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txemrn · 2 years

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Pour Two Glasses

Chapter 4: "... We Are One Breath Apart"

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Book: The Royal Romance (post series)

Word Count: 6070 (+/-)

Series Synopsis: In the midst of a violent political war, Queen Riley Rys’s life is dismantled overnight, forcing her to flee Cordonia to live in hiding as a commoner with a loyal, best friend

Series Song Inspo: “Pour Two Glasses” by the Movielife

Chapter Song Inspo: "Speak to Me" by Amy Lee

Series Warnings: 🔞 For Mature Audiences Only 🔞angst; profanity; major character death; grief and mental health discussion; discussion of violence & war; alcohol use; NSFW material

A/N: Characters and some plot references belong to our friends at Pixelberry. Special thanks to my sweet friend @charlotteg234 for brainstorming with me and helping me work out some sections; and special thanks to one of my fanfiction godmothers @ao719 for pre-reading for me.

~🖤~

"Are you sure we have permission to do this?" Riley stands under an umbrella, trembling in the rain as she watches Drake unlock the large wooden door to the entrance of the Bossina Cathedral.

"For the last time," he stops fidgeting with the old, rusty key, looking back at his best friend's wife. "Yes. Why else would I have the key? Besides, you're the fucking Queen of Cordonia. What are they gonna do?'

That earns him a subtle smile before she continues to anxiously peer through the dark, overgrown courtyard of the church.

Suddenly, a short shrill of metal reverberates into the night as the massive barrier is unlocked. Drake tugs on the ring pull, the swollen, damp wood of the door letting out a groan. He turns to Riley, motioning for her to follow him.

Once inside, she deposits her umbrella while her eyes adjust to the dimly lit vestibule. Top cathedral-shaped windows litter the long hallways, raindrops drumming their solemn chorus of a silent requiem against the panes. Candles dedicated to prayer and supplication for the deceased illuminate the stoned walkway, leading to the sanctuary, leading her to Liam. The familiar scent of stale air and burnt incense flood Riley's senses, sending her to memories from what seems like a lifetime ago.

As her personal guard runs on ahead to notify the other men of her majesty's presence in the building, Riley wanders around the entrance hall to the nave. Has it always been this grim? Her fingertips brush against the cold brick, showing its age through fine cracks and missing fragments.

She turns to the opposite wall, noticing a large picture depicting the crucifixion of Jesus, framed in a rustic, yellow gold. Stepping closer, she focuses on the anguish of his face, his body strung out cruelly and naked. Blood pours out from his arms, his feet and even his side.

Her lips twist, her eyes flinching at the painted brutality as she trains her focus to a brushed-bronze placard nailed to the frame: Questo é amore.

"This is love," she whispers to herself. She takes a tentative step back, soaking up the scene. Wearing Liam's favorite burgundy sweater, she hugs her body tightly, the light remnants of his sweet scent wafting to her nose. She looks at the painting again. The torment. The heartache. The loneliness. And all anyone could do was… watch.

Her lashes dust her cheeks as memories of that day swirl in her head: the gentle, scent of pink lilies she holds in her hand; the soft vintage pattern of white chantilly lace she wears on her arms; the romantic swell of Pachebel ushering the bride to her groom. The love she shared with Liam was overwhelming, oftentimes breathtaking, like diving into the deep end of the sea and never wanting to emerge. A love that was all-consuming, holy and perfect in its own right; a love that represented everything that was good in her life.

Or so she thought.

In losing Liam, Riley has discovered that because of her love, she is filled with unspeakable anguish, being tormented day and night with a pain that she bears alone. God, she wishes her heart could be pierced by a spear… afterall, wasn't it?

This is love.

“...what matters most is that you found happiness…”

The sudden articulate voice from Ramsford has her whirl around, the enunciation so close, so real.

"Whoa," Drake holds out his hands, "I didn't mean to scare you. Are you… ready? To go in, I mean?"

