what they want and giving them a loving king and… queen."

My heart skipped a beat at my father's words. I turned to look at him, searching his face for any sign of disapproval or hesitation. But all I saw was a mixture of resignation and pride.

"Dad?" I whispered, unable to fully articulate the question burning in my mind.

He sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping as if a great weight had settled upon them. "I may not like it, but I can see what's between you two. And I raised you to face challenges head-on, not run from them."

Edward's grip on me tightened slightly, his breath catching. "Sir, are you saying...?"

My father nodded curtly. "I'm saying that if my daughter is willing to take on this responsibility, then I'll stand behind her. Behind both of you."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked between my father and Edward. The enormity of it all. I think of the people I met. The way they accepted me, gifted me things, told me of their adoration.

"Do you still have that ring?" I smile at him.

Edward's eyes widened, a mix of hope and disbelief flashing across his face. His hand instinctively went to his pocket, patting it gently. "You mean...?"

I nodded, my heart racing. "Yes, I mean exactly that."

With trembling fingers, Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He dropped to one knee, right there in front of my father and his guards, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I know this isn't how I planned it," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But nothing about us has ever been conventional, has it?" He opened the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring that sparkled even in the dim light of the room. "Will you marry me? Will you stand by my side as we face whatever challenges come our way? Will you be my queen?"

I could feel the weight of the moment, the gravity of it all.

"Will there be a carriage," I ask with a grin.

"Pulled by elephants," he laughs.

I laughed through my tears, the tension of the moment breaking. "Well, in that case, how could I possibly say no?"

Edward's face lit up with joy as he slipped the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, as if it had always been meant to be there. He stood up, pulling me into a tight embrace and spinning me around. For a moment, it was just us - no politics, no royal duties, just two people in love.

My father cleared his throat again, bringing us back to reality. "I suppose I should start calling you 'Your Highness' now," he said gruffly, but I could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Edward set me down gently and turned to face my father, his arm still around my waist. "Sir, I promise you, I will spend every day of my life trying to be worthy of your daughter."

"You already have," he pats Edward on the back, "you don't expect me to pay for that wedding right?"

Edward chuckled, the tension finally breaking. "No sir, I think we can manage to cover the expenses. Though I warn you, royal weddings tend to be... extravagant affairs."

"Extravagant?" I raised an eyebrow. "Just how many elephants are we talking about?"

"Oh, at least a dozen," Edward replied with a wink. "And don't forget the peacocks, the golden carriages, and the fireworks display visible from space."

My father's eyes widened comically. "I think I need to sit down," he muttered, sinking into a nearby chair.

One of the guards, who had been silent throughout this entire ordeal, finally spoke up. "Your Highness, we should probably inform the palace of your... decision."

Edward nodded, his face becoming serious once more. "You're right. We need to move quickly to get back. Clarence can you organise the jet."

I admire my ring, the ruby shimmering under the light.

"Who's ring was this? Which Queen?" I ask.

"My grandmother," he answers.

My heart skips a beat remembering the words of Margaret in that wheelchair.

"Your grandmother?" I repeated, my mind flashing back to Margaret's words from the engagement with Esme.

Edward nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Yes, it was her engagement ring. She... she actually left it to me before she passed. My father was instructed to ensure I got it. I'm sure there will be thousands of brides wearing replicas of it on their hands over the coming months."

I glance down at it again.

"My people will be beside themselves. Their princess is coming home," he kisses my head, "my world is back in my arms. Queen Isabella."