Then she looked up to address the people. “Very well. If that’s my fate, I will be as good to you as ever a queen was to her people.”
“Long live Queen Elizabeth!” they answered unanimously. “Long live the queen!”
Edward placed the crown upon her head.
Let’s pause for a moment. We know, we know, we’re so close to the end now that you can practically taste the happily ever after. And who would have seen that coming, right? I mean, who could have predicted that Edward would stand up then, and right there in front of the Privy Council and all of his adoring fans, he’d say that she—Elizabeth I—should be the Queen of England?
Because obviously she was the most qualified for the position. At long last Edward had arrived at the enlightened state of knowing that a woman could do a job just as well as a man.
Yep. That’s how it happened. Edward abdicated his throne. Elizabeth would be crowned queen at Westminster Abbey that same week, and we all know she’d be the best ruler of England ever. And now history can more or less pick up along the same path where we left it.
But what happened to Edward, you ask? Well. We still have a little bit of the story left to tell.
Edward spent the better part of the next few days thinking about (what else?) Gracie McTavish. Because he still wanted to tell her that he’d stepped down from the throne and see that surprised look on her face. And because (let’s be honest) he still very much wanted to kiss her. He thought about it embarrassingly often.
But the charming Scot was nowhere to be found.
“She’ll turn up eventually,” Bess said as he anxiously paced the throne room. She picked at a stray thread on the red velvet cushion of the throne. “You needn’t worry, Edward.”
Bess was right. Bess was always right, even more so now that she was queen; it was getting annoying. Gracie was alive. There’d been exaggerated tales of a valiant black-haired woman leading the Pack during the false attack on the city walls—but then where had Archer been? And where was Archer now?
The entire Pack had not yet made an appearance in London. They’d retreated back to the Shaggy Dog the moment the fighting was done. Gracie, he figured, must be among them.
With Archer, probably, Edward thought miserably. Burned bright in his memory was the way Archer had told Gracie that she was looking very fine. And the way that flea-bitten man had ogled her like she was a piece of meat.
He couldn’t stand the idea of Gracie with Archer. And why wouldn’t she have come to see him? Their last moment together in France had ended badly, but so badly that she wouldn’t want to see him again?
“Edward, sit down,” Bess said. “You’re making me queasy.”
He sank into a chair. Pet lumbered up to him, tail wagging. He scratched behind her ear, and she gave a happy dog sigh and collapsed at his feet. Pet had asked to remain a guardian to the queen, and after all she’d done for their cause, Bess had agreed (even though she wasn’t too fond of dogs—remember, cat person). It was a little awkward at times, but the least they could do—well, that and give her a scratch and the scraps from the table every now and then.
“Um, Your Majesty,” came a voice from the doorway. A frightened voice. “About your crown.”
“What about my crown?” Bess asked the trembling servant who came to cower before her—Hobbs, Edward remembered the man’s name was.
“Have you . . . moved it?” asked Hobbs.
“Moved my crown?” Bess frowned. “Where would I move it?”
“Normally it’s kept on a velvet cushion in the king’s—I mean the queen’s—chamber.”
“Right.” Edward and Bess exchanged worried glances. The citizens of England seemed to unilaterally accept Bess as the official ruler of the country now, but if someone had literally stolen her crown, it could mean trouble. Not to mention that the crown was virtually priceless.
“Speak, Hobbs,” Bess commanded. “Tell us what’s happened.”
Hobbs shifted from one foot to the other nervously. “It’s gone, Your Majesty.”
“Gone.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Gone where?” Bess’s voice rose, and the servant flinched.
“Gone missing!” Hobbs cried. “My job is to polish it. That’s what I do, every Thursday—I polish the crown, only today when I went to retrieve it, I found . . .” He started to cry. “I found . . .” He hiccupped. “I found . . .”