Riley nods, watching her dear friend open the door. She looks back at the picture of the Christ one last time. Love? It wasn't just butterflies and stolen breathless moments. It wasn't just inside jokes, midnight tickles and surprise gifts. It was more than just knowing the number and placement of freckles on his shoulders, the cowlick that would never lay down on the right of his crown, or the hum on his lips when he was trying to conceal his concern.

She looks forward through the threshold into the nave, taking in the steep ceiling space, the uniform of empty pews, the bounce of the old crimson carpet. But as she looks towards the altar, it glows like a lighthouse in the night, like a single candle in a storm. At the end of the long aisle, a pristine white casket illuminates in the darkness. The Cordonian flag lays respectfully on top of the lid, accompanied with two white roses per tradition, representing the second day of Liam's Royal Wake.

But, something curious sticks out like a sore thumb in the sanctuary, something that is clearly out of place. Situated in front of Liam's casket was a cluster of pillows and blankets on top of an army cot.

Her breath catches. "Drake?" She looks to him with questioning, yet appreciative eyes. She anxiously chews on her lip as she glances at the intimate set-up.

He pivots around, noticing her bewildered expression. "Don't worry, your majesty," he kindly grins, offering his elbow as a single tear rolls down the slope of his nose, "he's … he's been waiting for you."

With her attention sealed onto her husband's casket, a pained look of joy washes over her, a grin crawling across her mouth. She takes Drake's arm, and together they walk down the aisle.

"Now, the cathedral closes to the public after dark, and the nave is locked to everyone until 9 AM. The church council has agreed to let you stay here at night during the Wake, and I've got you covered with extra security so, hopefully," he exhales fluidly, "you can get some sleep."

"Every night?"

His lips coyly curl, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Every night."

"Drake, I–" She looks to the pile of bedding before smiling back at him. "I don't know what to say–"

"Oh! One more thing." Drake digs into the front pocket of his chambray shirt, pulling out a single silver chain with two pieces of metal attached, gently tinkering together.

"His rings," Riley gasps. "Drake–" her voice disappears into sniffles at the sight of these handsome treasures, now on a chain where she won’t lose them. She steps forward, cradling the rings in her hand as Drake holds onto the ends of the necklace.

He smiles proudly, motioning for her to spin around, her back facing him. He fastens the closure, pulling her espresso waves out from under the chain. She turns around to model it for him as he gives an approving nod. Seeing her attention fixed on her late husband’s wedding band and signet ring, Drake gives an appeasing grin, his fists finding his pockets.

"Well," he sighs, "is there anything you need? Something to drink?"

She threads the jewelry onto her slender fingers, a somberness floating over her as she watches her personal guard slowly mosey backwards up the aisle. "No, I… I guess not."

"K, well…" He combs his fingers through his hair, pushing back a cascade of strands. "I'll be right outside if you need me–"

"Wait," Riley interrupts, taking a few stutter steps towards him. "You're leaving?"

Drake turns around, studying her. "Not leaving leaving. I'll be in the foyer with my sleeping bag."

"Oh," Riley responds dryly, trying to sound understanding. But as she glances around the still blackness of the nave, surrounded by relics and religious imagery, her heart becomes anxious. “Hey, Drake,” she calls out to him. He glances up, gesturing with a shake of his head. Her eyes survey around the room, spooking herself with the shifting shadows. “You have been so kind, And–and–and I know you’ve already sacrificed so much for me already, and please know that I… well, I hope you know that I’m–”

“Brooks,” he holds up a hand to slow her down. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth turning up. “What do you need?”

Fidgeting with her new piece of jewelry, she swallows thickly. “Can you maybe stay in here with me–just until I fall asleep?”

Drake lets out a big, sardonic sigh, taking a seat in the front pew. He pats the hardwood next to him, inviting Riley to take a seat. The antique furniture creaks under her weight as she pulls her knees up to her chest. Drake puts a friendly arm around her as she relaxes her head on his shoulder. Together, they fall into a quietness as they stare reverently at the casket before them.

