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

King of Hearts
Chapter 14: Coronation Day Part 2


Author's note: So here's the final chapter. A big thank you to Mariana and Kar, my betas for KoH, who have done the greatest job ever! And of course to all my avid readers. You'll get extra points if you spot the Pride and Prejudice reference Mariana slipped in.
My new story "The Favourite" goes online on Friday, 02/28. See you then!


Arriving at the parking lot of Buckingham Palace, Spike ran into Lady Charlotte.
"You're back," she gasped surprised. "Thought you were at the Abbey!"
"I was," Spike admitted, "But I thought you were going to stay hidden, in case one of the guards noticed you left the palace in two occasions!"
"I was going to," Lady Charlotte apologized, "But Buffy Summers asked me to drive her to Westminster Abbey, she said she needed to talk to you about something utterly important, that it couldn’t wait another minute!" She frowned glancing at Wesley's tiny Austin mini. "Is that supposed to be a car?"
Spike's expression was one of comical despair. "Give me your keys," he ordered.
Lady Charlotte sighed in resignation, handing him the keys. "Your majesty, please, drive carefully." Though he couldn’t tell if it was for his or the car’s benefit. He just shrugged and left her there.
*

Given what Lady Charlotte had told her, Buffy was not surprised to find Westminster Abbey not locked at this time of night. She looked around. It was very dark. She slowly approached the altar, that’s when she heard voices, one male, one female, giggling and... what was that? It couldn’t be…was it…singing?

You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine,
You make me happy
When skies are grey,
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you,
Please don't take my sunshine away.

Buffy spotted the couple among the pews, clearly involved in some serious smooching. To her relief, she saw it was Lady Winifred with... Wesley? "Okay," Buffy said, "Definitely not the next pop idol."
They both looked up, smiling at her.
"Sorry," Lady Winifred giggled, "It's just... I wanted to know if there was an echo in here if you sung really loudly."
Buffy shook her head in disbelief and gave the pair of lovebirds an honest smile. "I'm looking for your... fiancé," she said.
Fred beamed at her and held out the hand with her brand new ring. "I'm engaged to Wes now," she told her, as a matter of fact.
"Oh." Apart from that single word, Buffy was speechless. And incredibly relieved, which was showing little by little on her face.
"Buffy," Wesley said, surprised. "Thought you wanted to go back to America!"
"Change of plans," Buffy explained, nervously wringing her hands. "At least for now. Listen, I'm happy for you guys, really am, congratulations! But even though I hate to rush you on your happy moment,... I need to find Spike. I'm not leaving England until I get the chance to talk to him."
Wesley gave her a commiserating glance. "That's awful. I told Spike you were at Heathrow. He went to look for you. Really, what an unfortunate mishap "
"No, no, no, no!" Buffy moaned.

