Too Many Funerals

TW: Lots of non-graphic death via mass destruction.

***

I’d wanted to kill a man with a kiss for a long time. Wind flutters my veil and rips at hydrangeas entwined in the arch over our heads, showering us both in fragile petals. My beloved smiles at the unexpected gust, and it’s hard not to follow. He’s optimistic, even after the whirlwind week we had. My prince.

A prince was where this idea originated. Sitting around the fire listening to stories, I was told of a princess cursed to sleep 100 years. I was originally delighted by the prince and princess’s happily ever after, but that night I tossed and turned, thinking about how they would rule together. What would happen when they disagreed? As young as I was, I saw how women were often overruled.

That’s, in part, how we met. I wanted to skip a family ball; being third cousin to the ruling couple has a surprising number of responsibilities. However, one among them was securing a match, and who would stop two young lovers, so I scuttled off to a distant supply closet with a man from out of town after we locked eyes across the atrium. The same eyes that bore lovingly into mine today.

I consider what those eyes saw me through. The dark brown irises contracted in surprise in the dim light when an explosion rocked the building. Even in the chaos, as we hurriedly rebuttoned my dress and his shirt, I noticed his kindness. He straightened the comb in my hair before cracking the door and stepping out in front of me. I’ll be honest, it made me swoon a little.

Initially, I mistook this kindness for a sign of weakness. Someone who would crumple in stronger winds from standing so primly, but I was soon corrected. Unfortunately, that brings me back to deadly kisses.

Deadly was a great descriptor for that day. Three generations and seven tiers of succession, gone in a single blast. They never caught the bomber. Whoever it was, they were such an amateur they were vaporised with everyone else.

Amateur, we were not. We both knew better than to leave the building. Pushing against the crushing crowd, we arrived at the edges of the wreckage. Guards swarmed, and we both started giving orders. When we paused in surprise, proper introductions were hurriedly made. Dutchess Catherine of Montfeld, meet Count Silas of Winethorp.

Winethorp is where we decided to hold the wedding. It’s where we got the hydrangeas and will hold the feast. Two days on horseback from Marshdona’s new capital city, the old capital and ancestral castle holds special significance. It was a good suggestion to hold the wedding here. One that I didn’t make. I can already feel my hold on the crown sitting on a pillow behind the officiant slipping.

We slipped through the rubble that night and searched for survivors until dawn. We hugged each other and cried over the bodies of my mother and his brother. We ran out of tears for everyone else.

The next day, we each composed ourselves to show up for business as usual, but that was quickly abandoned when the magistrate brought us the unfortunate announcement.

“Your graces. I cannot believe I am saying this, but you are tied in succession for the throne.”

I stood from my chair and planted my palms on his desk. “What do you mean, tied?”

“Um, well.” The magistrate tugged at his collar. “Our official records have you as fourth cousins. Catherine’s late third cousin once removed’s wife’s sister’s son is Silas, to be exact.”

“Preposterous!” Silas was angry for the first time since this ordeal started.

The magistrate squirmed. “If you want to debate this matter, it could be brought the courts.”

“No!” We both exclaimed, simultaneously.

“The courts will favour Catherine’s case because she is a blood relative.”

“You mean the courts will favour Silas’s case because he is a man.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Silas stood and paced. I deliberately detached my hands from the tulle I was crushing, then smoothed it while thinking. How could we possibly avoid this?

“There is one way forward.”

“Yes?” We both stopped and stared. The magistrate was sinking further into his chair with every sentence.

“You could...” he flinched a little in anticipation. “Co-rule?”

“No way-” we each started, but the magistrate gathered himself a little and pushed ahead.

“You could be married. You have completely separate ancestry, and it would prevent other empires and kingdom’s from trying to encroach through a proposal. Then, Marshdona would have a new King and Queen, and you could work together to rebuild.”

I’m about shoot the magistrate down, but Silas’s brow is furrowed which only happens when he’s seriously considering a path forward. I hesitate. This was not the future I had envisioned for myself, but I could make it work. So, when Silas dips to one knee and slips one of his several rings off his pinky, I accept. The intricate black band slides on to my ring finger, and I pretend I can live a happily ever after, if only for a minute.

Unfortunately, that minute has passed. The officiant finishes his frankly mediocre speech about strengthening Marshdona through this union, then turns to Silas.

“Do you take Princess Catherine in holy matrimony?”

“Of course, my dear.” Silas leans in to slip a different, gold band on my ring finger and whispers. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

I smile and blink back tears. This would be so much easier if I couldn’t see myself growing to love this man.

The officiant turns to me. “Do you take Prince Silas in holy matrimony?”

“Yes.” The words is measured even as my heartbeat picks up and I bestow him with the identical ring that’s been weighing heavily in my pocket.

“I now pronounce you Marshdona’s King and Queen. You are bound in service to this kingdom and each other so long as you both shall live.”

Silas sweeps me into his arms and kisses me deeply. I savour the warmth that fills me and notice how perfectly we fit together as I wrap an arm around his back. I wish, deeply and shortsightedly, this didn’t have to be our last kiss.

We finally break apart, much to the disappointment of the crowd, and kneel to accept our crowns. Silas’s is a sleek and humble family heirloom that suits his features. Mine has several short, sharp peaks, but bears few jewels as well. This is a wedding of symbolism. We are heading into a time of war afterall. We straighten while holding hands, but Silas stumbles a little as he stands, then falls. I grab him around the waist and help slow his fall, laying him down on the alter. His crown topples into the grass.

He's holding his chest and struggling for breath. I stroke his hair and tell him he’s going to be okay. He smiles up at me, my wonderful fool, and tells me he loves me. I say the same, over and over, savouring the words. The tears that flow are real, and so is the panic when he dies in my arms. I keep hugging him, coming to terms with the future we lost. There is a moment when the officiant is running to brief the redundant doctor arriving, and use it to whisper how sorry I am in his ear.

I wish I could have given our marriage a chance. I wanted to rule, to grow old with him, but I did not want rule with him at my side. His death had to be public, and it had to be early, before marital strife grew and suspicion was raised. Maybe we could have made it work, but I couldn’t take that gamble. Ultimately, it had to be today.

Today. A week after the death of our families. I gave him that week. I though he was just some smuck who was cute and would make a great excuse to be out of the room during the explosion. You could say I gave him a second chance at life. Now, I took it back with poison in my lipstick and an antidote in my bloodstream.

I’m led away from the body soon after. In the rooms we shared, I pull one of his jackets on and cry myself to sleep. The next day my composure returns. The kingdom will be in mourning for longer than me. No remarriage for the young widow. New policies are coming down the pipeline in light of the heightened threat to the crown. People will pity me, will see my many policies as throwing myself into work. They won’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late.

Or maybe they won’t notice at all. My husband didn’t.