King of Hearts

King of Hearts
Chapter 13
Coronation Day Part 1


Author's note: Writing the final of King of Hearts, I realized it was too long for a single chapter. Besides, it felt wrong to end with Chapter 13, so I've decided to finish this story in the old Buffy tradition of a double episode. My special thanks to my betas Kar and Mariana.


Not many people found sufficient sleep during the following week. The lab found out that King William's glass had contained an acid that would have killed him within moments if he had taken so much as a sip from it. Security was in high alert as everyone was preparing for the King's coronation. Measures at Westminster Abbey would have to be double-checked to avoid another disaster. The ladies at Madame Tussaud's were working night and day to finish in time the wax figure of the king for the coronation ceremony. Lady Winifred's tailors were working in nightshifts to finish her dress. Sir Riley was training with the horse guard for the parade. Spike was studying the texts of the coronation oath he would have to take, learning everything by heart. And Buffy Summers was making arrangements to leave London forever.

*

The night before Spike's coronation, Fred was practicing the oath with him for the umpteenth time.
"Once again," Fred said seriously, "Concentrate, you can do it!"
Spike shook his head. "I need a break, Fred. Please, have mercy on me!"
Fred laughed. "Just once more."
He finally gave in. "The last time for today!"
"Promised." She straightened her shoulders and looked at her textbook. "Alright. I am the Archbishop of Canterbury."
"A very pretty Archbishop."
Fred blushed. "Stop it! You can't flirt with the Archbishop! Sir, is Your Majesty willing to take the Oath?
Spike sighed bouncing his head. "Yeah."
Fred shook hers. "Please, do take this seriously. The correct reply is 'I am willing'."
Spike nodded. "I am willing."
"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the Union of South Africa, Pakistan, and Ceylon, and of your Possessions and the other Territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?"
"I am willing," Spike agreed.
Fred sighed. "Sorry, wrong again. The answer is 'I solemnly promise so to do'."
Spike repeated her words obediently.
"Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?
"That's an easy one," Spike said, "I will."
"No comments!" Fred chided, but looked pleased nevertheless. "Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the Laws of God and the true profession of the Gospel? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain in the United Kingdom the Protestant Reformed Religion established by law? Will you maintain and preserve inviolably the settlement of the Church of England, and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in England? And will you preserve unto the Bishops and Clergy of England, and to the Churches there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges, as by law do or shall appertain to them or any of them?"
Spike sounded very impatient. "All this I promise to do."
Fred looked at him expectantly.
Spike looked back at her. "What?"
"Get up!" she said.
He rose from his chair. "So what happens now?"
"The Sword of State is carried before you, you go to the altar and lay your hand on the Bible." She grabbed the London phone book. "This is the Bible."
Spike eyed her with amusement and lay his left hand on the phone book.
"The other hand," Fred chided him, "You can't swear on the Bible with your left hand! Besides, you have to kneel on the steps!"
"I know that," Spike snapped.
"Do you want a proper rehearsal or not?" Fred asked.
Spike apologized and knelt before her, laying his right hand on the phone book. "The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep. So help me God."
Fred nodded. "Now you kiss the book and sign the oath, and you're done!"
Spike rose. "Can I kiss the Archbishop instead?"
Fred looked shocked first, then giggled. "Oh, you mean..."
Spike kissed her cheek. It still felt like he was kissing his sister, not his future wife. He sank back into his chair, bending over, holding his head with his hands. "I'll make some stupid mistake, I just know it!"
"You'll do great, don’t you…emm…worry," Fred said without much conviction patting his right shoulder.
"If I had a proper rehearsal at the Abbey..."
"Sir Rupert had good reason to cancel that," Fred reminded him, "It's just too dangerous at the moment."
"I know, and I'm sick of it! Why can't anyone just shoot me?"
"Don't say that, don’t you dare to say that! Besides you're going to jinx the coronation," she said with resolve.
"I can't remember the details of the ceremony, I'm going to fail to do the right things if I can't practice!" Spike complained.
Fred thought about it for a moment. He was right. They were running out of time. "Do you think it would help if you could go through the whole ceremony at Westminster Abbey with me?"
"Yes, of course! But it's no use, Sir Rupert's never gonna..."
"We don't have to tell Sir Rupert..." Fred smiled.
"Do you think they're simply gonna let me walk out of here?"
She shrugged. "Probably not. But they won't mind if I take the royal limo home... with Lady Charlotte."
Spike stared at her. "Oh no, so not gonna happen!"

