Author's Note: Smut Warning.

May

Three times every Summer, the grounds of Buckingham Palace are awash with scones and fascinators as the Queen hosts her annual garden parties. The events recognise those in public service — so guests include charities, organisations, and the civil service. As Queen, this is now MY garden party.

Just under a year ago, my father was hosting this identical garden party in debut to telling everyone who my boyfriend and soon to be husband was. Unfortunately, it didn't go as planned, nor did the series of unfortunate events that followed suit.

Today, there's a distinctive atmosphere to the event. It isn't as articulated and controlled. Today it's an event that doesn't bother me as much as it worries Harry. He despises events held at the Palace because it implies there's constantly a flow of people in and out of the grounds. The garden parties customarily host around eight thousand guests, but today we have a little extra. Harry has been operating nonstop doing his dues for the Palace, revising plans with Matthew and specific insurrections for today in case of emergency.

I wander the grounds, viewing as the staff hustle around in an attempt to make sure the settings are immaculate. Finally, the tents are up, the flower arrangements are in sequence, and all that is left is for the food and little things to be settled into place. I beam as the crew pass me, their hands abundant with an array of various items. They do deserve so much acknowledgement for these functions. Without the team, these events wouldn't transpire. They indeed are the masterminds behind it all.

I have not possessed substantial control over the garden party. I know my mother habitually plans the event for my Father, but my mother had no desire to plan the event to the extent she usually does due to circumstances. I enabled the staff to plan the event and have most of the say with all decorations and foods. The only thing I requested was for my father's chosen flower to be the tables' centrepieces. He always loved blue orchids, so did I, but that is one of the flowers not grown in the gardens. Perhaps the reason for him not desiring orchids in the gardens is because, in Victorian-era England, the orchid was a symbol of luxury and decadence— My father never threw around his luxuries, he never overstepped and became entitled or snobby, he stayed humble throughout his life as a royal. The colour blue is associated with peace and tranquillity, something that my father did not observe towards the end of his life. I believe orchids to be elegant of all colours, no matter their meaning or their status of luxury or wealth.

"Excuse me, can you help me?" I discover a bass voice question. Without a second thought, I turn on my heel to recognise a gentleman carrying boxes stacked higher than he can view.

I take the top box from him, allowing him the ability to meet my gaze. The man has voyager-blue eyes that are as clear as a fresh pond. Although they are vibrant and clear, something about him is cloudy, something I can't quite put my finger down on. His eyes are beautiful, but I can't ignore the unsettling feeling he leaves me with when he makes eye contact with me.

"Oh, my, your highness, I am so sorry," the man begins to apologise profoundly.

I draw my gaze from his eyes, scared I have spent too much time staring into the eyes of a man who has a front that I cannot figure out. Staring into the eyes of someone can lure you deeper into a pit you don't always want to be in. "Don't mention it," I shake my head, staring at the rest of his figure for a moment, attempting to grasp where he's from. He appears familiar, but I'm not sure what about him is drawing my curiosity.

"I'm trying to get these insides before they dry out."

"What are they?" I question, beginning to walk back towards the palace doors.

"Flower centrepieces for the tables," I'm informed.

I gawk at the man and nod my head, my emotions wanting to take grasp of me, but I halt them in their track. This is a felicitous day; there is no room for tears or sad emotions. In my hands, I hold the orchids that I insisted on, and for a brief moment, I don't feel alone in the royal world. I feel the sense of tranquillity and peace wash over me. I don't think my Father ever intended for things to pan out the way they have; he had no intentions of surrendering me into this world of monarchy distress. It happened, and I can do this.

We reach the palace doors, and I slide my finger over the thump print. I shift the large, gold-lined door, enabling the man to wander into the Palace before me. "Thank you. You can place it right here. I'll come back for the box."

"Do you know where you're going?" I raise a brow, unsure how this poor man will discover his way around the Palace. Sometimes I still get lost roaming the Palace grounds. This place is like a horrible maze to newcomers.

"Uh, well, no. I don't believe your highness should be carrying boxes. So I figured I'd get inside and wait for someone to help me."

I lift my shoulders into a shrug. Carrying a box or two isn't going to kill me. "Excuse me," I seize the awareness of one of the manor staff affiliates, "Would you mind showing this gentleman where he needs to go? He has the centrepieces for the tables."

"Certainly," The staff member nods, taking the box from my hands.

I leave the two of them to figure things out, making my way back upstairs to my room.

The trek to my room is reserved and tranquil, something that is quite surprising. I expected to run into Madeleine or Louis attempting to sneak around the Palace in an attempt to keep their relationship ambiguous. I know what is going on between them, so does Harry, but the two of them act as though they are smug for trying to keep their relationship quiet. I think the award for best relationship honoured quiet is mine and Harry's. We did manage to fool my parents and the monarch.

I travel down the long-drawn hallways adorned with various paintings and decorations, the man, however, in my thoughts and driving me bonkers. Perhaps it was the eyes, but I want to know more. I am intrigued; I crave to learn who he is.

Is he a florist?

Is he attending the event?

What is his name?

I shake my obsessive thoughts away as I find myself at my door. I unlock the door with ease and step into my quiet room, just as equally bewildered. I suspected my room to be bustling with staff striving to shove me into a dress and get my hair done. Instead, I regard Harry on our bed with the covers draped over half his body and no staff in my room.

This is a first.

"Did I wake you?" I challenge, noticing him move insignificantly between the soft sheets, the rays of the sun peeking through the sheer curtains, forcing their way through the crack of the blackout curtains.

"Mm, no, been awake for a few minutes," Harry responds tiredly and with a soft voice.

"Oh, I was just downstairs looking at the setup."

"I know," Harry responds, his hand gesturing towards his phone. "I can see the cameras from my phone. Just wish you wouldn't stand in the blind spots every bloody time," Harry softly snickers.

I roll my eyes as I shift the heavy, red curtains to each side to induce light into the room before I shuffle closer to the wrack of clothes that were left in my room last night for me to go through. I have seven dresses I can choose from to wear today, all of which have been pre-approved by my mother already. Even as Queen, I have to have my attire pre-approved by her. I don't think I'll ever be able to wear what I want without approval, no matter how long I reign. "Shouldn't you already be with Matthew?" I challenge, shocked Harry is still in bed at this hour.

