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In my contented state, I try to make sense of Luke’s comment, wondering what strange stones lie beyond the trees.
When Luke nudges me off his chest, I refuse to budge. His arms encircle me once again, and he kisses the crown of my head with a gentle, “One more minute.”
I feel lazy and sleepy and deeply, primally satisfied. Even as we’re wrapped up in each other on a bed of leaves and twigs, I’ve never known mellowness like it. Kissing Luke is lingering and sweet, a slow twine of tongues that sweeps blanket-like heat across our bodies. The trees shelter us from the elements. What we share is private and pure, and for a moment I’m bitter that we’re being forced by this stupid ritual to leave it.
Luke kisses my forehead, a soft and soundly act that I know means this is the end. We unravel our bodies, picking ourselves up from the carpet of forest detritus and brushing away crushed leaves from our discarded blazers. We pluck stray pieces of bark from each other’s hair, and laugh at the long stick that’s somehow lodged in mine. Something’s missing from Luke, and only after a searching study of the dull brown forest floor does he notice the glint of metal that stands stark against its surroundings.
He bends down and lifts his fallen crown from the dirt. At some point during our union, it had rolled to the side and managed to lodge itself between two tree stumps. Luke contemplates the small gold band, dusting the visible dirt away from it with his sleeve.
“How a tiny piece of metal,” he murmurs, “can bring so much trouble.”
“It helps, I suppose, when the metal is gold,” I respond in a neutral voice.
Luke smiles slightly. “In fairness to the school, I believe this one is merely gold-plated.” He pings the side of the crown, where a hollow noise rings out. “But still. Such a symbol. Suchpower. And to have wielded it once…” He pauses, regarding the crown as though it weren’t an object but a person, an opponent. “I didn’t deserve it,” he says quietly into the night air, startling me. “I know that. But Benjamin Moncrieff deserves it so much less.” He flicks his eyes over to me. “He needs to be stopped, and I’m not just saying that because of my history. I’m not just saying that because ofthis.” He lifts the crown slightly in acknowledgment. “He’s a danger. He’s untrained. And if this ritual doesn’t stop him…”
The thought hangs, unwanted but necessary. We resume our trek through the forest. I note that Luke doesn’t place the crown on his head again.
“If the monarchy is abolished,” I murmur, “Oscar Munro becomes thede factoleader of the country.”
Luke doesn’t reply for a long moment. “I think very little of the man,” he eventually says, his statement one of the driest I’ve ever heard, “but he at least has experienced the drudgery of politics. Elevating one’s standing from a nobody to royalty in a matter of weeks is unthinkable — preposterous —wrong. I at least hadtrainingsince the day I could walk. I know how to put the needs of a country before myself. My bones have been fused with the concept of duty.” He looks angry now, his hands tight around the base of the crown. “Benjamin Moncrieff is an outrage.”
And yet the rush of water grows unmistakable, to the point that Luke’s rage slowly dissipates. He glances at me like he’s been too burned before to believe, but I nod and take his hand in mine, and together we travel through the remainder of the forest.
In a matter of minutes, the trees and the sensation of being boxed in falls away, as the most incredible scene hits our eyes. Where the forest had been dark and gloomy, thickening layers of black and brown and only the tiniest pockets of moonlight, the loch seems positively unearthly — and the stones surrounding it…! I can’t help my gasp — and beside me, as he climbs through the last of the trees, there’s a sharp intake of breath from Luke. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen. The loch is a vivid rush of cerulean, as if lit by bioluminescence, while the stones of the shore glimmer together beneath the stark moonlight beams as a veritable holy rainbow.