“Thanks again, Drake. This is all… just so special.”

Drake gently rests his chin in her hair, the subtle notes of lavender tickles his senses. His eyes float closed, a smile growing with each passing moment.

Riley yawns. “Your friendship… I feel like it’s the only thing I’ve got right now, one of the only things connecting me to Liam.” She quickly looks up at him, creasing her eyebrows. “How are you doing, by the way?”

Drake adverts his eyes quickly back to his best friend’s casket. “Uh…” he clears his throat. “I–I don’t know. Some moments… it’s like a bad dream.” He breathes out heavily. “Sometimes I think he’s just on his trip, and he’ll be barrelling through those doors any minute,” he chuckles. “And then other moments…” he stops, staring at the flag-adorned coffin.

Riley removes Drake’s arm from her shoulders, taking his large, calloused hand in her own as they both stare in silence at Liam’s resting place.

“Can I ask you another question?” The queen quietly requests. “A personal question?”

“Hrmmm?” Drake warmly hums, gazing at her with tired, hooded eyes.

“Do you… believe in God? The afterlife? In–” she motions aimlessly around herself with her hand, “–all of this?”

Drake bows his head for a moment. He then lets go of her hand, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Rubbing his hands together, he remains thoughtfully quiet.

“I–I’m sorry,” Riley whispers. “That was maybe too personal–and terribly morbid on my part–”

Drake subtly turns his head, shaking it. “No, no, you’re fine.” He turns back to face the altar, a large crucifix hanging above the choir stall. Not saying a word, he finally closes his eyes.

Riley relaxes into her seat, folding her hands into her lap. A warming guilt rakes at her nerves, regretting that she ever asked the question. That is, until Drake took a deep breath.

“I lift my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?” Drake smirks, opening his eyes to stare at the ornate cross on the wall. “My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” He falls silent again, chewing on his mouth, Riley’s full attention on him. He nervously looks down at his mindless hand-wringing as he takes another deep breath. “As kids, anytime we had a problem, Moma would say, ‘Fix those eyes to the hills. The Lord promises to help you.’” He becomes quiet again, his eyes rapidly blinking as he sucks in his bottom lip. “Then Dad died.”

Riley endearingly pats his shoulder, tears slowly cascading down her cheeks.

“And–” Drake sarcastically chuckles, forcing away his own sobs, “I looked. I looked, and I fucking kept looking to the hills because ‘he promises to help you.’” He blows out a breath, wiping at his lower eyelids. “Dad was gone… and God was no where to be found.” His jaw becomes rigid, his words cutting like a blade. “The Crown cut the funds almost immediately after Dad died, leaving us stranded. I looked, but there was no help from… from God. And then Moma left us…” He sniffles, his hands casually balling into fists. “She just… left us. And I looked–I fucking begged for God’s help. If not for me, then at least for Savannah. But... ” He shakes his head.

Riley remains silent, taking in Drake’s painful memory.

“But,” his voice lightens, more hopeful, “I still keep looking–as fucking stupid as that sounds,” he laces his fingers together, “I have to believe and look for him–for God.”

“Why?”

“Because the thought of being alone–completely alone in this world with no one to turn to?” He peers intently into Riley’s eyes, his voice softening into a small whisper. “That terrifies me… but the thought that my dad is really gone? That–that I can’t talk to him in heaven–?” Drake chokes up. “And now Liam? And–and soon my… my Moma?” He runs his hands down his face. “I have to believe, Ri. I just… have to.”

Riley slips her arm around Drake's elbow, hugging his arm. Quietly supporting one another, both Drake and Riley stare towards the front of the church in reverent thought. Riley considers Drake’s words, her heart touched by his own hope in the midst of so much tragedy. But then, her forehead creases in curiosity.

“Wait… you talk to Liam?”

“Well, I mean…” A rosy pink rolls across Drake’s neck and face, “Yeah… I try.”

