In The Name Of Love

Chapter 5

We arrived before the King but after the Prime Minister. Her name was Helena Doyle and I remember thinking that had I been able to vote at the last election I would have put a cross by her name. She was only about forty which was unusually young for a PM, but she was good. Got us through the war with Bulgaria and had been elected for a second term thereafter. She was a tall, trim woman with long blonde hair, brown eyes and wore bright colours in parliament, even the girly ones. Even now she was in a white blouse with bright pink flowers decorating one corner. It made her look delicate, but no one liked to cross her on the political floor.

She stood up when we walked into to the room and were announced. We were in a formal lounge with antique style sofas and an elegant coffee table between them. There was a chair as well. Everything was pale green and white, even the walls.

"Prime Minister," Elisabeta smiled.

"Your Majesty," Mrs. Doyle smiled and curtsied.

"May I introduce my son, Mircea." They shook hands. "And his girlfriend Anwyn Edris."

I nearly bobbed a curtsy, but remembered I didn't have to and shook her hand.

"Well, this is one thing the press hasn't picked up on," she said wryly instantly putting me at ease.

I smiled. "Mircea's managed to stay out of the public eye so far," I said. Better not mention that I didn't even know his background until a week ago.  

"May it ever last," he said jovially.

"Shall we?" Elisabeta said gesturing for us all to sit down.

We all waited for her to sit and then followed suit.

"How has your visit been, Your Majesty? Our weather has held up to expectations?" Mrs. Doyle asked.

"I've learned a lot I wish to implement," Elisabeta replied. "The weather for the most part has been... challenging. I see why your nation is obsessed by it." 

"Good. Excellent. That you've learned something of use I mean. Your Highness, how is... Bangor, is it?"

"Yes. My studies are going well, thank you," Mircea said.

And then there was a bit of silence which we all felt a bit awkward in. I nearly did a Marianne Dashworth and said 'We've been experiencing very fine weather', but we'd already talked about the weather and it had been anything but fine. Professor Bowtruckle's call for 'continuity' went through my head. University, right.  

"He could probably pass my course for me and with his eyes closed too. Always reads over my shoulder as I work," I said with a smile. "Too clever for his own boots." Too clever for his own boots? What kind of saying was that?

"As a former student," she replied and leaned in a little, "I cheer on any attempt of cheating the system. As your prime minister I couldn't possibly," she said affecting a very posh accent.

We all laughed and then the door opened.

"His Majesty –"

We all stood up and turned to the doors.

" – Andrew, King of Great Britan, Northern Ireland and the Commonwealth," the announcer called imperiously.

I still imagined the king, any king, as a man in his fifties or sixties, with a growing waistline, ruddy cheeks and facial hair. The reality was different. King Andrew was in his mid twenties, clean shaven and blonde. His hair was closely cropped, a remnant of the military life he used to lead. In the war we'd lost soldiers, but his father the former king had been assassinated in front of a crowd. Andrew had been brought straight back from Romania and crowned once the war was over as part of the celebrations. I'd been watching the speech on TV and seeing Andrew now I remembered watching the King fall dead to the stage and some of the ensuing panic. The Bulgarian's had gained control of the telecommunications station that the broadcast was coming from so we saw more than the state would have liked.