Harry shakes his head, not bothering to move in the bed as I gaze at each dress, taking them off the wrack and holding them up. "No, I was allowed to sleep in," Harry responds.

"Which dress?" I turn around, holding up two dresses that I can't decide on.

One is The Reiss Peacock dress with lace and cording embroidery detailing on the bodice, a wide neckline and a heavily lined, full skirt. The second dress is a red and white Alexander McQueen dress, with a knee-length skirt and slim-fit sleeves with white cuffs.

Harry moves insignificantly in the bed, the sheets sounding with each slight movement. Harry grimaces as he relaxes upon his forearms to get a better glimpse.

"The lace," Harry answers with a petite smile, "Swear your mother picks the most horrid dresses sometimes," Harry continues, relating to the green gown at the end of the wrack that I didn't touch.

My mother has a way of trying to dress me up to par with royal protocol. I do my best to stick to the protocol without looking like I am in my sixties.

I am not entirely convinced that the only reason Harry is in bed is that he got the morning off. It is rare for him to still. be in bed, for the most part, on his day's off, he gets up and starts moving. Something about him doesn't seem quite right. Perhaps I am reading into things a little too much, but I feel uneasy when I shouldn't. Harry doesn't just take days off or stay in bed unless there is a reason for it. Sometimes it is to keep me occupied while protocol takes place, sometimes it is because he has worked too many hours and legally has to stand down, and other times, on that very off chance, it is because something isn't right with him.

"I can see you're stressing already. Relax."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Harry sighs and nods his head, "Yes, I'm a bit tired, that is all, I promise." ... "Your mother said I was to attend as a husband today. I never knew marrying you would entail your mother controlling my work schedule." Harry informs me, "I am not mad, just amused. She won't do this often, will she?"

I shrug my shoulders in response. I am not sure why my mother decided to inform Harry that today was an event as a husband. I am confident she has some purpose. I can only imagine she is delighted to show him off as her son-in-law to the several people who do know. Perhaps she intends to show the world that we are together, I am not quite sure. I frankly do not want the media and the people to draw much attention to us. I know the balcony from the night of my coronation has people talking, but I don't want the spotlight on us or myself. I don't want the spotlight at all.

My door opens, and my ladies-in-waiting unobtrusively walk in, smiles adored across their lips and bright eyes as they notice the dress I have chosen. I don't know how they appreciate the process of getting me ready and looking like a royal, I am over it, so I assume they would be too. From the anticipated expression on their faces, it is safe to say they relish this a lot more than I do.

"I am going to get for a walk or maybe get coffee, enjoy whatever you lot do," Harry gestures around us as my hair is already being touched and hairstyles discussed. Harry kisses my cheek and promptly leaves, allowing me to be forced into a chair.

The ladies assist me with getting prepared, making sure my hair, makeup, and attire match perfectly. They smile happily with each moment, asking questions to help prepare me for any sort of conversations that may take place. They enjoy the questions and keep me occupied so that I don't freak myself out. I chuckle and roll my eyes as Eleanor exposes the glass boxes that contain jewellery pieces. "She wants to wear a tiara," Harry pipes up, ultimately making himself known in the room after his coffee walk.

I raise a brow and shake my head, "No," I mouth to Eleanor.

"The sapphire one that I like." Harry presses.

"The Dubai Looped Sapphire Demi-Parure?" Eleanor challenges with a raised brow as we all glance at him. He doesn't typically comment when the ladies are around. He tends to let them do their job and choose for me unless otherwise specified.

Harry nods his head and steps closer to me, placing a warm cup in my hand, the scent of tea filling my senses. This man always knows when to bring me what beverage.

"I will have Matthew get it from the vault with the earrings," Eleanor smiles, and I nod my head. "Now for the dress," Eleanor gestures towards the dress that I picked out.

Eleanor helps me into the dress; it doesn't take much assistance, unlike some of the ball gowns I have had to wear in the past. This dress is quite simple and slips on perfectly. The only issue is the buttons down the back.

I glance over and view Harry once again grimacing as he stretches his shirt around to draw the sleeve up to his arm. Then, finally, he catches my stare and softly grins, "You look lovely," he compliments me as Eleanor proceeds to button up my dress from the back, tightening it with every moment.

"You look like you're in pain."

"Just a little sore, it's normal," Harry shakes his head, "Plus, this suit is not my usual look. It's not black." Harry half-smiles, attempting to hide the pain laced in his eyes.

Harry is notorious for wearing the same damn suit. I don't know why he wears the same one, he can afford to buy different suits, but he doesn't. I think he has duplicates of the same suit, to be honest. The man can afford to buy horses and have a nice car, but the man will not buy a different suit. He won't even change the colours. He is a simple man; a straight black and white suit is more than enough for him. I am surprised I got him to wear suspenders on our wedding day.

"Well, your hardcore black and white suit isn't going to cut it for today's event. Get over it."

"Feisty," Harry chuckles, "What am I meant to do? I am prepared as security, not a husband, so I need some pointers," Harry reminds me of the fact that he has not been introduced into the royal world as more than his career. He only understands how to act as my security detail. "Do I curtsey? Do I act posh? Do I carry one of those umbrella things around?" Harry questions. He is spiralling. The man who isn't frightened of much is somewhat panicking over how to present himself in the royal world.

I chuckle and shake my head, "Next, you're going to ask if you have to play polo."

"Well, if I do, I cannot, "... "Not only am I god awful, I can't play with my shoulder."

I roll my eyes as Harry works to arrange his tie, "Just act like you."

"The royal's do not want to see me as an asshole who will call a level four protocol if I seem fit."

"Harry," I breathe.

Harry huffs and shakes his head, "I like this better as security."

"Just stay with me, talk to people and try to enjoy yourself."

"There are thousands of people on the grounds. I cannot enjoy myself." Harry is in security mode and not husband mode. It doesn't matter how many people are on the grounds. It isn't his problem.

I restrain myself from glaring at him and huffing. Instead, I offer him a small smile to conceal my frustration, "Are you going to be a grumpy ass all day?"

"I am sorry," Harry sighs, "I will do my best."

I walk away from Eleanor and step to Harry, taking his suit jacket from his hand, "Allow me," I instruct, moving behind him and helping him put the jacket on without having to move his shoulder too much. I know he is in more pain than he leads on. I know he struggles daily with his shoulder; it seems to be getting worse.

Harry turns around and nods his head, "Thank you," he kisses my cheek.