“Does he… talk back?”

Drake sighs. “I don’t know. I’d like to think he does, and I just… can’t hear him.”

“What about your dad?” Riley gently asks.

“Yeah,” Drake snickers at himself, feeling slightly foolish of his admission. “Yeah, I talk to him a lot.”

“And?” Riley smiles.

“That man does not talk back; he fucking yells at me.” The pair fall into much needed laughs, kindly smiling at one another. Drake relaxes back in the pew, crossing his ankle over his knee to turn towards the brunette. “You should try it… talking to Liam.”

“What?”

“I’m serious.” Drake's expression is still slightly embarrassed. “If that boy’s gonna talk to anyone, it’s gonna be you.”

Riley chews on her bottom lip, not convinced at what her guard is suggesting. She looks away, towards Liam’s casket before turning back to Drake. “What would I even say?”

“What would you say to him right now?”

Riley giggles to herself, bowing her head as a flush overcomes her cheeks. Her eyes fill with more unshed tears, thinking of all the conversations that she was yet to have with her husband. Is it possible that she could still talk with him? Even now?

God, I hope Drake’s right…

“Well, my good friend,” Riley stands up, smiling back down at Drake. “I think I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“Are you going to be okay in here?”

Riley nods thoughtfully. “I think so. Thanks for talking with me, and… well, you know. Everything.”

“Anytime, your majesty,” he jovially winks. “Oh hey,” he stops her as she starts making up her cot. “What’s ‘PTG’?”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

Drake rakes his fingers through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, when I was fixing up the necklace–” he points to the new jewelry Riley was wearing “–I saw that there was an engraving inside Liam’s ring, and… well, they were clearly not your initials,” he titters. “What does it mean?”

Riley looks down at the etching inside Liam’s wedding band before fidgeting with her own ring that had the same inscription. “Pour two glasses.”

Drake raises an eyebrow. “Pour… two glasses? Of what? Like, wine?”

Riley snorts, shaking her head. “It's…" She shakes her head. “It's silly."

"Oh, c'mon," he encourages. “It can't be that silly if y'all put it on your wedding bands."

Riley nervously chuckles. "Well, um… It was our promise to each other, that even though we may be apart,” she sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes fluttering to the coffin, “our love will always reunite us again. So, go ahead…” She smiles brightly, “Pour up the drinks: one for you and one for me,” she shrugs shyly. “And… we will be united again soon to drink together.”

“Hrmmm,” Drake thoughtfully takes in the romantic sentiments. “You two,” a crooked smile grows across his face as he massages his neck.

“We’re pretty gross–”

“Nah,” his eyes twinkle as he looks at Riley. “Y’all were just in love.”

------

Feeling emotionally exhausted, Riley crawls into her bed for the night, hugging a goose-feather pillow tightly in her arms. With the atmosphere becoming instantly still around her, she rolls over to face the grand white casket.

And he's there. She knows her husband is there with her, separated only by a few inches of distance, separated only by sturdy-aged oakwood and fire-pressed metal, separated only by a single breath.

Then why did she feel so alone?

------

Five Years Ago (During Liam's Social Season)...

"Lady Riley, are you out here?"

The American suitor quickly dabs her eyes dry from her anxious tears, hoping the moonlight wouldn't give away the rosy worry of her cheeks.

"I'm here," she softly speaks. Adjusting the fullness of her petal pink ball gown, she stands from the balustrade, making her presence known. She forces a smile, but her eyes train to his loafers, unable to match his handsome gaze as she fidgets with her fingers.

"There you are," Liam strides closer in the moonlight with a bottle of champagne in his arms. "I've been looking every–" He stops, noticing her troubled look. His pearly white smile dissipates as he sets down the bubbly drink. "Riley? Is something wrong?"

"I–I’m fine," she sniffles into a forced smile. "I guess… I'm just a little homesick is all.” She dares to look into his powder blue eyes, glittering with pure adoration. She quickly turns away, biting her lip as a single tear spills onto her skin.