*

"Good night, Lady Winifred, Lady Charlotte," the guards greeted when two women left Buckingham Palace late that evening, one of them with her hat and the attached veil covering her face. Fred nodded at the guards politely and accompanied Lady Charlotte to the parking lot.
They got into the car.
"To Westminster Abbey, Lorne," Fred instructed the driver.
"Of course, cupcake."
Lorne was definitely the only chauffeur in London who could call Fred 'cupcake' without getting fired.
Spike tore the hat from his head. "Arg!! Finally!! Those high heels were killing me," he complained. "I don't know why any woman in her right mind would want to wear them! And a panty hose is definitely the worst punishment ever devised for sins committed in previous lives!"
Fred giggled. "But you have to admit it's very effective. We just need to get back before Sir Rupert finds out you were gone."

*

Westminster Abbey was dark. It had been closed to the public for several days prior to the Coronation in order to make all the necessary arrangements, but Spike had been given a key in case anything went wrong. They used the key to enter the Abbey. The decorations, flags, banners and flowers were all set in place. The Abbey looked like a magical place from a fairytale.
Spike stood for a moment and felt the atmosphere. Then he disposed of Lady Charlotte's dress and changed into jeans, white tee and leather jacket.
Fred waited for him at the aisle, modestly averting her eyes. Well, that is, most of the time.
Spike joined her a few minutes later. "Good. We're here."
Fred nodded. "You're wearing crimson velvet robes. You are acknowledged by all four corners of the Abbey. Walk down the aisle."
Spike slowly walked down the aisle, imagining the Abbey filled with people, visiting heads of state and ambassadors, representatives of Commonwealth countries and members of the Royal Family. His knees became progressively weaker.
Fred stood in front of the altar and went through the Coronation Oath with him. He did not make a single mistake. "The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep. So help me God."
Fred felt very proud when she stepped behind him. "Your rich robes and jewels will now be lifted off by your attendants," she explained. "Then the Archbishop will anoint you." She opened her handbag and fetched a tiny vial and a spoon.
"What's that?" Spike asked.
"Orange and lemon oil," Fred admitted, "I use it for a fresh scent in my bathroom. Tomorrow it's going to be Holy Oil, a mixture of herbs according to a recipe dating back to King Charles I. And of course they have a coronation spoon, not this one I sneaked out from the dinner table." She giggled as she spilled a few drops of oil on his head.
"There. Now you get the golden robes. And sit down on King Edward's chair." She gestured at a plain wooden chair which looked as if it was a thousand years old.
Spike looked at the worn and shabby chair suspiciously. "It won't break?"
"It's very old," Fred admitted, "As I said, it was King Edward's, but traditionally every monarch had to sit on it during their coronation, so don't complain!"
He examined the carvings and remains of paint on the wood curiously. "And all the kings and queens were able to make some graffiti on the chair?"
"Of course not," Fred said impatiently, "It used to be available to the public in former times, nowadays it's kept inside a special glass case, protected from harm, if it's not otherwise being used for this distinctive ceremony."
With another sceptical look at the chair, Spike sat down. The chair held.
Fred handed him an apple, a PEZ dispenser and a pencil. "The symbols of your authority," she explained, "Orb, sceptre, rod of mercy."
"I see," Spike replied with an amused smirk. "Isn't there supposed to be a ring of sapphires and rubies?"
Fred hesitated. She had not thought of a ring.
Suddenly, something golden rolled before her feet.
Fred froze as she recognized the engagement ring Wesley had meant to give her and which she had refused.
"Why don't you take that one?" Wesley's voice rang through the Abbey, cold and distant. Then she heard something click. The safety catch of his gun.