"You should get your shoulder checked out again."

"When I have time," Harry responds, dismissing the conversation and stepping away from me instantly.

♛ ♛ ♛

The Palace is bustling with staff hurrying to get last-minute things under control, and the rest of us in the Palace are getting ready, more so the ladies adding any last-minute touches to things. For once, I am ready early and without restraints. I am not hurrying to find pantyhose or trying to find ways to see Harry before we are whisked away for a day apart.

I escort down the endless hallway, my heels silenced under the red carpet that has been rolled out for today's occasion. God forbid if this marble floor is scratched by anyone who cannot walk in heels.

When I recognise Harry walking in my direction, I smile to myself, his physique adorned with the navy blue suit he left my room in. He is dashing with a rascal's smile, and his hair is a casual jumble but mostly neat and flowing. Harry prowls typically around with a lion-like power when walking the halls, but today he eases about the hallways with grace, seeming more relaxed and not so dominant.

As he steps closer, Harry's eyes are a-twinkle with the 'Joie de vivre' as he graces me with a confident smile.

I grasp Harry's hand and sway us away from the hallways leading to the event of people commencing to assemble outside in the gardens. I drag us into a hidden passageway with no warning.

"Why are we here?" Harry questions, confused as he locks the door behind him. "I didn't call a protocol," Harry informs me.

I lean up and kiss him fearlessly, wasting no time with my intentions.

"Anna," he draws away, gazing at me with bewildered eyes.

"Harry, I'm in a dress," I point out the obvious, motioning towards the white dress that caresses my body in the superfluous yet modest way.

Harry nods, "And you look lovely."

"I'm in a dress, so please, for the love of God, give me attention," I breathe out, "Give me you," I demand, causing him to raise a brow. "We have a few minutes." I remind Harry that we still have time before we need to make our entrance into the garden and begin mingling with people who have been invited.

"Right here?" He is shocked as he gestures around the passageway I have drawn him into without any sort of warning.

Sometimes, you have to do what you have to do. There is nowhere else that we will be adorned with privacy. My room is clustered with the staff cleaning up and taking out the dresses I did not choose, the team are all around the palace, and I am sure security has every damn camera working and being watched intently.

"Any other time and place we are interrupted, right here, right now," I confirm. "There are no cameras, no staff, no interruptions."

Harry stands in front of me, blinking owlishly. I sigh and shake my head before moving to the side, my hand reaching for the door we entered from.

He isn't interested.

Abruptly, he seizes me and pushes me against the wall. My back hits the wall as one hand cups my neck and the other rushes to my hip, leaving very little space between us. His lips waste no time with leaving rained kisses on my exposed skin, butterflies in my stomach soaring with every luscious kiss settled to my skin.

He caresses my shoulder and bequeaths a trail of kisses leading to my collar bone, my fevered skin shivering at each moment his raspberry-red lips leave their mark. I tilt my head to the side as he advances to kiss the slender skin column of my neck, producing a meagre exhale to escape my lips.

Finally.

He urges his body closer to mine, and my breath hitches in my throat while he bites my neck mildly, just enough to enthral me. My chest rises up and down, and I sense his breath brush my skin with every moment that transpires. He takes bold possession of my lips, kissing me vigorously and passionately with his sumptuous, sensuous and velour soft lips that drip with honey. My hands' haste to Harry's physique, which deserves to be on statues, chiselled by the greatest artists. My leg encloses around his body to draw him closer, a wild desire and yearning taking power. His hand drifts to cup my boob, my body continuing to advance into his as tongues slip and surge in superfluous movements.

He takes his palm and glides it up to my inner thigh, my dress being of no concern to him. He takes his time, welcoming every inch of my inner thigh that he can, feeling every inch like a map for him to follow. Finally, he discovers the lace beneath my dress, and my palms clutch his shoulders. He glides a finger across the lace, my leg wrapping tighter around him while the other holds me up, keening anticipation humming through my veins.

I draw away from our kiss and let out a breath, my chest rising rapidly as he teases me with extremely light glides across the lace. "How much do you want this?" Harry challenges with a soft voice and a grin on his face. "Because I don't think you want this enough."

"I need you, now," I murmur, my fingers burrowing into his shirt while he brushes his finger over the lace of my underwear.

"You sure?" ... "Tell me how much you need me," Harry instructs, gradually positioning himself on his knees and thoroughly pressing his hand to the back of my thigh.

"Don't do this," I whine as he begins to kiss my skin, slowly making his way up my thigh.

Harry gently squeezes his hand on the back of my inner thigh and leaves a few more sweet kisses on my skin. I tilt my head back, my mouth allowing a small groan to escape as I am enthralled with him getting closer and closer to where I want him.

"I'm still waiting," Harry responds, his breath tapping my skin, driving me crazier.

"Harry, just put me out of my misery and—"I begin, frustrated with him, but my words trail off as he slides the lace to the side, ever so nonchalantly.

"And?" Harry questions, standing back to his feet, his hand pressed to the lace band of my underwear, tampering with my sanity.

"And do what you do best. Why do you make this so fucking frustrating you're—, oh," I trail off the moment he graces me with his presence and slides a finger inside me, shutting me up instantly. I tilt my head back and softly moan.

"Is that what you wanted?" He grins cockily, working his fingers in a circular motion, causing me to want more and more of his breathtaking movements.

"Don't stop."

Delighted with excited anticipation, he slides in another finger, my toes curling within my heeled stilettos, my hand clutching fistfuls of his shirt, my body focusing on the sensation he's dominantly advancing, his fingers twisting in a circular motion. My eyes narrow to half-mast, my head is tilting back, my nails digging into his shirt as he continues to grin.

Harry chuckles quietly as I begin to dance my hands along with the band of his pants, hinting at what I want next.

"Gettin' ahead of yourself already," Harry grins, "I'm not done," He continues, catching me off guard as he slows his circular motions and lowers himself back down to his knees. He rides my dress up and grasps the back of my thighs, kissing his way up my thighs. My fingers press his shoulders while my other hand holds my dress. He bites gently on my inner thigh, a small chuckle escaping his lips before I go weak at my knees, enthralled by the motions of his tongue.

His hands squeeze the back of my thigh harder, in turn, my fingers squeezing his shoulders as my legs begin to quiver. I feel the rushing, narcotic power building in my body, "Harry," I moan his name, fighting the power and squirming as he gets closer and closer to finding the exact spot I have been demanding.