*

Buffy was desperate, she didn't know what to do. After paying for her drinks at the airport, she did not have enough money for a cab, and Lady Charlotte had left because, I mean, really, who in their sane minds would leave Buffy in charge of car, most of all in England, when, apart from all the technicalities of driving one, you had to do it on the other side of the road!! And in addition to that she was freezing, she was running out of time and out of ideas and if she became hungry and in need of a bathroom, there would be WW3 on the works. She decided to walk to the nearest underground station with a working cash machine, which was, to her dismay, not Westminster. From a sightseeing tour with her dad, Buffy remembered vaguely that there was another station near the London Eye that could have one. Sighing, Buffy began to walk that way, past Whitehall and the Houses of Parliament. That was when the rain started.
"Great," Buffy remarked. She was a Southern Californian, how was she supposed to remember taking her umbrella when she left the palace? Besides, supposedly at this time, she would be on her way home. More sighs.
Buffy crossed the river Thames just when she heard The Big Ben strike two. At least, this night of pilling troubles was going to end soon. The place below the majestic London Eye was deserted. However, it was guarded during the night, for fear of terrorists or suicidal madmen. The police officers gave Buffy a suspicious glance as she walked past the Eye, all alone, her wet clothes sticking to her body, thankful for not wearing white, her expression one of hatred against the whole world, particularly herself for not talking to Spike earlier.
She had no eyes for the beauty of London at night, all the lights mirrored in the river, and the white steel construction of the giant observing wheel a sharp contrast against the sky above. Buffy realized she no longer had the energy to go back to Heathrow, or to walk just another step. Exhausted and hopeless, Buffy sank down on the stairs leading up to the Eye. She buried her head in her hands and began to sob silently.
Buffy had no idea how long she sat there, lost in sorrow and taking some comfort in crying, until one of the police officers guarding the Eye, approached her, obviously having had enough of her.
"Miss... Excuse me... no loitering," someone addressed her.
Buffy wiped away her tears. "Sorry," she said, blowing her nose, "I've been having a bad day."
"So have I," Spike replied.
Buffy looked up at him, not believing her eyes, her expression one of utter shock, as if she had seen a ghost. His face was red with exertion; his hair was all wet with rain, as were his clothes.
The rain was still pouring down on them.
"I know about Dru," Buffy blurted out, sobbing harder, "And about Fred, that it was all arranged, that you wanted to protect me... God, why didn't you come to me..." She approached him slowly, cautiously, still thinking he was just a figment of her imagination, meanwhile more and more of her tears fell mingling with the rain.
Spike did not reply.
There was no need for words.
Buffy looked at Spike as if she was seeing him for the very first time.
She was too distracted to notice the slight nod of his head.
All the lights of the Eye went on at once, the wheel coming to life like magic. From the loudspeakers normally used for announcements, Buffy heard her favourite song, Wind Beneath My Wings. Buffy's eyes widened, marvelling at the sudden change of her world. Spike smiled at her reaction. Sometimes it wasn't so dreadful being the King of England. You could fetch people from out of their beds at the dead of the night and make them operate a tourist attraction long past its closing time, for a private getaway.
He extended his hand in a gentlemanly manner and led her to one of the glass capsules. An assistant closed the door behind them, and slowly, the wheel began to turn, rising above the Houses of Parliament, the raindrops drying away on the glass walls surrounding them.
Buffy had never 'flown' the Eye before, she had always considered it a tourist thing and had no desire nor patience to queue for an hour for tickets and another one for admission. Now the city of London lay at her feet, all her troubles seemed to have stayed on the ground, light years away.
Spike waited until they had reached the highest point of the wheel, and Buffy had walked around the capsule once to get a look down from every perspective. Only then did he pull her close and kissed her.