"Just a little homesick?" Liam echoes. He brushes the back of his finger against the soft planes of her face, offering her a crooked smile. "This would be easier if you would just tell me.”

She takes a deep breath, considering her words carefully. “You know I am so incredibly grateful for this opportunity. Because of your generosity, I am experiencing things I never–”

“Riley,” he takes her hands into his secure hold, “it’s me. You’re talking to me. Not ‘Prince Liam.’ Not the king or–or queen or any other noble for that matter… it’s me. It’s just you and me.”

She sighs, slowly turning away from him, her heels clicking against the stone floor. She finally stops, pivoting to look up at the tall blond. “It’s just…” She exhales, tittering to herself. “This is foolish,” she waves her hand, walking towards the door to exit the balcony. “You have the other suitors to attend to–”

Liam grabs her arm, pulling her pack into himself. “And they can wait because I’m with you. Come on,” he brings her hand to his lips before giving her a toothy grin. “I happen to be an excellent listener.”

Through the curtain of her tears, Riley titters as she blushes at the touch of his lips on her skin. “I… I just…” She pulls her hand back; taking a big breath, she stares back up at Liam. "What are we even doing?"

"I… don't quite follow–"

"Us, Liam," she fixes the lapel of his tux, running her palm flat against his chest. "I'm talking about us. This… I don’t even know what to call this anymore." She shrugs, letting her arms fall carelessly at her sides. "Are we dating? Or am I being foolish? Living out some silly fairy tale fantasy?" She looks up, dabbing under lashes to keep from ruining her make-up. “And I know this hasn’t been easy for you either, having to abide by so many rules--God!” Riley covers her face with her hands, “how can I even be complaining right now?”

Liam gently takes her wrists, pulling her fingers from hiding her face. “Because it is hard for both of us.” He pulls her into his strong embrace, Riley instantly finding comfort in his warmth. He tenderly traces circles across her back. “I’m sorry. I… I wish there was some way I could make this easier for you–”

“I just want to know that this will all be worth it, which is so selfish of me. I have no right to demand that of you… I feel so selfish, vying for your attention even now… because you have several beautiful and intelligent suitors in there that could all make an excellent queen–”

Suddenly, Liam’s phone begins to ring in his pocket. Mouthing the word ‘sorry,’ Liam takes the call. With a nod, Riley quickly crosses to the otherside of the balcony to give him privacy, wrapping her arms around her body. She looks back out across the city. Is this her home? Could she someday be responsible for this, for these people? For their livelihood? For this country?

“I–I’m so sorry Riley,” Liam furrows his brow as she turns towards him. “I’m–”

“Needed elsewhere,” she sighs before politely grinning. “I know.”

Seeing the sadness in her eyes, Liam hastily grabs the bottle of champagne before gathering Riley into his arms. “Take this.”

Her expression turns inquisitive as she inspects the bottle before surveying his face.

“We will talk about this later, Lady Riley,” he nods, “and I promise you… I will prove it to you that this will all be worth it.” He cups her cheek tenderly before turning to quickly exit the balcony.

“Liam?” Riley holds up the bottle with an unspoken question as he glances back to her.

“Go ahead… and pour two glasses. I promise I’m coming back to you. Tonight.”

------

Unable to fall asleep, Riley reaches for her phone to check the time: 1:12 AM. She sighs to herself as she rolls over, readjusting her pillow under her head. Staring out her window, she notices the clean cuts of the crescent moon, its silver glow captivating her as the stars in the blue velvet sky dance and twirl for her entertainment to their own rhythm–that is until a different beat raps against her door.

Startled, she sits up staring at the large shadow standing outside of her quarters. She grabs her satin robe, cinching it around her waist as she lightly pads to the entrance to her room.