I feel the building pressure, the climax coming at me in digging waves, but Harry stops. He stands to his feet, and I go to protest, but I'm stopped the moment he unbuttons his pants, thrilling me further and entering slowly. His hand presses against the wall, and we work together, at first going slow before he gradually inclines his thrusts, my hips moving to work with his.

My eyes roll to half-mast as my residence is broken and my body weakens, entirely falling into him with pleasure.

I catch my breath as he holds me up, my nails removing from their emended position on his shoulders.

I give him a smile as my dress falls back to its original length and my leg unwraps from around him. He holds me tighter, my legs shaking even further.

"You okay?" He breathes, pressing me back against the wall while holding me securely.

I nod, "Just for future reference; I'll be getting you back for demanding praise before pleasure."

Harry shrugs as he drops his arm from me and begins to adjust himself and his pants. "You dragged me in here."

"If I had to wait for you to drag me in here, we'd never get anywhere."

"I'm sorry I prefer to pleasure you in complete privacy."

"Up your game, Styles," I smile, adjusting my dress.

Harry rolls his eyes, "I look forward to your revenge, darling." Harry winks as he cocks his head and looks me up and down, "Your quivering legs say you're satisfied."

"Very," I nod, "Next time, it's my turn to pleasure you."

Harry grins and agrees, "Revenge and all." ... "You have an event, Queen," Harry winks, gesturing to the door, reminding me of my other duties.

Harry

When I woke up this morning, I had not intended for the events of the morning to go as they have. I didn't anticipate Anastasia to drag me to the royal office right before the garden party to take care of business. Then again, I didn't expect her to lure me into a passageway and demand I please her, not that I'm complaining by any means. Intercourse is infrequent these days. Finding alone time is like attempting to find a pot of fucking gold.

I stand in front of her, waiting for answers, just as Pippa and her mother do as well. My mother in law steps closer to me, "What is going on?" she questions, and I shrug my shoulders.

"No clue," I whisper.

"It is rude to whisper," Pippa remarks, causing me to cock my head to the side and glared at her.

Before I can speak, my mother-in-law speaks for me, "Nobody asked your opinion," she mutters.

"The only way to become KingKing is to inherit the title; I hereby change the ruling. If any Queen wishes to title her husband as KingKing, she can do so on the conditions she rules the majority of the monarch, and they can co-monarch successfully. I am still higher ranked than him." Anastasia states, signing her name effortlessly across a piece of paper, taking all of us by surprise.

I watch as Anastasia signs a warrant authorising the preparation of the letters patent and approving the draft text of the letters patent. "What? Anna... What?" I utter, confused as to what is happening as Anna hands me the letter that will be written in ceremonial calligraphy on vellum in the next few hours.

"You cannot be serious, Her Majesty," Pippa laboriously huffs.

I am not sure how any of this affects Pippa. It isn't like I do anything to bother her.

"I am changing your title," Anna responds, glancing towards her mother and Pippa, who have witnessed the moment, "Any objections?" Anastasia raises a brow, narrowing her eyes towards Pippa.

Pippa shifts her weight from foot to foot, evidently troubled with Anastasia's smartass remarks and comments. Pippa shakes her head, and I take a moment to glance down and read what Anastasia is ordering.

In the name and on the behalf of Her Majesty.

Anastasia Annette Leanor, Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Queen Defender of the Faith etc. To all to whom these Presents shall come greeting: Our Will and Pleasure is, and we do hereby declare and ordain, that from and after the date of this warrant, Harry Styles, shall be styled, entitled and called "His Royal Highness, King of the United Kingdom," before his name and such Titles and appellations, which to Him now do, or at any time hereafter may belong or appertain, in all Deeds, Records, Instruments or Documents whatsoever, wherein He may at any time hereafter be named or described. And We do hereby authorise and empower the said Harry Styles henceforth and at all times to assume and use and be called and named by the style title and appellation of "His Royal Highness" accordingly.

Given at Our Court at Buckingham Palace the Fifteenth Day of April 2022.

I place the paper down on the desk, "Anna, Are you sure about this? I don't know about all this," I gesture, unsure of what to do or how to act.

I don't want this at the expense of pissing Pippa off.

"Yeah, I am unsure too," Pippa steps closer to the desk.

"Nobody asked your opinion, and this has nothing to do with the Priminsiter. Why is she here?" I cross my arms over my chest.

This woman is a pain in my ass.

"I think I liked you better as a security detail."

"Yeah, well, I liked you better when you weren't up my ass and pissing me off all the time."

"That is no way to speak to a parliament member," Pippa responds.

"Parliament can kiss my royal ass," I respond, "I believe this is a conversation between my wife and me, so please, respectfully, shut up," I smile through my teeth, trying my hardest not to be an outright asshole to her, but my patience is thin right now.

I look back towards Anastasia and Anna stands from her position at her desk, "I am sure, we have a garden party to attend," Anastasia smiles before she steps towards me and kisses my cheek, "Are you escorting me or are you going to argue Pippa?"

"Do I get a say in this?" I softly challenge.

Anna shakes her head, "No, take it," Anastasia responds, her eyes narrowing down on me, indicating that I need to shut my mouth and let her do what she is doing. Perhaps there is a method to her madness, or maybe she wants to give me the damn title, either way, I will stand by her, even if it means I become a fucking King, formally.

For the first time, I trail Anastasia's lead, doing my amplest to empower myself to be in the moment and not destroy things by being her security detail. I try my best not to keep track of the number of people in the gardens or that with every second that passes, there's an extra set of eyes on Anastasia.

Matthew is in charge of keeping Anastasia safe in the event of some catastrophe, and Oliver is in charge of keeping me safe. Quite frankly, as her husband or not, I do not care about myself in situations; my main focus is her not just because it is my profession but because she is the woman I love. Therefore, I will put my life on the line for her no matter the circumstances.

"Eaglette, any threats?" I softly question Oliver as Anastasia is occupied with one of the other Princess' that have appeared.

Oliver clears his throat and steps closer to me from behind, "Will she fire me if I tell you?" Oliver whispers, and I can't help but laugh. Anastasia and Princess Charlotte view me with raised brows, and I begin to softly cough into my hand, proposing to divert the attention.

"No, Oliver, she will not fire you. Give me the rundown," I instruct, moving to the left so he can stand beside me.