Buffy clung to him as if her life depended on it, and in some way, it did. She could smell the rainwater on him, she felt his breath on her skin. He held her so tightly she could hardly move, but she could not care less. He loved her. He had moved heaven and earth to find her tonight and had arranged all this... Suddenly reality caught up with her. He had been able to arrange all this because he was still the king. She ought to care! They had to talk about Drusilla, about the coronation, the assassin, the future...
"Spike," she whispered. "We have to..."
"Later," he replied and pinned her against the glass, running his hands over her body. He saw her anxious glance. "Told them to stop the wheel for half an hour as soon as we were at the top." He slowly removed her dress, careful not to rip it from her body, and steadied her against the glass.
Buffy looked at the glass suspiciously. Would it hold if she was, I don’t know, let’s say, hypothetically speaking, slammed against it with their entire weight at the height of their passion?
Spike seemed to read her mind. "Don't panic, the glass is solid. It would hold even if you were leaning against it while being fucked by a whole cricket team."
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Cricket team..."
He sighed. "Y'know, that sounded much more erotic in my head."
Buffy risked a glance down at the bridge below. "Can they see us from down there?"
"Guess not. We're too high. Not enough perspective and all that rot."
"Half an hour you said?" Buffy asked suggestively.
Spike nodded. "I'm sorry we haven't got longer. That's just not nearly enough time to do everything that is prohibited in this country. But I can still try." He began to unbuckle his belt.
The sound alone made Buffy shiver in anticipation, but she had to ask. "Here? Are you sure?"
Spike shrugged. "I'd love to take you to my bedroom at Buckingham Palace and ravish you all night, but you said it yourself, we have to be careful."
Buffy shivered as he pressed her against the glass. "That's right," she whispered, unbuttoning his jeans with fleeting fingers. "Just wondering what's next. I mean, we’ve already baptized the Tower, the Chamber of Horrors, the London Eye... maybe the Windsor family crypt will be next?"
"Is that a suggestion?" he asked with a smirk.
"No," Buffy said so quickly and with such a shocked expression he had to try very hard not to burst into laughter and ruin the mood.
"Hold the railing with both hands," Spike told her, "And don't let go. Don’t you ever let go." He said that last part in a much more serious tone than the mood at present while looking longingly at her.
Buffy was puzzled, but she put her hands on the cold metal railing.
He stood right in front of her, his hands taking hold of her thighs, lifting her gently towards him and entering her ever so slowly. Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her shoulders against the glass, clutching the railing hard. He held her with his left arm, while his right hand slid between her legs toward the juncture of her thighs.
Buffy felt little flashes of passionate lightning shaking her to the core. She wanted to touch him, but was too scared to let go of the railing and lose her balance. So she had no choice but to do as was told. He kept teasing her, unmoving inside her, running his fingertips along her folds and over her clit ever so slightly, but enough to drive her insane. She arched against him, drawing him closer with her legs, yet Spike gave no sign he was going to end her torture anytime soon. He moved his fingers in a circle around her clit, occasionally increasing the pressure for a second, then again merely caressing her, covering her neck and shoulders with small kisses. Buffy's cheeks reddened, her breaths became frequent and shallow, moisture gushed over his fingers and cock. And Spike did the unspeakable: he slowed down. Buffy moaned in frustration. She was in no way in contact with the floor of the capsule, and was held in place only by her hands on the cold railing and Spike's body. She was so aroused she could hardly breathe so she let her head fall back to ease some of her tension.
"Open your eyes," he said softly.
Buffy obeyed grudgingly. The rain clouds were gone. They were still on top of the world, a thousand lights below and the stars above them, and they were in between, in a world of their own, in a heart of glass.
Spike continued to stroke her gently, pushing her, finally, to Buffy’s obvious relief, over the edge. With a silent scream, Buffy let go off the railing and clasped at his shoulders. They crashed against the glass, Buffy wasn’t even aware of the cold of the glass against her skin, she was floating among the stars, coming hard, while Spike thrust her against the capsule walls several times, unmistakably claiming her as his after all the time they had been apart.