The knocking becomes more vigorous, making Riley accidentally yelp. She grabs a stiletto shoe, hoping to use the heel as a weapon if needed as she reaches for the doorknob. But to her relief, when she opens the door, Liam is waiting for her, leaning his shoulder against the doorway.

“Liam!” she quietly shouts, her voice husky as she tosses her shoe to the ground. “You scared me.” She motions for him to come in as she reaches to turn on a lamp. With her back still to him, she continues. “What are you doing here so–?”

Liam grabs Riley’s hand, and suddenly she whips back, falling into his strong embrace. Before she can protest, his mouth blissfully pushes into her pout. Her eyes flutter close as her lips savor every tug, every lick of his fervent touch. Parting her lips, his tongue is hungry, but gentle; his mouth is greedy, but tender. He wraps his arms lovingly around her body as her fingertips wander to the back of his neck, her foot gently popping out freely behind her.

They abruptly pull apart, gasping for air. Staring longingly at one another, their chests violently rise and fall, desperately wanting more of each other.

“Whoa,” Riley pants, the taste of Liam’s tongue still intoxicating her senses. “You… you came back.”

The corners of Liam’s reddened mouth begin to curl. “Yeah.. of course, I came back,” he chuckles, a blush swirling up his neck. He finally steps forward, cupping the velveteen skin of her face with his hand, her body trembling at his touch.

“Liam, I–”

“Shhh,” he sweetly hushes her, painting his thumb across her lower lip. “I’m so sorry, Riley... I–I should’ve done this a long time ago. You have so many questions, so many fears,” he swallows thickly. “I should’ve told you the moment I knew.”

Her eyebrows raise, her heart crescendoing in her chest. “Knew what?”

“The moment I knew you were the one.” He combs her hair behind ear as a solemn tear spills out joyfully on her skin. “I have to finish out the social season to maintain suitable connections with our allies… but damnit,” he bites his lip mischievously, “I’m in love with you, Riley Brooks.”

“I’m in love with you too, William Rys.” She wraps her arms tightly around his neck, pulling him into another heated kiss. His hand finds the back of her neck, his fingers tangling intimately into her raven waves.

“Wait a minute,” he pulls away, “I almost forgot.” Liam quickly darts towards the door, stepping outside the quarters, only to return seconds later with a pink gift bag. There’s a subtle clinking coming from inside before he hands the surprise to Riley.

She raises a playful eyebrow. “What is it?”

“You’ll see,” he winks.

Riley carefully reaches inside, pulling out two finely etched pieces of stemware. She smiles widely, snickering at the sentiment.

“They’re champagne glasses… You know, so we can enjoy the bubbly together–”

“You goofball,” she giggles as she admires the brushed-gold rimming. “And forgive me if I’m mistake, but I do believe… well, at least according to Bertrand, that these are champagne tulips, your highness.”

He chuckles, pecking her lips. “No,” he leans in again, kissing her tenderly, “this is my promise to you.” He takes the glasses, and safely puts them on her dresser before taking her hands in his. “You don’t have to worry anymore, my love. No matter how hard this road gets for us, I promise you… I’ll always come back to you.”

------

Present

Riley clings to Liam’s metal bands around her neck, holding them close to her heart as his last words resound over and over in her head.

“Pour two glasses, my queen. I’m coming home to you.”

What she wouldn't give to actually hear those words pass through his lips, to hear the tone and sultry timbre of his rich Cordonian accent, to hear him say, ‘I love you’ just one more time…

Remembering that final day when she saw him off in the motorcade, Riley wishes she could’ve known it was the last time. Maybe she would’ve paid just a little more attention to the smile she already knew so well. Maybe she would’ve savored his coveting touch, dedicating it more to her memory. Maybe she would’ve kissed him longer, harder, more passionately, memorizing over and over the restraining tug of his mouth on her lips.

Or maybe she would’ve begged him not to go.

With these intrusive thoughts swirling around in her head, Riley is unable to fall asleep as she previously thought. She considers retrieving Drake, thinking that maybe having some company would relax her, saving her from her own mind. But as she sits up, she looks back to Liam’s casket.

