Reign A Romance Anthology - Nina Levine Page 0,236

observers. Men and women, some medical staff, some religious, some simply there to observe the legality of this moment. All intrusive and unwanted, they were a violation on this private, devastating moment.

The price we pay even in our final moments.

An hour, a moment, a lifetime later—too soon and much too late— my father's breath changed. A terrible crackling gargle escaping his gasping mouth. Across the bed, my sister placed her hand in my mother's, a silent vulnerable search for reassurance. In turn, my mother reached out to my brother, gripping his hand tightly.

I met Leo's gaze, my back stiffening, determination straightening my spine. He nodded once, his face stoic as he patted our mother's hand, squeezing it tight.

I was glad for her, that she had them to provide comfort. On my side of the bed, I alone had to bear witness to this moment. No hands to hold, no comfort available.

The head surgeon pressed a stethoscope to my father's chest, listening.

"It's known as a death rattle," he explained, tucking the scope away. "I can assure you, he won't feel any pain but his time is near."

I gave him a nod, reaching out to capture my father's hand, bringing down towards me, determined to hold on to him until the end. His hand felt clammy, his fingers twitching between my own. I wished my grip could anchor him to me, to this world.

I'm not ready for you to leave. I still need you.

The end came quicker than I'd thought and yet longer than I'd wished. An hour, perhaps two, and then the horrible crackling sound suddenly ended, my father's chest decompressing fully, never to rise again.

Machines began to wail, the surgeon moving quickly to switch it off, then pressed fingers to his carotid artery, gaze fixed on his wrist watch. With ice in my veins, I pressed my thumb to father's pulse, feeling the last beats of his heart as he left this world.

One.

Two.

One.

Two.

One.

One.

One.

Father?

I pressed my thumb harder against his skin, searching for that second beat.

You've left me. I'm alone. Father….

"Time of death, nine oh three a.m." The doctor declared, looking to the gathered crowd.

I closed my eyes for a moment, sucking in a stiff breath.

It's done. Be brave. Do him proud.

I opened my eyes, raising my head to see my mother staring at me from across the bed, tears silently falling down her beautiful face. My sister pressed a handkerchief to her eyes, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as my brother stared, glassy eyed at our father's lifeless body.

A stifled sob broke the silence of the room.

I turned my dry gaze to the gathering, seeing tears and devastation written across every face.

The Prime Minister stepped forward, bowing his head.

"The King is dead, long live the Queen."

"Long live the Queen."

The words were echoed by the gathered, each dropping into a curtsey or a bow. Even my mother and siblings stood, only to drop before me, their heads bowed in respect.

I rose, pressing one last kiss to my father's hand. Placing it gently on his chest, then smoothing the blanket that covered him.

His eyes were shut but I didn't need to see them to know he had left this burdensome place. Already his face showed signs that his soul had gone. The pain that had plagued him for years had been wiped clean, his skin slack, his muscles waning.

"Good bye, My King." I whispered the words just for him. "Farewell, Father."

Straightening, forcing steel into my spine I turned to the gathered.

"Thank you for observing the vigil," I told them, locking my emotions into a tiny box. "The arrangements have been made. My family will retire to our residence." I looked to the press secretary. "I trust you'll post the notice?"

He nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. "As you wish… Your Majesty."

The words, the first spoken to me in my new role, settled responsibility like a weight upon my shoulders, the mantel heavy and unfamiliar. A role for which I have been raised, curated, and tutored my whole life. And yet with this moment upon me I felt ill equipped and overwhelmed. A duty that passed to me only through the death of another.

My father.

With a mental shake, I shoved away any anxiety or fear, determined to present nothing but strength and determination—despite my overwhelming grief.

I am Queen. Long may I reign.

Gods help us all.

Katherine

Formal Meeting Room, The Royal Palace

Two years later

"No."

"Your Majesty, please—"

I pressed hands to the table as I glared down the length of it at the men attempting to