I begin to glance around, exercising close surveillance of the physiques around us. "One woman was denied entry, and that is all. Nothing dangerous or threatening."

"Who has their eyes on her mother?" I question, unable to locate Anastasia's mother where I am.

"She is sitting under the tent with her lady-in-waiting. She will not be moving. Everything is running smoothly."

I nod my head and march towards Anastasia, joining her conversation.

I feel out of place. I feel as though I should be standing with Matthew or Oliver. I shouldn't be participating in the events as more than security detail. My marriage to Anna doesn't modify my stance on things. I don't want to be known as the man who abruptly gains a title and completely changes; I am no better than anyone else and don't like the idea of being more than just security. Most people would love to have some sort of title. I don't.

I excuse myself from Anna and walk away, leaving the crowd of minglers for Oliver to handle. These events have always bothered me, not just from a relationship stance but from a security detail stance. It is rattling my nerves not being in the loop and knowing where everyone is or who is here. Matthew didn't want me a part of today's service, as requested by my mother-in-law but not knowing makes me want to panic. I weave in and out of the gardens, well aware of Matthew's sneaky path, and I eventually locate him.

I offer him a grin, and he shakes his head, "What do you want? You're off duty."

"Can I please just have my in-ear? It would give me peace of mind," I ask politely.

Matthew rolls his eyes and shoves his hand into his pocket, "I figured you'd ask," Matthew chuckles, "Can't help yourself, can you?"

I lift my shoulders into a shrug and take my in-ear from him, "Makes me nervous not knowing."

"I understand, but if Anastasia sees you being her detail, she is going to get upset with you. She wants her husband."

"Yeah, well, her husband is struggling with this... What the fuck am I meant to do? I don't know these people." I question, needing some sort of advice. "Do I curtsey?"

I am the kind of person who likes to be prepared, and I haven't been prepared for anything. I don't know how to start conversations with royals, I don't know how to act as anything other than a security personal, and most of all, I don't know who I am meant to curtsey to and who I am not. Things are more manageable when I am security. As Anna's security, I knew every single person who was meant to curtsey to Anna and every single person who did not have to. Everyone who does not hold an HRH title has been required to bow to Anastasia even when she was young, and anyone without an HRH title will have to curtsey to our children. Now that Anna is Queen, everyone is to curtsey to her no matter the title, and now that I have a title, I have no clue who the fuck I am meant to bow to or who is meant to bow to me, not that I want anyone to bow to me.

Matthew chuckles to himself before placing his hand on my shoulder, "Harry, relax. It is okay."... "Anna had to only bow to her parents; now her mother has to bow to her... As reigning Queen, everyone curtseys to her, and when you two are together, they curtsey to you. You are titled His Majesty, and as King, everyone curtseys to you as well when you are both together."

"So I do not bow?"

"No, Harry, and there is no way I am bowing to you either."

I laugh at Matthew's comment, "Royal protocol says otherwise."

"You can shove it up your ass; I am not bowing," Matthew continues, causing me to laugh a little harder. "Now that you are relaxed, just breathe. Don't worry about the royal rules. Anna doesn't want you to be moulded to those rules. She just wants her husband; she doesn't expect you to act like a King on your first day."

"Nobody even knows I am King, oh God, is the media going to find out? I don't think I am up for this. I don't want to be formally known as King."

"Would you prefer the title of an asshole? I think it is still available unless Pippa took it," Matthew continues to endeavour to lighten the mood and stop me from spiralling with my thoughts and feelings towards the situation. "Look, Anastasia knows what she is doing. It doesn't change anything major right now, Harry. It isn't like you have to make speeches and attend public events on your own. Just stand with her and smile."

"I prefer to be on security. Can I just do security?"

Matthew shakes his head, "You need to do this for your wife, so suck it up."

I nod my head, "Can I just get a few minutes to recoup?" I question, requiring a few extra minutes to amp myself back to go back to Anastasia and the swarming crowd of guests.

"I am going back to Oliver. If you're not back with your wife in ten minutes, I will make you regret it."

"How so?" I curiously ask, purposely being a shithead.

"I will stick you on watching the cameras between two and six in the morning, your favourite shifts," Matthew responds, causing me to groan. "Figured you would see it my way and get back to being King," Matthew smirks, shuffling away from me.

I stand in the extensive gardens, taking in deep breaths in an attempt to calm my racing thoughts.

What have I gotten myself into?

I struggle to wrap my head around this morning's events. I just gave up the crown and being in charge of the monarch, and somehow I gained the title of King- a title that has never been obtained by a man who hasn't been royal by blood. I am sure the parliament will dispute it the best they can, but ultimately, Anastasia has the last say.

I observe a man and take it upon myself to walk closer to him, "This area is off-limits," I immediately begin, startling the man as he turns to stare at me.

"You're in here."

"I am allowed to be here. I would suggest you go back to the public and leave the flowers alone," I command, pointing to the flowers he had been touching, "If I catch you here again, I will have you arrested." I threaten the man, not wanting to cause a scene. Anna would kill me.

"No need, Harry," the man shakes his head.

"How do you know my name?" I instantly challenge, narrowing my eyes on him and stepping closer to the man who appears familiar, but I know I have never met him before. He isn't in any of our files for looking out for and for someone who can't be trusted.

"I read social media. I am not from the seventeen hundreds, Mr Styles," the man chuckles.

I nod my head, "Careful what you touch, might be poisonous," I cross my arms over my chest, making it known that I know he is up to something, but I am not quite sure what it is. I don't know what he could want with a few flowers or what he was doing out here, but I do know that I do not like it.

"Likewise, wouldn't want any Aces in the hole," the man grins.

"You seem a bit lost in the shuffle there, mate," I respond, irritated by his use of idioms.

"Have a good day," The man proceeds to walk away, leaving me intrigued. Part of me wants to grab him and force out of him what he means by an Ace in a hole. The saying represents a hidden or secret strength or unrevealed advantage, but what could this man mean?

What Ace is hidden in the gardens?

What Ace is hidden in the flowers?

What Ace is hidden?

I shake my thoughts and force myself to forget about the man, a man who is just someone attempting to get some sort of attention at the Palace. I walk the pathway and head back towards the area where the guests are gathered. I weave in and out of the bodies, trying to locate Anna or her mother, whichever one I can manage to find first.

I find Anastasia standing under one of the tents on her own, standing beside an ice sculpture that is just for looks. "I was looking for you," Anastasia begins, "You okay?"

