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“Very well, thank you, Marcus.” I shuffled papers around, attempting to look too busy to chat.
“The King requests to see you, Mrs Cameron.”
I gazed sharply at him, then. Not only had he just gone formal on me, but he’d mentioned the King.
“What could he have to discuss with me?” I chuckled nervously.
“I don’t know, Flora.” He wore a vague but slightly worried expression.
“Now?” I said, aghast.
“Yes, he just arrived and you were the first request he made.”
“Jesus,” I said under my breath.
I stacked the photographs in neat piles, then followed Marcus out, grabbing my blazer on the way. I wasn’t dressed to meet the King, that was for sure.
I was taken through the labyrinth of the backstairs of Buckingham Palace, then along eye-wateringly long corridors, until eventually arriving at the Green Room. Marcus jerked his head after the equerry opened the door for me. The equerry likely knew my husband. Like everyone else here—even the King himself. I opened my mouth to speak, to protest that there must have been some mistake… but from the look on Marcus’s face, it was quite clear there was no way out of this.
“Mrs Flora Cameron,” came the announcement, then I walked indoors.
He stood by the window playing with his cuffs, apparently a nervous tick of his. I’d sort of met him once before up at Balmoral. Caelan, the bairn, Jet and myself spent the Christmas just gone up in Scotland. The baby at that point had been but a month old but my better half had just bought me a push present in the form of a brand-new log cabin. And while in the area, we’d been invited to a Hogmanay party up at Balmoral Castle. The King never really partook (so I’d been assured), only showing up to make sure his staff were having a good time before shooting off back to Birkhall. So, it’d been a case of Caelan introducing me, “Your Majesty, this is my wife…” and that was that.
I moved gingerly into the Green Room and the King turned, smiled politely and then extended a hand. I did the curtsey before we shook hands, wondering if I’d got it wrong and should’ve curtsied before ever waltzing over. Anyway…
“Good morning, your Majesty,” I said evenly.
“Please,” he motioned, beckoning me to sit on one of the gilt chairs upholstered in green Chinese silk. “Do be seated.”
Yes, he really did speak in that warm, plummy way of his, even in private.
“How can I be of use today?” I asked the King of England, Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales.
Jeepers.
He looked down at his lap. “Well, you see…” Holding his hands together, his mouth pulled tight at the corners and he bared his teeth, tension showing.
I read that expression instantly. He felt awkward.
“It’s about Caelan.” I guessed.
He looked up at the ceiling, ashamed, and waved his hand around in that royal way.
“It is,” he said, seeming to labour over two very small words.
“He’s home right now,” I said, shaking slightly. “Here. He just sent me this.”
I grabbed the phone from my pocket, showing him my baby and the dog.
“Totally gorgeous,” said the King, catching me off guard with his raw sensibility.
My eyes grew hot. “He won’t do it, sir. Whatever it is, he won’t do it.”
The King took a big, deep breath. “He has already refused, yeesss. I hate intervening, but of course, I know the serious nature of what it is… that is to say, the…”
He lost his bottle, or perhaps, he wasn’t allowed to say very much. Strictures extended even to him, it seemed.
“You mean only Caelan is capable of solving whatever problem it is you have,” I stropped, yes, in front of him. “I mean, I never thought I’d be sat here saying no to you, sir of all people. But Caelan promised me he wouldn’t do it anymore. He promised. That’s a husband’s promise. You’d be shattering a husband’s promise!”
