When she opened them, she looked pleased.
Then the wall spoke.
“Royal administrative arrangement remains incomplete.”
We both jumped.
The Castellan’s golden eye appeared above the fireplace.
I stared at it.
“Do you ever knock?”
“No doors were used.”
“That is not the point.”
“Clarification required.”
Evelyn turned away, covering a smile.
I pointed toward the eye.
“We were having a private conversation.”
“Royal administrative matters may be deferred.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Coronation remains outstanding.”
My hand stopped halfway back to Evelyn’s.
“Oh.”
She looked at me.
“You still have not completed it?”
“I have been busy.”
The golden eye brightened.
“Provisional authority has been extended through recognized service. Formal investiture remains incomplete.”
“Does that mean something is about to stop working?”
“No immediate failure is indicated.”
I relaxed slightly.
“Then why does that sound ominous?”
“Repeated deferral creates uncertainty in succession, delegated authority, and recognition of permanent royal offices.”
Evelyn’s expression became serious.
“What remains restricted?”
“Permanent appointment of certain Crown officers. Full access to sealed state records. Renewal of realm-wide civic compacts. Investiture of a sovereign partner.”
The room became very quiet.
I looked at Evelyn.
She was looking at the wall.
“Investiture of a sovereign partner?” she asked.
“Recognition of the queen.”
The Castellan paused.
Then, with the calm confidence of a stone wall ruining my ability to speak, it continued.
“Conducting the coronation procedure for both king and queen at the same time would be optimal.”
Evelyn’s cheeks turned pink.
I sat down.
I had already been sitting close to the chair.
It still felt necessary.
“Optimal.”
“Correct.”
“Because?”
“One public assembly. One renewal of the civic oaths. Unified establishment of royal responsibilities. Reduced duplication of ceremonial proceedings.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“You are recommending that I crown a queen because it saves arranging chairs twice.”
“Additional benefits were stated.”
Evelyn laughed.
I looked at her.
“I am glad one of us is enjoying this.”
“I am enjoying parts of it.”
The golden eye turned slightly toward her.
“Lady Evelyn Valewood has performed duties consistent with an uncrowned royal partner.”
Her laughter stopped.
“You have been observing that?”
“Household coordination, diplomatic reception, civil relief, and direct participation in royal deliberations have been recorded.”
I glanced at the papers on the table.
Apparently the castle had noticed the second chair too.
“Does that qualify her?” I asked.
“It establishes relevant service. It does not establish consent.”
“Good.”
“Mutual declaration is required. The queen must accept her own oath before the assembled witnesses.”
Evelyn leaned forward.
“Her own oath?”
“Correct. Duties are sworn to Greykeep and its people. They are not fulfilled solely through obedience to the king.”
She looked at me.
I smiled.
“That should suit you.”
“It should suit you too.”
“It does.”
There was a warmth between us that made the room feel smaller.
I faced the wall again.
“Is coronation also marriage?”
“Distinct rites. They may be held within one ceremony if the participants choose. Neither is created by administrative recommendation.”
“At least that is clear.”
“Clarity reduces procedural failure.”
Evelyn lowered her head.
Her shoulders shook.
I gave up and laughed with her.
We left the council chamber before the Castellan could produce a guest list.
The western gallery was empty.
Someone had finally repaired its windows. Afternoon light crossed the floor, falling over stone worn smooth by people whose names neither of us knew.
Evelyn stopped beside one of them.
Below, the new receiving room was being furnished.
A construction unit carried in a table.
Two carpenters immediately told it the table was too large.
Some things would never change.
“The castle is correct,” Evelyn said quietly.
“About the chairs?”
“About the coronation.”
I joined her.
“I know.”
“You cannot remain provisional forever.”
“I know that too.”
She looked at me.
“I could help arrange it.”
“You already are, probably.”
“Only in my head.”
“How far have you got?”
“The hall needs inspection.”
“Of course it does.”
“And there must be room for ordinary residents. If all the seats go to nobles, Mary will object.”
“So will I.”
“So will I.”
We smiled.
Then hers faded slightly.
“Uriah, you do not have to crown me because everyone has become accustomed to finding me beside you.”
“I have become accustomed to it.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
I took both her hands.