*

Buffy's voice was shrill and petulant. "What do you mean, I'm stuck here?"
The lady at the counter of Buffy's airline smiled apologetically. "Pilots and flight attendants are on strike," she repeated as if explaining something complex to a challenged child, "Therefore, our night flight to Los Angeles has been cancelled, and so have any other flights until tomorrow morning." She gestured at the hall, where hundreds of passengers were hectically phoning their families, calming their children or simply swearing.
"But I already checked-in my luggage yesterday!" Buffy complained desperately.
"Your luggage will be transferred to Los Angeles first thing in the morning. Just make sure you have the receipt, so you can pick it up when you get there. In case it should be lost, it will be sent to you, obviously, free of charge."
"Great," Buffy said sarcastically. This was a nightmare.
"Look, I'm sorry, Miss..." She glanced briefly at Buffy's ticket. "... Summers, but you can see you are not the only one, as you so suitably phrased it earlier, 'stuck' at Heathrow tonight. I'd suggest you just try and get a room for the night, or sleep in the hall. I'm sorry this is all I can do for you at the moment. Thank you for flying with Britannia Wings, anyway." She looked at Buffy expectantly, still smiling, but unmistakably prompting her to leave.
Buffy sighed again. She would have to call her mother and Dawnie and tell them about this nightmare. And then she would decide where to spend the night.

*

"God save the King," Wesley said. He was standing at a few feet's distance, his gun aimed at Spike's head. No way he could miss his target.
"You?" Fred's eyes filled with tears. "But why?"
"Don't you know that?" he said bitterly. "You really thought I would let him marry you and live?"
"That doesn't make any sense," Spike said, his voice trembling.
"It makes perfect sense to me," Wesley replied. "You are just not good enough for her. You are unreliable, you do not have any manners, you are the worst polo player in the whole kingdom, you do not even speak proper English!" His hands were shaking. "And what is worse, you do not even love her."
Spike gazed at Wesley intently. "You know what? Damn right!" He growled rising from the chair, slowly, carefully, he have had enough.
"Stay where you are!" Wesley snapped, "I'll shoot!"
Spike faced him, his blue eyes cold as steel. "So shoot me. I'm not in love with Fred, and I'm not gonna marry her. What are you waiting for? Kill me."
"No!" Fred screamed, "Wesley, please! Put the gun down!"
"Excuse me?" Shock was written all over Wesley's face.
"I said shoot me," Spike repeated, "Come on, royal order!"
"You're not... not in love... and you won't marry..." Wesley stumbled.
"You've heard me! Fred is a great friend, but I don't love her, and I wouldn't wanna marry her if they paid me! No offence, luv."
Fred looked at him questionably. "None taken," she said, confused, totally clueless what Spike was up to.
Spike held Wesley's gaze. "Since I agreed to play King, the press has been hunting me up and down, Sir Rupert has been torturing me night and day, I've had to wear ridiculous clothes no straight guy would ever want to get caught dead in it, mind you, my ex claims she’ll soon bring a royal heir into the world, someone has already tried to kill me four times, not one, nor two, not even three but four, FOUR times!!—he said, each number punctuated by the fingers of his left hand and at the same time his voice rising in temper—I'm engaged to another's girl, I've lost the only woman I’ve ever loved, and all I get in return is this lousy crown?" He knocked over the King Edward's Chair. "Y'know what? I quit!"
Fred smiled from beneath her tears.
Wesley let the gun sink. "You can't quit, you're the King of England!"
Spike walked up to him and extended his hand. "Give me that gun if you don't need it any more."
Wesley handed him the gun wordlessly.
Fred rose and rushed up to them. "Wesley, please, tell me you didn't try to kill Spike before."
"Of course not," Spike said, "He had no motivation to kill me before I announced our engagement. The Agent is not the enemy." Spike looked at Wesley from the corner of his eyes.
"I was so desperate," Wesley said breathlessly, "I was keeping an eye at Buckingham Palace because all I wanted was to see you, to talk to you. Then I saw you two going in here, I saw him taking off those clothes, I saw you touching him, and..."
"And you saw red," Spike completed the sentence. "Can't blame you, mate."
"But you have to believe me, I swear, Your Majesty, I never tried to harm you before, I never even meant to shoot, I just wanted to threaten, to frighten you a little, to dissuade you, so you wouldn’t..." Wesley explained himself.
"I know," Spike replied.
Wesley looked at Fred. "So, the wedding is called off?"
Spike nodded. "Under one condition."
Wesley raised an eyebrow.
Spike gestured at Fred's belly. "If it's a boy... Don't call him William!"
Wesley nodded. "William Wyndam Pryce sounds a little pretentious, anyway."
Fred picked up the engagement ring from the floor and looked at Wesley. "Mind if I keep this?" she said softly.
"Not at all," Wesley replied. "But what will your father say? You're still a Lady, and I'm still..."
"Hang on," Spike said, "You know what works best with fathers?" He disappeared behind the altar and opened a glass case, then returned with a sword - the State Sword that was supposed to be carried in front of him at the ceremony the next day. "Shutting them up!"
Fred looked very frightened.
"Isn't that a bit harsh?" Wesley asked carefully.
"Just a sec." Spike walked up to him, the sword in hand. "On your knees," he ordered.
Wesley was confused, but he obeyed.
"Wesley Wyndam Pryce. You have proven yourself worthy according to rules of chivalrous behaviour, such as faithfulness to your Saviour and your Sovereign, generosity, self-denial, and bravery." Spike touched Wesley's left shoulder lightly with the sword, then his right shoulder. He paused. "I know it's against protocol, but I've always wanted to say this: arise, Sir Wesley."
Fred embraced Wesley first, then Spike. "Thank you so much! Now my father has no reason to object our engagement any more."
"I... I don't know what to say," Wesley stumbled.
"Well," Spike replied, "If you just promised you won't be dating Buffy any further..."
Wesley frowned. "Buffy Summers, Sir Rupert's daughter?"
"The one and only."
Wesley looked at Spike in confusion. "I didn't realize you were involved."
"Yeah, and I was stupid enough to let them break us up," Spike admitted. "But that's a mistake I'm planning to rectify."
The agent gave him a compassionate glance. "So she didn't tell you."
A terrible suspicion dawned on Spike. "Tell me what?"
"She's headed back to America. She has a ticket for the eleven o'clock flight, Heathrow Airport - tonight!"
Spike's face fell. "Are you here by car?"
"Yes, but..." Wesley began.
"Keys," Spike commanded.
Wesley fumbled for the keys. "Your Majesty, there is something you ought to know about my car..."
"No time," Spike snapped and took the keys from Wesley. Without listening any more, he ran from the abbey, the heavy doors slamming behind him.
Wesley frowned. "Does he know I switched my car for a used Austin mini to afford that ring?"

