Epilogue

Regis and Charlotte married on her eighteenth birthday. It was a more somber marriage than had been publicly planned, because the week before the event the crown announced that the queen had succumbed to her sickness. The country was in mourning, which allowed Charlotte to finally wear the black of mourning and semi-publicly be upset that her mother wouldn’t be there for the wedding—something Regis knew she’d been struggling not to show throughout the entire planning process. She’d spent more time than she wanted being silent and still while Regis held her.

From tradition Charlotte would be crowned on her eighteenth birthday—the day she came of age—so they held the wedding in the morning, and that evening Charlotte donned a different gown—far more jewel encrusted than the white vision she’d worn down the aisle—and the crown was officially placed on her brow.

No one asked why she didn’t entitle her new husband King.

No one quite knew what to do with Regis at first. He was the Prince Consort, but he didn’t dabble much in politics, and only attended court when there was something of particular importance—like a new noble being introduced, or a noble with a new title such as the newly minted Lady Setan-Chestern. Mostly he was seen by the queen’s side or not at all—it was thought that he was probably in the library, which he was known to have a fondness for. A few wondered, as they had since the first, if Queen Charlotte simply wanted someone to adore her—as he clearly did—but the sharper-eyed said they weren’t convinced.

The patterns emerged only overtime. Queen Charlotte might be angry about something, but she’d spend a few days thinking it over and her anger would abate—sometimes shockingly quickly depending on how angry she’d been. Then sometimes she’d make a too-quick decision, and over the next few weeks her decision became more nuanced or—very occasionally—changed altogether. Either way, her reasons were rational and obviously well discussed.

The court still didn’t know what to do with the prince consort, but most gradually began to approve of him as a steadying force in their energetic and strong-minded queen’s life. Most in the know found it worthwhile—should they find themselves on the wrong side of the queen’s opinion—to seek him out and explain the situation as they saw it and their reasons. In the conversation itself he always upheld the queen’s position in calm, reasonable tones, but sometimes in later confrontations with the queen it seemed like someone had gotten her to listen to at least the more reasonable counter-arguments.

The story stayed, of course. The boy who had loved the princess from afar and fought for years to get a chance to free himself— and from there the tellings diverged. Some said he must have seen her truly. Others said he’d seen her wrong, but quickly learned to love the true her. There were even a few who thought it was a long-standing secret engagement from his time at court when he was younger, and the sensational story was to cover up why she was marrying one of the poorest and least important nobles in the entire country.

No matter what, though, one thing was clear: the queen’s consort loved his wife dearly, she loved him dearly in return, and when they stood together they looked very much like they could take on the world.