You should try it… talking to Liam.

Riley nervously picks at her nails as she mindlessly surveys the dark, empty nave. Is she really doing this? She begins to rub her hands up and down the soft weave on her arms, finding a snagged, loose thread in her husband’s old sweater. As she fidgets with the string, twirling it around her finger, she hesitantly steps closer to the white casket.

She carefully touches the polished exterior, her fingertips brushing against the gold handles and intricately designed filigree. Taking a deep breath, she pulls back the Cordonian flag before pressing her palms to the cold, sturdy lid where he lies.

“Liam?” Her voice is low, barely even a whisper as her eyes shift up and down his resting place. At first, she feels silly, her cheeks reddening despite her solitude. She’s not sure what to expect or what she even wants to happen by talking to Liam; but Riley can’t deny the sudden rush of comfort she feels calling out to her beloved. It feels nice to imagine, even if for a moment, that she’s conversing with him, as if life was back to normal.

Her breath hitches in her chest as storm clouds gather in her eyes, tears eroding across the curves of her face. She trembles as she traces figure-eights across the surface.

I happen to be an excellent listener…

Riley drapes her arms across the top of the coffin, resting her head against the hard lid. She pinches her eyes closed, overcome with the torrential downpour of her tears.

In her personal darkness, she sees Liam, those handsome dimples, the peaceful warmth of his strong embrace, the vast galaxy of stars in his eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but her sobs rob her of her voice.

It's just you and me…

Riley tucks a closed fist under her body. She nuzzles her head like a kitten against the lid as her bottom lip quivers. With her thoughts hazy on what to say, she finally chokes out in a single, desperate breath the one thing–the only thing–she can muster.

"I miss you."

Seized by her sadness, uncontrollable tears pour out as her hopeless cries reverberate through the sanctuary.

In the back of the darkened nave, a hidden pair of chocolate eyes takes in the scene as they begin to sting with bitterness at the sight of his best friend’s widow.

------

It has been a little over three weeks since Liam's death. Riley has spent twenty of the past twenty-one nights of his Royal Wake at his side, finding comfort in the memories of him, in talking about him.

In talking to him.

Although the thick cloud of grief haunts stagnantly around her, the river of tears and the uncontrollable cries have become manageable. Discussing Liam, his honorable death and legacy has become slightly easier. Little reminders around the quarters, like his empty coffee cup, his untouched tennis racket, even his empty laundry hamper, aren't so jarring anymore.

As she slowly transitions into a new era of her life, Riley recognizes that she isn't healing or moving on from the death of her husband. Rather, she has become numb, barely existing. Her body gasps for survival, moment by moment, minute by minute, breath by breath.

Perhaps this is what happens when a beloved dies. The heart doesn't bruise or break; it's a treasure, sealed by love in the arms of a lover, never meant to be returned. But, what is life without a heart?

Riley's heart remains steadfast with Liam and always will.

Today, he will be buried. He will be honored before the heavens in a televised mass before his body is escorted to his final resting place, next to the great rulers that came before him.

Today, she slips on a knee-length black peplum dress with a modest black heel. She fixes her dark waves into a low bun while adorning a black fascinator to her crown, pulling a veil over her face.

Today, her family, her friends and her country will gather one last time to say those unimaginable words just one more time.

Goodbye.

The service is lovely, at least that's what Maxwell whispers to Riley as they form the processional for the exit from the cathedral. Her eyes refuse to leave Liam’s casket as six guards prepare to move him. With delicate precision, they fold up the Cordonian flag and gather the twenty-one white roses that once decorated the lid, and hand them respectfully to her.

She clutches the gifts dearly to her chest, her fingers finding her necklace with her husband’s rings. Her eyes well with tears as the men begin to walk Liam carefully down the aisle to the back of the nave.

A warm hand gently touches Riley's back, guiding her into the open aisle behind the casket. She looks up to see a tear-stained Drake, motioning for her to follow.