*

Buffy was staring miserably at the television in the old Irish pub near the airport. Another night in London, but she was not planning on going back to Buckingham Palace. Nope, no way in hell. That part of her life belonged to the past. The BBC news had just started.
"British pilots on strike. Hundreds of travellers are marooned at London's Heathrow Airport, the biggest international airport within the European Union. Pilots and flight personnel are fighting for a pay rise and more moderate flight schedules. Experts are foreseeing a swift ending of the strike, presumably by nine o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Great, just another ten hours," Buffy murmured gloomily.
"Another drink for the lady," a man said and sat down on a stool next to her. "You look like you could use it," he explained and smiled nonchalantly. He was quite handsome; Buffy had to give him that. Tall, muscular built, soulful brown eyes, elegant black silk shirt with matching leather pants - but he would definitely have to do something about the hair, which went straight up and had a bit too much hair gel. His voice was both velvety and dangerous, and she liked his Irish lilt. "I'm Liam," he said, "My friends call me Angel."
Buffy smiled in amusement. "Angel, huh?"
Liam shrugged. "Because that's what I am!". Buffy looked at him sceptically, while thinking ‘God!! How lame is that!!’.
The bartender placed two drinks in front of them.
Buffy smiled apologetically. "Listen, I appreciate your attempt at cheering me up, but I don't feel like company right now. I'm waiting for my flight, and..."
He laughed and gestured at the bartender. "Doyle, pour us another round of drinks, this may take a while! Never thought I'd be grateful for those pilots going on strike. I was heading back to Dublin to pack some things. I'm taking a long holiday."
"Won the lottery?" Buffy asked.
He chuckled. "Sort of. I was pissed off when I heard my flight had been cancelled. But it's not that bad, after all. I'd never have met you if it hadn't been for the strike!" Liam toasted to her. "To the pilots!"
Buffy forced herself to smile. She did not want to be rude. "To the pilots." She drank. The alcohol dulled the pain a little. "I'm Buffy," she said at last.