Her fingers were warm.
“I look for you when I enter a room,” I said.
She blinked.
“Melody told me you did the same thing.”
“Melody sees far too much.”
“Yes.”
I brushed my thumb across her knuckles.
“I like having you at the table. I like knowing you will tell me when I have missed something. And I like walking with you when there is nothing we need to decide.”
Her eyes softened.
“I like that too.”
“When that woman called you queen, I was not upset.”
“I noticed.”
“I was thinking that it sounded right.”
Evelyn drew a slow breath.
The words had frightened me less than I expected.
Perhaps because I had been living with their meaning for days.
Her chair.
Her hand in mine.
The knowledge that someone was waiting when I returned.
“I do not know how quickly we are supposed to do this,” I admitted.
“Neither do I.”
“I suspect your parents have opinions.”
“My mother has several.”
“Will she share them?”
“Whether invited or not.”
I laughed softly.
Then I stepped closer.
“But I know I want you here. And when I imagine standing in that hall, I want you beside me.”
Her grip tightened.
“As your queen?”
“If that is what you want.”
She held my gaze.
“Yes.”
The answer was quiet.
Certain.
“Yes, Uriah. That is what I want.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Then she smiled through the sudden brightness in her eyes.
“You should know that I intend to keep disagreeing with you.”
“I was counting on it.”
“And I will not let you work through every night.”
“That sounds more difficult.”
“We will negotiate.”
I lifted one hand to her cheek.
She leaned into it.
Our first kiss was gentle and a little hesitant.
Then she rested her hand against my chest, and the hesitation left.
When we stepped apart, she remained close.
“I would like to speak to my parents,” she said.
“So would I.”
“That is brave.”
“I have faced siege engines.”
“My mother asks better questions.”
I rested my forehead against hers.
“We should choose a date after the council reviews what the city can manage. I will not empty the kitchens for a feast.”
“Neither will I.”
“And we should discuss the marriage rite properly.”
“Yes.”
“Preferably before the castle discusses it for us.”
Evelyn laughed and kissed my cheek.
“That would be optimal.”
Mary knew something had happened before we reached the council room.
Her ears rose.
Melody looked from Evelyn to me, then down at our joined hands.
“Oh.”
I pointed at her.
“Be kind.”
“That bad?”
“That good,” Evelyn said.
Melody’s expression changed.
For once, she did not make a joke.
She hugged Evelyn.
Then she hugged me hard enough to suggest that affection and physical danger remained closely related.
Mary smiled.
“Have you decided?”
“We are going to plan the coronation,” I said. “Together.”
Her eyes moved to Evelyn.
“Together?”
Evelyn nodded.
Mary set down her ledger and embraced her too.
Alistair stood beside the fireplace.
He had gone unusually still.
“My king,” he said. “My lady.”
Then he bowed.
Not deeply.
Just enough to make the moment settle around us.
“I would be honored to stand witness.”
“You will,” I said.
Eleanor appeared in the doorway carrying a rolled inspection plan.
She looked at the room.
“Why has everyone stopped working?”
“We are discussing the coronation,” Mary said.
Eleanor considered that.
“In which hall?”
“The throne room,” Evelyn replied.
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“The roof?”
“The western gallery above it.”
“Can you repair it?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
She looked at our joined hands.
Then at Evelyn’s chair beside mine.
Her expression softened for one brief moment.
“Long enough for you both to think carefully. Short enough that you cannot use the masonry as an excuse.”
She placed the inspection plan on the table.
Evelyn sat beside me.
Her knee touched mine.
Above the fireplace, the Castellan’s golden eye appeared.
“Coronation planning acknowledged.”
“Planning,” I warned.
“Correct.”
“No invitations yet.”
“Correct.”
“No announcements.”
“Correct.”
Melody raised her hand.
“What about decorations?”
Mary caught her wrist.
“Not yet.”
I looked around the table.
Papers.
Mud on boots.
A damaged hall to repair.
People who had somehow become my family.
Then Evelyn reached for the inspection plan with one hand and kept hold of me with the other.
For the first time, the unfinished coronation felt like something I wanted to arrive at.
Not another responsibility waiting at the end of a long day.
Something we were going to do together.
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