"I am fine," I kiss her cheek.

"I know that is a lie," Anastasia sighs, and she takes my hand, lacing her fingers with my own.

I heavily sigh before speaking, "I don't like not doing my job, it is... weird," I trail off into a whisper as we are interrupted by Princess Madeleine. "Princess," I nod, acknowledging her as she smiles towards Anastasia and glares as her eyes meet mine.

"I believe you have the title wrong," Madeleine informs me, purposely irking my nerves as she did the first day I met her.

She has lived with us for a little while, and I do everything in my power to avoid her at all costs; she and I don't see eye to eye, and her sarcasm pisses me off nine times out of ten. The only time she has come in handy was when she scared some of the new guys I am trying to train.

I clear my throat and look at her, "Madeleine Noelle Veil of Denmark," I correct myself, "As I call you by your official title, I believe you must curtsey," I gesture with a grin, "Go ahead, don't be shy."

"Harry," Anna nudges me, signalling for me to stop playing the same petty game as Madeleine.

"I Madeleine Noelle Veil of Denmark do not bow to you, but as for your royal title, I shall curtsey," Madeleine mutters unhappily, bending her knees and curtseying.

I chuckle and nod my head, "Thank you, Princess Madeleine Noelle Veil of Denmark. Your presence is always a joy."

"Do you two do anything but bicker?" Anastasia interrupts before Madeleine can comment.

Madeleine and I both lift our shoulders into a shrug, "No," I shake my head, "I am going to find Prince Louis," I inform the two of them as they grab more drinks, "Madeleine, who is watching you?" I ask.

Madeleine raises a brow before looking around, "Are you not on my service?"

"I am serious, Madeleine."

"Nobody was assigned to me. My guard never showed."

I run my fingers through my hair and shake my head disapprovingly, "Stay with Anna. I will have someone put on your service." I inform the two of them before walking off, on a mission not only to find someone for Madeleine's service but also to figure out who the man in the gardens was. He has left a bitter taste in my mouth, and something about him doesn't settle with me.

The garden party ended an hour ago, and as the evening concluded, I couldn't help but have this begging need to go to the security office and grab some paperwork. My thoughts have been racing since the man in the gardens. I haven't been able to shake his comments off.

I rummage through a few files, doing my best to locate what I am looking for.

I turn to observe Anastasia sitting down; her head bowed as she stares at her lap. I watch her for a minute and cock my head to the side. At first glance, I assume she is tired from a long day; hell, I am exhausted from today, and all I had to do was stand there and look pretty. But, instead, I was merely just the man who stood beside her all day. "Baby, are you okay?" I challenge, walking closer, realising that something about her doesn't appear the same. Minutes ago, she was smiling, had energy to her, and now she seems as though her light has dimmed.

I step closer and notice what Anna has in her lap that has caused her to gaze down thoroughly. "Anna, you can't just go through things," I raise my voice insignificantly, panic mode setting in.

Anastasia was not intended to perceive anything in that folder. I lean down and snatch the file from her hands and arrange it back on my desk. She gazes up at me, all the colour drained from her face, her eyes sullen, and her hands shaking as she attempts to disguise them by adjusting the length of her dress. "I'm sorry for raising my voice," I apologise, not knowing where to begin with what I have to handle. I thread a hand through my hair while she twists the wedding ring on her finger anxiously.

Anastasia stands to her feet and wraps her arms around her. I can't tell if it is out of comfort or for the fact it is chilly down here. I know she viewed information in the file she was never meant to perceive, there is a reason she isn't meant to be down here, but I didn't expect this file to be left in plain sight for her to recognise. "Anna?"

She doesn't want to speak, I don't blame her, but she can't keep shutting down on me any time an inconvenience occurs or she finds things out she doesn't want to acknowledge. At this rate, her life is a series of unfortunate events, and I am doing everything I can to shield her from it. But it isn't my fault she is in the mess she is in. It all originates from her family line. Finally, Anastasia steps to the door and waits, not bothering to turn back to glance at me as I stand in the middle of the surveillance room at a loss for words. I don't know how to comfort her.

I take my jacket off and step closer to Anastasia. I drape my coat over her shoulders from behind before I grab my keys from my pocket, "How mad are you at me?" I question, flipping through my keys to locate the one I am looking for.

"Harry, I don't want to talk." Anastasia's lips set in a grim line.

"I don't want a lot of things, but I have to deal with them, Anna."

Anastasia glances at me and takes my jacket off, handing it to me out of spite. Her usually effervescent eyes now burn with contempt. "Leave me alone," Anastaisa mutters.

My body stiffens at the remark; it breaks my heart, but I know deep down this has nothing to do with me. I am just the middle man attempting to figure out who the fuck killed her father and who I need to deal with so they don't take Anastasia.

I unlock the door and permit Anastasia out, "As you wish," I gesture for her to step out, allowing her to march out of the security room and into the tunnels. I close the door behind me and place the keys in my pocket. I heavily sigh, and I lean on the door as I watch Anastasia walk off without me. I should follow her, but I know the tunnels are relatively safe, at least the ones on this end— I know that sometimes she needs space. I can't smother her, and I can't shield her from everything as I try.

After a few minutes, I begin to walk.

I recognise Anastasia on the cold ground, and I wander closer to her before I kneel in front of her, her cheeks tear-stained with mascara, her arms wrapped around her stomach, and her legs tucked under her dress. Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. "Don't ask if I am okay," Anastasia snaps before I can bother to open my mouth.

"Didn't plan on it," I respond before I stand up, leaving her to her own defences and beginning to step away. I may walk away from her, but I can watch guard without her knowing. I don't want to push her over the edge or start an argument with her.

Sometimes you have to pick and choose your battles, especially in relationships; this is a battle I do not want to fight. I don't want to argue herewith in the tunnels because of her emotions.

I catch her weeping, and it breaks my heart, but I can't always be the one to pick up her pieces if she doesn't want me to. I cannot fight her and urge her to understand things. "Harry, wait," the painful vibration of her voice causes me to stop in my tracks. I stand with my back to her, unsure of whether to turn around and go back to her or to leave her where she is. "I'm sorry," her apology causes me to think for a moment. She is furious and sad at the same time, and I am frustrated— neither of us is better than each other— we both have emotions that we can't always control. Finally, I turn around and begin to walk back towards her.