*

Spike's legs hurt when he finally arrived at Heathrow airport after a daring ride across the whole city in Wesley's Austin mini. He did not have long to look for a parking spot at least. Without bothering to lock the car, Spike ran up the stairs to the main entrance of Terminal Four. It was a quarter to eleven. He was silently praying Buffy's plane had not left yet. Would they believe that he was the King, dressed in casuals and without any guards or press in his trail? Would they stop the plane’s departure or at least let him board it?
His breath was heavy when he finally arrived at the Britannia Wings counter. His heartbeat stopped when he saw the queue.
"This is an emergency," he gasped as he pushed the protesting passengers aside. "Eleven o'clock, Los Angeles," he managed to say when he finally arrived at the counter, struggling for air, pushing aside an overweight lady with greasy black hair in a neon green pullover.
The clerk - the same woman Buffy had talked to earlier - raised a brow in a no nonsense manner. "Sir, would you please queue like everybody else?"
"Sorry," Spike said apologetically and cast a pleading look, his lips curling into an irresistible smile as he leaned over the counter, looking into her eyes, "Don't you think you could make an exception for me, pet?"
The woman giggled and blushed like a teenager. She tossed the woman in the green pullover her ticket. "Get lost," she told her. Then she ran a hand through her hair, curling a lock around her finger and smiled at Spike shyly. "Maybe."
Spike breathed deeply with relief. "I need to be on the eleven o'clock flight to Los Angeles."
The clerk looked at him for a moment. Then her eyes widened, recognition written all over her face. "Oh my goodness, it's him," she shrieked, "Your Majesty!"
Spike looked about uneasily. "Yeah, it's me, but, please, could you..."
"King William," the clerk repeated over and over again, "The King of England in my workplace! Could I... would it be rude if I asked for an autograph? For Cindy."
"Listen, Cindy," Spike said impatiently, "I'll give you whatever you want. I just need to be on that flight. I hurt someone very much, and I just need to tell her how sorry I am, and that I love her. I can't let her walk out of my life."
Tears, that seemed to come immediately out of nowhere, glistened in Cindy's eyes. "That's so romantic!"
Spike rolled his eyes. Five minutes to eleven. "Yeah," he said, "Please, I'm running out of time!"
Cindy cast him a pitiful glance. "Of course you wouldn't know. You've been so busy, with your coronation and all. You wouldn't have had the time to watch the news."
Spike stared at her. "There wasn't a crash or something."
Cindy shook childishly her head as if expecting him to guess, which unnerved Spike all the more. "No."
A wave of relief washed over Spike.
"Pilots have gone on strike. There isn't going to be any flight from Heathrow tonight."
His expression was one of scepticism. "You're kidding me!"
Cindy gestured at the flight tables. Behind every single flight, there was a display: CANCELLED.
Spike shook his head in relief.
Cindy pressed a pen into his hand. "'For Cindy with love,'" she dictated.