*

"We're almost down," Buffy shrieked in alarm when the aftershocks of her orgasms began to fade, "We've gotta dress!"
Spike looked at her in disappointment. "We could go another round," he suggested.
Buffy smiled. "Tempting offer. But the night's almost over, and we're not done yet."
He grinned. "Damn right. We're not done yet." He tried to kiss her, but Buffy pushed him away giving him a stern look and pulled her dress over her head again. "Hurry, we'll have to get off in a minute!"
"I don't think it takes a minute to get you off," he commented.
Buffy tossed him his jeans. "Shut up," she said, but her face betrayed how much she enjoyed their playful bantering.
He pouted and began to dress.
Buffy kissed the tip of his nose. "Don't look at me like that, we can do that again some time soon!"
Spike felt it was not the right moment to tell her he was planning to renounce and did not reply.
As Buffy predicted, the capsule door slid open a few moments later. The cool breeze made Buffy shiver, she pressed her body against Spike to ease the effect of the sudden cold.
The staff exchanged meaningful looks. Buffy suddenly realized why and blushed. The capsule obviously was made of glass and in a most Titanic like style had gotten steamed, but instead of a trailing hand, there was one spot that clearly showed the impression of a delectable female backside.
"Thanks, I really appreciate you coming here at this hour just for me," Spike told the staff.
One of the assistants handed Spike a piece of paper. "It was our pleasure, Your Majesty."
As they were walking towards the limo Spike had ordered, Buffy craned her neck to look at the piece of paper. "What's that?"
"You wouldn't want to know."
"Let me see!" Buffy quickly snatched the paper from his hand... and blushed even more furiously. It was a sheet of photo paper from a laser printer. The souvenir photo taken of every capsule on the way back down by a digital camera. It was enough to say that it was a very special souvenir not just for them but begrudgingly, in Buffy’s mind, for the staff as well.
Spike pocketed it without commenting any further.
"That's gonna be in the SUN tomorrow!" Buffy complained.
"I don't care," Spike said, "Now let's get back to Buckingham Palace, I haven't packed yet."
Buffy stopped immediately and stared at him. "Packed?"
"Yeah, packed. Buffy, I'm not going to my execution today. If I resign, they have no reason to shoot me, and Dru..."
Buffy hesitated. "Spike, I wanted to tell you right away when you arrived, but…you see…mmm… Dru lied to you. She's having Liam's baby. He told me himself."
His face fell.
"I'm so sorry," Buffy whispered. "But there's no doubt. She was using you, and you were..."
"... thick enough to fall for it!" Spike exclaimed.
"... honest enough to trust in what your first love told you and honourable enough to take responsibility for your actions! Spike, look at me. That's not thick. That's all noble, it's what a real king would do."
Spike's expression was one of utter despair. "So I put you through all of this for nothing! The charade with Fred..."
"Why didn't you talk to me?"
"I meant to... But when I was in hospital, and you didn't want to see me..."
"WHAT?" Buffy shook her head. "I asked to see you like a hundred times! They didn't let me into the ward. You were too sick to receive visitors but of course you were not too sick to see Fred. You could have asked to see me as well."
"I did," Spike insisted, "Every day! They told me you never came, not even once."
Buffy frowned. "I was at the hospital every single day. Who told you I didn't ask to see you?"
"And who told you I was too ill to see you?"