Without saying a word, she offers her arm, her eyes pleading with him to walk with her.

Drake drops his mouth to her ear. "Brooks, I'll be along in a minute. It’s family first–"

"You are family." A corner of her mouth curls as Liam's best friend finally takes her arm.

Feeling more at ease, they somberly follow in the processional. Exiting the sanctuary, they continue down the stoned corridors, brilliantly colored by the stained glass in the daylight. Once they reach the antique, double wooden doors at the front of the church, they take a moment to ensure the lineup.

"Excuse me?" Riley softly calls to the guards. "I… I was wondering if I could just have a brief moment. With my husband? Just one last time while we’re here in the church."

With the nod of their heads, she steps forward to the pearlescent casket, laying a single hand on it. She begins to whisper sweet sentiments unheard by everyone present, tender words only meant for heaven’s ears. Riley then kisses her palm before pressing it once more over the smooth surface of the lid. She hugs the flag and flowers back to her body before giving a subtle shake towards the guards.

As the large doors swing open, the thunderous creak of the wood reverberates through the foyer. And in an instant, the Mediterranean sunlight pours in, particles of dust dancing amongst the golden rays. As the guards proceed with Liam, her eyes adjust to the abrupt punch of brightness to her swollen eyes. The warmth of the day washes over her skin as if to welcome her into a new life. She remembers once upon a time feeling this way, walking out of this very cathedral hand-in-hand with Liam, and the sweet bathing of the Cordonian sun felt like a renewal, as if the universe was greeting them into their new life as husband and wife.

As the cozy, familiar feeling melts over her senses, her long, dark lashes flutter shut as she remembers that special day, her wedding day.

Riley Brooks, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?

“Riley?” Drake breaks her reverie, giving a kind, yet pained grin as he offers his arm again. “Are you ready, my queen?”

Unfortunately today signifies a different kind of beginning for Riley. A new life. Without her Liam.

Fixing her tiny hand to him, Riley takes a deep breath, and steps into the light. She sees the stairs and then a distinct pathway marked off with large crowds of people on either side. As she and Drake ease down the entrance from the cathedral, she trains her eyes onto her husband's casket as they make their way to the royal motorcade.

The crowd is still, completely quiet as the late king passes by. Many bow their heads in reverence; others cross themselves in prayer.

Do you vow to love him, comfort him and cherish him…

Suddenly in the distance, Drake hears a familiar sound causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. He and Riley continue to proceed, but he anxiously surveys the crowd, both to his right, and then carefully to his left.

…for better or worse…

With the crowd still silent, Drake hears the distinct noise again, only this time it’s closer. Louder. Echoing off the side of the building.

A glock.

…for richer or poorer…

"Switch sides with me," Drake demands in a low, stern voice, trying to guide Riley from his left side to his right.

Riley knits her eyebrows together with curiosity, pivoting her body to face her dear friend. "What’s wrong?"

...in times of joy and in times of trial…

Drake looks over Riley's shoulder, his eyes growing wide as he watches a man dressed in a dingy military uniform with dark-complected skin step forward in the crowd, something hidden in his hand. A member of the Les Combattants.

And now it’s clear what he hides: a gun.

"Oh, fuck me," Drake mutters, grabbing the queen’s shoulders. "Riley, get down!"

Violent echoes like the crack of a whip strike terror in the gathered masses. Frightened screams pierce into the air as people flee the grounds in horror. The gunshots continue, one after another after another, popping incessantly until the cries for help cease, and the grounds of the cathedral choke back into silence.

… till death do you part?

Twenty-one long stem roses scatter chaotically across the stoned pathway; crushed and bruised white petals have been ripped and casted into the wind like chaff.

The neatly-folded Cordonian flag that once adorned the late King's casket lays untucked on the ground…Only its sharp colors are no longer bold and pristine as a deep shade of crimson soaks into the fabric.

I do.

~🖤~

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