Anastasia gazes up at me, her usually alluring eyes harbouring nothing but grief and sorrow. I kneel again, this time noticing the blood spots on her dress. "What happened?" I request, lifting her arms to take a glimpse at her dress.

"I was coming back to apologise," Anastasia breathes, bowing her head in defeat, "I tripped over the uneven stones."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" I ask, gingerly shifting her arms from their position from around her stomach, scanning every inch of her.

"It's no big deal," Anastasia responds, "Life likes to knock me down."

"Happens to the best of us," I respond, "Can you get up?" I request, unsure of how she fell or if she had hurt herself aside from a few scrapes.

I place my hands at her waist and mindfully assist her where I see her dress is torn, and she scraped her legs on her fall. "If you hadn't walked off, this may not have happened."

Anastasia's eyes roll skyward, and frustration crinkles her eyes. "Sure, because prince charming would have saved me as always."

"I am not sure why you're angry at me," I shake my head, kindly placing my jacket to slide up her arms before I bring it to her front. I button my coat up so the tear in her dress isn't exposed.

Anastasia gazes at me and looks down before peering back up at me, "I don't know who else to be angry at...."

I don't respond, mainly because I do not know how to. So instead, I swallow any sly remarks I have and place my arm around her before we quietly walk the rest of the tunnels.

The walk was silent; the only thing that we could hear was the echo of her heels tapping the stones with every step she took. I know the fall to the stones hurt, and I know she was doing her best not to lean on me, but even when she is pissed at me and I am frustrated, I don't want her ever to think I won't be there for her to lean on, whether that be literally or metaphorically.

Life is troublesome, and it is even harder when you're attempting to avenge your wife's father's murder. I promised her I would get to the bottom of things, I promised her father I would keep her safe, and these go hand-in-hand. I will stop at nothing to make sure Anastasia is not next. It scares me every day to wake up knowing that there are people out there who don't want her in the monarch. It terrifies me that she took control of something much more significant than her. It scares me that there are members of parliament who are evil and corrupt— I plan to deal with them the second that I can, but for now, Matthew and I are taking things one step at a time. Anastasia can't stay enraged at me forever. I didn't tell her to scan through files; she took a seat to get off her feet, resulting in disaster. I didn't expect her to open the one fucking file with pictures of her father the night the unknown killed him. I didn't expect her to somehow turn things around on me. I didn't anticipate becoming the inferior guy in the situation because her emotions are ramped.

♛ ♛ ♛

Anastasia rummages around the bathroom, and I observe her silhouette with every move while I undo the tie around my neck. Every so often, I notice her wipe her reddened cheeks and shift her hair away from her face. I want to comfort her and stop her from crying, but nothing I do will help. Finally, she bends down to take out bandages from the drawer, and a groan escapes her lips, her hand grabbing the edge of the marble counter for balance. I stand to my feet instantly, discovering myself in the bathroom before I can think twice.

"Here," I sigh, placing my hands on Anastasia and sitting her on the bathroom sink. I've watched her struggle enough with trying to clean herself up.

I take the cotton from her hands, the smell of rubbing alcohol causing both of us to screw our noses up. I am not sure what it is, but the sterile smell of rubbing alcohol bothers me. I take her arms and begin to clean her forearms off; I dab delicately. "I know it burns," I soften my gaze on her as she jerks away from my touch, pulling her arms back with a hiss. "Rubbing alcohol burns, but it's all we have unless you want to go-"

"No," Anna cuts me off before I can finish speaking, her voice rough with pain. I know she doesn't want to go to the doctor at the Palace. I know all she wants is to get in bed and forget this evening ever occurred. Anna gives me back her arms and glances away, focusing her attention on something other than the burning pain.

"Can I take your pantihose off? They're all ripped, sweetheart," I softly request, not wanting to take them off without her permission. Anna nods and lifts her dress just enough to take the thin layer of material between my fingers and slide them down her legs, doing my best not to touch the tender skin at her knees where she befell.

Her knees remind me of a time when I was a little kid.

I was running with my sister, we had both been told to stop, but neither of us listened. Instead, we competed with who could reach the neighbours first. The giggling between my sister and I grew louder and louder, and my mother's pleas fell silent the further we got. Finally, I tripped over my own feet, and I went straight into the concrete. I skimmed both my knees that day, I still have the scars, but I remember trying so hard not to cry because I knew my mother was precise. I should have listened to her. The moment my mother got to me, I cried, and I cried. The fall destroyed my pants, and my knees stung like thousands of needles pricking my skin. I attempted to focus on something other than the agony of the minor incident, but I couldn't concentrate on anything besides my skimmed knees.

I remember the fall and the discomfort, and I remember my mum taking me home and cleaning me up in the same way I am with Anastasia. The only difference is I was six, and Anastasia's cuts and scratches are a little more vicious than what six year old me managed to do.

Anastasia winces and hisses as I start to dab her knees. I look at her, and she's biting down on her lip while her hands curl and hold the edge of the countertop. "I'm sorry, baby," I again sigh, apologising for a pain I did not inflict. But, of course, this could have been averted if she wasn't stubborn and marching away from me. Perhaps then she wouldn't have been so emotional and stumbling over herself.

"It's fine; we've both been through worse."

I nod my head and agree, "Perhaps, but scrapes deserve credit. They're fucking painful."

"The tough security guard agrees scapes hurt?" Anastasia softly questions.

"Still recovering from mine when I was six," I wink, attempting to lighten the mood, but she goes withdrawn as I continue to tend to her scrapes.

I clean Anna's legs, bandaging them with bandaids before standing in front of her and benevolently placing my hands at her hips. "Look, you can be mad at me all you want, you can give me the silent treatment, you can yell, do what you need to do, but— hey, look at me," I softly trail off, touching my hand to lift her chin, "I'm not going anywhere. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't tell you to look through the stuff. I never intended for you to see what you saw. This is why I don't let you down there." I begin to explain my train of thought. She can be bitter, but it doesn't change the outcome of anything at the end of the day.

"What if it's you?"

"Excuse me?" I am taken aback by her question.

Is she referring to me as the person who killed her father?

"What if it becomes you, like him?"

"I don't understand." I shake my head, still unsure of what she's alluding to.

Anastasia becomes reserved for a minute before she shakes her head and places her hands on my shoulders, propelling her body forward, signalling she wants to get down off the counter. I help her off, but I retain my hands on her, "Please explain." I caress my hands to hers that rest on my shoulders, and I hold them as she releases her grip on my shoulders.