*

Sir Rupert was working late. Even he had underestimated the amount of paperwork a coronation caused. He did not react to the faint knock at his office door at first.
"Open up, dad! I know you're in there!" Buffy's voice sounded through the door.
"Oh my goodness, Buffy," Sir Rupert gasped, put his glasses back on and unlocked the door. "Thought you were in..." He gaped at Buffy and Spike standing in front of his door, holding hands. "Your Majesty," he said coolly.
"You'd better invite us in, father," Buffy said in a dangerously low voice. "You wouldn't want to discuss this in the corridor where the servants could hear us."
Sir Rupert stepped aside and closed the door behind them.
He leaned at his desk and began to clean his glasses with a red and white handkerchief. "I take it you broke up your engagement to Lady Winifred," he said evenly.
"You owe me an explanation," Spike demanded. "It was you who urged me into that engagement, it was you who encouraged me to find myself another heir, and why? Just because you didn't like me dating your daughter? C'mon, Rupert! You were supposed to help me. You should have advised me to ask Dru for a test before running off to marry Fred! You should have prevented me from doing something so stupid!"
"Right, because you always listen to my advice," Sir Rupert snorted.
Buffy glared at him, but there was much more hurt and disappointment in her gaze than rage. "You lied to me," she reproached him. "You said Spike didn't ask to see me when he was hospitalized. You made me believe he was in love with Fred, and that I was just a distraction. You made me feel like a courtesan. I am so disappointed in you."
"We've already had more than one messed-up love life in this house," Sir Rupert explained. "As harsh as this may sound, Buffy, you are technically beneath the king. I didn't want you to be the king's lover just like so many women have done in the past, without the prospect of his ever holding your hand in public or acknowledging your children. I just wanted you to be happy, Buffy. "
"That's all I want as well," Spike told him.
"So this is the part when you abandon your duties and your country to be with your one true love?" Sir Rupert asked with bitter irony.
"That was the main idea, yeah," Spike confirmed.
"Then you are right, and I have made a terrible mistake indeed." Sir Rupert avoided to look at Spike and kept cleaning his glasses more furiously.
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Spike snapped.
"I did what I had to do because you had already run away once. I feared you would do it again in order to be with Buffy, and this time, you would not be coming back. I couldn't run the risk."
Spike shook his head in contempt. "Why, because I'm too good a king to let me go?"
When Sir Rupert did not reply and kept his eyes on his task, Spike realized he had hit the nail on the head. "Bloody hell," Spike said, almost snorting given the absurdity of what he was being told, "You can't be serious! From the moment I stepped over the threshold, you've been pointing out every single mistake, you've been telling me I'm rude, my language is bad, I suck at polo, I don't know our traditions nor our history, I don't know when to keep my big mouth shut on politics, all in all, you've been making it pretty clear that I'm a disgrace, and now you're saying..."
"There is always room for improvement," Sir Rupert said diplomatically. "But, truth be told, your subjects love you. They love you all the more for your faults. As improbable as this may seem, because you show them a kind soul in such a rigid and distant station... and you care about them as well. The British monarchy has not been that popular among the people since the Renaissance. We have had many great kings and queens throughout the years, but it has been a long time since there has been a human being on that throne."
"So you didn't want to break us up because you were afraid of losing me," Buffy realized, "You just didn't wanna lose Spike!"
"I did not want England to lose a sovereign, again," Sir Rupert corrected her. He sighed. "It appears my efforts have been in vain."
Buffy's eyes sparkled. "Not necessarily. I got an idea."
"Good Lord!"
Buffy turned to Spike. "You have to go to that coronation. You can't quit now. If you leave and abdicate, the assassin wins. Evil can't win! You're a good king, and I'm not just saying this as your girlfriend, it must be true when my dad takes so much trouble just to keep you."
Spike shook his head. "I don't know. What about us?"
Buffy smiled. "We'll find a way. Maybe you can make me a dame or something. We'll deal with that tomorrow, after your coronation."
"Buffy," Spike said carefully, "If I attend my coronation tomorrow, it's very likely that I'll get shot! We don't know jack about the assassin."
Buffy looked at her watch. "We need to find out who had a good reason to want you dead, who was at the polo match, at the opera and had access to the drinks at the ballroom. So, who wants you dead? An old lover? An enemy? Someone who..." She blinked. "Dad, who would become king if Spike died without an heir?"
Sir Rupert shrugged. "Truth to be told... I have no idea. The order of succession is a very complex structure as soon as direct family is no longer eligible. When a monarch dies childless, the royal genealogy records have to be consulted in detail."
"Where are those records?" Buffy asked.
"At the British National Library," Sir Rupert replied.
Buffy nodded. "Then that's where we're going."
Spike looked at her in wonder. And he had thought he had been born a leader.
"Buffy, wait," Sir Rupert said, "Those records date back to the eighth century. In theory, it could take weeks to find out..."
"We have three hours," Buffy stated matter-of-factly. "Spike, get those books delivered here immediately, no matter who you have to wake up. I'll call Xander, Willow and Anya and ask them for help. They're big on research."
Spike went to follow Buffy's instructions.
Sir Rupert looked at Buffy expectantly. "What can I do?" he asked quietly, almost bashful. "I want to help."
Buffy nodded. "You can make some coffee."

*

An hour later, the turning of pages and Willow's fingers flying over the keyboard of her laptop were the only sounds in Spike's office. The redhead was googling frantically on her computer while the others were gathering the data for her, taking notes.
"...your mother's cousin-in-law would be... is there such a thing as a cousin-in-law?" Buffy pouted in despair, turning one dusty page after the other.
Spike was watching her over the record he was studying and smiled.
"What's so funny?" Buffy asked.
"Nothin'," Spike replied.
"Then stop staring at me," Buffy chided him, blushing. She got so nervous she dropped the record and made to kneel beside his chair to pick it up, when Spike pulled her onto his lap, running his hand through her golden hair.
Willow beamed at Xander. "Don't they look smashing together?"
"Yeah," Xander grunted from behind a record. He hit the book with his fist, so hard it made Buffy jump. "How are we supposed to find something in those thick never-ending torturing minds devices?"
"Okay, stop, there’s no time, so get back to work!!" Buffy told Spike, sitting down in her own chair. "The fifth Duke of Kensington's daughter has a grandson with the third Count of Yorkshire, so the degree of royalty would be..." She sighed.