*

"... and then this guy I told you about says he's marrying that other woman," Buffy said, her voice shaking from her clogged throat. She was swaying dangerously on the barstool, which was no surprise given the amount of alcohol she had been drinking.
Liam looked at her intently. "Outrageous," he said silkily, "If you were mine, I would treat you like a princess, Buffy."
Buffy smiled. "That's sweet."
"Last orders," the bartender Doyle announced.
"Same again," Buffy told him. Her head was spinning.
Doyle eyed her sceptically. "Are you sure?"
Buffy nodded fiercely.
Liam put his hand on hers, lowering his voice. His face was close to Buffy's. "The bar's closing in a few minutes. Why don't we go somewhere nicer?"
Buffy tilted her head, trying to focus. "Is that your twin brother?" she asked.
Liam grinned. "Whatever you say, Buffy. So, shall we go?"
The part of Buffy that was drunk wanted to leave with Liam and have a night of meaningless sex to forget Spike for the few hours she had left, before the hangover set in. However, a tiny voice in her head insisted that this was wrong, and that she would only feel worse in the morning. There was a moment of silence, in which the television was the only sound.
"... while London is preparing for the big event. Meteorologists predict a beautiful, sunny day for King William's coronation, unlike his mother's in 1953, when it was pouring rain..."
Buffy turned her head towards the television. There were pictures of Spike, smiling at the cameras. It hurt more than she could take.
"... from the very beginning of his reign, King William has polarized both nobility and the public. Whereas opponents criticise the young monarch's style of government, surveys indicate an ever growing popularity among the subjects, particularly those below the age of forty, who appreciate the 'fresh breeze' in Buckingham Palace."
Buffy snorted.
"And Prince Charming seems to have found his princess already. Lady Winifred Burkle, daughter to a renowned house, is expected to show by King William's side when he is crowned tomorrow."
Buffy's eyes filled with tears as pictures of Spike and Fred were shown in what looked like a particularly cheesy music video, dubbed with Whitney Houston's 'I will always love you'.
Liam chuckled.
"What's so funny?" Buffy hissed.
He laughed again. "Prince Charming! Prince Moron, I'd say!"
"Why?" Buffy asked hesitantly. There was something to Liam's tone, something in his condescending smile she found confusing.
Liam lowered his voice. "Can you keep a secret?"
Buffy nodded, trying to think clearly despite her dizziness.
Liam's eyes sparkled. "He's so stupid! Y'know, there's this woman, Dru. They were sort of an item in his wild, pre-king days. He wasn't at a boarding school abroad, like the press say, no, he was singing at a London club. So one day we're watching TV, and there he is, our old friend Spike, suddenly King of England!" He took another gulp from his drink. "I hate the English. So, I say, why not relieve him of some tax money? I didn't have any concrete plans, but then Dru arrives and tells me she's pregnant! I say, it's our lucky day! So she goes to see him and tells him she's having his baby. And he believes her every word! Raven-haired beauty, innocent black eyes - makes a man forget a lot."
Buffy immediately thought of Spike's night out, the woman she had seen in the mirror. Was it even possible...?
Liam did not stop there. "It's gonna take a while till he figures out the kid looks very much like me... And he's all noble and says he'll be there for her. He sure gave her an obscene lot of money so she keeps her mouth shut. But, oh, guess what? An Irish Catholic heir on the English throne?" He chuckled again. "That simple fact could bring the whole monarchy paraphernalia to its debacle. And that wouldn’t be right, now, would it? Had to marry that Burkle woman because, conveniently, she was already pregnant!"
Buffy was suddenly sober and wide awake. "You mean he's only marrying Lady Winifred because he wants to acknowledge her child? Because his pregnant ex could ruin him as a King?"
"Yeah! You know what's best? He broke up with the girl he really loved, for the good of church, tradition, monarchy and his beloved country," he added in a tone of mock bravery, "and because the scandal might have hurt the bimbo's sensitive nature!"
Buffy felt rage taking control of her.
Liam did not seem to notice. "So, King Stupid, right?"
Buffy smiled coldly. "Not as stupid as someone who brags about blackmailing the king in public to get a girl into his bed!" She passed Doyle several five pound notes for her drinks.
Liam caught her wrist as she turned to go. "Hey, you're not leaving, are you?" He looked into her eyes trying to assess somehow his chances of getting laid tonight with this blonde bimbo that was, according to him, falling so easily for his bragging act. "We could... have some fun, you know, us, alone together." He said, not noticing on his drunken state how redundant his speech was becoming.
Buffy gave him her most innocent look. "Close your eyes," she whispered seductively.
Liam closed his eyes.
Buffy slapped him hard. He swayed dangerously and fell from the bar stool.
Buffy turned to Doyle. "I'm gonna need a cab."

*

Buffy was reluctant to wake anyone at Buckingham Palace at that hour. She ran upstairs to look for Spike in his bedroom, but found it empty. She tried the pool, the cinema, practically any other room he might have withdrawn to, but without success. His office was all there was left. To her surprise, it was not Spike she found there, but...
"Lady Charlotte," Buffy said, "I'm looking for King William! He's gone!"
Lady Charlotte crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Spying for your father, aren't you? I'm saying nothing. Officially, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"My father thinks I'm on my way to Los Angeles," Buffy admitted. "Please. I've made a terrible mistake. I have to find Spike. He can't marry Lady Winifred! So, if you know anything at all, please tell me. Tomorrow's going to be too late."
Lady Charlotte nodded and smiled. "He and Lady Winifred have gone to Westminster Abbey for a last rehearsal."
Buffy stared at her. "My dad cancelled that rehearsal because he thought it was too dangerous."
Lady Charlotte sighed. "That's what I told him. But he said he needed some fresh air, and one last night of freedom before he was crowned. He's the king. What could I do about it?"
Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "Spike went to Westminster Abbey without a bodyguard? What if he got shot?" She said, giving voice to her thoughts.
"So I said. He looked at me in a strange way and replied that the only thing worth living for, had been taken from him already."
Buffy's face was one full of resolve. "Are you here by car?"
"Yes, but..." Lady Charlotte began.
"You drive," Buffy commanded.
Lady Charlotte did not object. She did not dare.

TBC...
Coming soon: Coronation Day Part 2