"What if... What if they do to you what they did to him? Since you're on track to knowing what happened." Anna is fighting a rising panic, but I don't know where she is going with it or where it stems.

"Anna, you told me this is what you wanted, for me to find who did this."

"I don't want to see pictures of you like the way I had to see pictures of him."

"I know what I am doing."

"So did he," Anastasia whispers, "I am going to bed. I don't want to keep having this conversation."

"Hey, you can't just walk away every time you get uncomfortable with something," I inform her as she steps towards the bedroom.

Anastasia halts in her tracks and turns to glance at me, "I'm not coddling you. I am done coddling you so much with certain things." I stand my ground, not wanting to be an arse but not wanting her to keep shutting down conversations. It isn't healthy for her to do this.

"Okay, would it help you sleep better to know that one of the two of us is likely next? I won't sugar coat it; I know that no matter where I go or how good security is that I am a threat. So perhaps it would help you sleep to know Dad, Victoria, and Henry are all dead, and it all boils down to me."

"No, that doesn't help me sleep, but you know what does? Knowing that I do everything humanly possible to make sure you are not touched."

"You're missing the point," Anastasia exclaims, "What about you? Who is keeping you safe? Matthew and Oliver's main concern is me. So who the fuck is making sure that you aren't going to be joining Henry and my Dad?"

"Anna," I sigh, working my hands through my hair. "I signed up for this. I knew signing up for the job that my life would always be on the line to save yours."

"You signed up for your job; you didn't sign up to be in harm's way because you married me."

"Well, that's just one of the perks I have to deal with. I will be fine, damnit... This conversation is over."

"Look at the pot calling the kettle black, uncomfortable?"

"I love you."

Anna shakes her head, "You don't get to end things with an I love you. No."

"You end it as you wish," I respond, stepping around her and beginning to unbutton my shirt.

Even on my worst days, I love her. My love for her is immeasurable. I don't care if we are bickering like cats and dogs. I still love her. Neither of us is perfect, and we are going to fight; it's inevitable. We don't see eye to eye on everything; right now, I have no fucking clue what eye she is even using, but I will figure it out. I vowed to love her through everything, even the moments she is spiralling with emotions.

"You don't understand, do you?"

"I understand that you are hurting, I understand that you're scared, but arguing with me isn't going to help... I don't even know why you're mad. It isn't my fault. This is how things panned out."

"It isn't my fault either."

"I never said it was, Anna," I respond, letting out a grunt, pain branching across my shoulder like lightning as I move my shoulders back and take the damn shirt off. A sharp breath escapes my lips while I lean forward and massage my shoulder. "Don't worry. I promise I am not dying," I mutter, glancing up to notice her staring at me. Damnit.

"Insensitive," Anastasia rolls her eyes.

"Fuck me," I sigh, leaning down to lay on the bed.

I peer up at the ceiling and begin to wonder where I went wrong with this evening. Today went well. There were no significant issues that arose, no protocol I had to call, and everyone complied with the garden rules. I didn't have to throw anyone out, nor did I have to lock down any parts of the Palace. Today is a day that rarely happens when events happen, today was successful without any errors. Rare.

Anna and I had a decent time; I did my best to escort her around and speak with people who I wouldn't usually be entitled to talk to if I was only her guard. So, for once, I somewhat appreciated a royal event... up until now.

"Are you alright?"

"No, Anna, I am not," I respond, "I have a wife who I have no clue how to make feel better and who thinks I am going to be assassinated in my sleep. I also apparently have a monarch and parliament after me, not to mention a job you make a bit difficult."

Anastasia grows silent, and I realise I am only digging my grave deeper with her. If I don't watch it, she's likely to smother me with a pillow in my sleep. But, of course, I wouldn't blame her either. "Just turn the light off when you're ready," I mutter, not wanting to get up to turn it off or to get up to do anything. I am pretty comfortable with my legs dangling over the edge and my back against the bed.

The lights turn off, and I continue to stare up at the ceiling, thinking of how to defuse the situation when we wake up in the morning.

It is my honour to keep Anastasia safe. I started this job due to needing money and a job; I never expected to fall in love with the Princess and get married, but I did. I wouldn't change my job or my decisions to marry her for the world. I'll put my life on the line for her whether it means I get paid or not. At this point, I do my job because I have grown to enjoy the career path I chose. I do it to keep me occupied; keeping her safe is a bonus now. Whether I am on her service or not, I will do everything to make sure she is safe. I don't need to be in a suit and tie with an earpiece to look out for her. I am trained for all conditions and emergencies, whether I'm on the service or not.

I have never thought twice about my life or hers.

It's always going to be hers over mine, not just because she's Royal but because that's how I am as a man. I won't hesitate to take all pain from her. Love isn't just about the sweet kisses, the dates and the honeymoon phase. It's about knowing how to take care of the other person in all aspects; it's about putting them above yourself when it's appropriate and being selfless. Don't get me wrong, I'll put my life on the line for her and take a bullet for her, but dammit, it irks my nerves when she says she doesn't want anything and then drinks my coffee. Being selfless doesn't have to happen constantly; just because I'll take a bullet for her doesn't mean we are perfect or that I devote everything and give her everything. There's an appropriate time and place for each selfless act. Right now, I'm selfish by letting my emotions and feelings rise to the occasions— and that's okay.

I observe the bed dip, and surprisingly, Anastasia lays beside me, closer than I ever anticipated. She thoughtfully wiggles close to my body before she rests her head on my good shoulder, her arm carefully draping over my stomach.

I thought she would prefer to sleep as far from me as possible. I don't move. I lay on my back, still staring at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck to do. I don't want to give up my job to give her peace of mind, I want to stay in security, but I don't think I'll be able to. If I were to give it up for her, what would I do? Sit around in a robe and drink coffee while dubbing people knights?

After a few moments of silence, Anastasia pushes away from me. I realise she's moving away because of my lack of words and emotions. It wasn't intentional; I didn't aspire to push her away or make her believe like I didn't want her around. I'm merely attempting to figure out my circling thoughts, "Anna," I breathe out, "Come here," I whisper, opening my arm and enabling her to nestle back into me. I wrap my arm around her and caress a kiss to the top of her head.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too," I respond.

Me too, baby, me too.