*

Spike was getting into the golden carriage, which his ancestors had occupied on their way to their respective coronations since the days of Charles I. He looked so handsome in his uniform, the lack of sleep did not show on his face, and no one seemed to notice he was nervous as hell.
When the door was shut behind him and the horses began to move, drawing the carriage out from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey, and already he felt like he was suffocating.
"Nervous?" Buffy asked.
He jumped. "Buffy!"
She crouched on the floor of the carriage, invisible for the security staff, the parading horse guard, the cameras and the public standing by the side of the road with their little British flags. "Hi. Thought you'd like to have me around on your big day," she said. "You could at least pretend you're happy to see me!"
"I am," Spike told her, carefully waving at his subjects as the carriage passed them by. "But you could have said something!"
"I wanted it to be a surprise," she replied pouting.
The smile was plastered on his face, the crowd was cheering, he kept waving his hand at them gracefully, always smiling. "You almost gave me a heart-attack!"
Buffy positioned herself between his knees. "No..." she said with a coquettish smile, "But I'm certainly working on it..." She swept her little pink tongue over her lips in a sensual move, while sensually gliding her hands up his thighs, quickly undoing the fly of his pants.
"Buffy, what do you think you're you doing?" he asked in a shaky voice, almost forgetting about the waving and smiling.
"Relaxing you." Buffy was delighted to feel he was not even wearing underwear for his coronation. "Is this where the expression 'king size' comes from?" she asked innocently.
"Buffy, God, stop," he pleaded when she began to stroke his cock.
"Keep waving," Buffy reminded him. He was getting harder by the minute, and it was getting more and more difficult for him to maintain his facial expression. Buffy enjoyed her power immensely. She lowered her head on his lap.
"Don't do that, you... oh, God," he told her, but his words fell on deaf ears.
Buffy ran her tongue up and down the length of his member, then licked over the head. She placed her mouth over it and began to suck, taking him in, inch by inch.
Spike could already hear the radio commentaries.
"... and here King William's carriage passes the Old Admiralty, it's his Coronation Day, and from here I can see right into the carriage, and isn't that a happy expression? He's glowing!"
His eyelids fluttered. Now, how was he supposed to keep an even face when his little vixen was going down on him? He felt he could not hold back the inevitable much longer.
He pretended to shield his eyes from the sun with his hand, but in reality he only hid his expression from view when he came, his whole body shaking with the intensity of such a forbidden act as he began spilling into her mouth.
Buffy licked her lips sensuously, while making sure with her fingers that nothing was to waste. She took her purse and began to fumble for something, Spike guessed a tissue, or a mirror.
Her distraction gave him a moment to calm down and resume waving, the big grin on his face not fake this time.
"I knew it," Buffy whispered, "The only thing that's better than fucking a king is..." He saw the gun in her hand too late, "... killing him!"
"No!!!!!" Spike awoke with a start.
Buffy was by his side immediately. "What's wrong?" she asked with concern.
He looked frantically around the office. Everyone was still gathered at the conference table, Xander, Anya and Sir Rupert looking at him questioningly.
"It's okay," Buffy whispered, kissing his forehead, "You dozed off. I didn't have the heart to wake you."
"It was a nightmare," he told her.
Buffy tilted her head. The bulge in his pants said otherwise. However, she did not comment on it, just patted his hand.
A sudden shriek from Willow made them all jump.
"What?" Spike asked immediately.
"My programme is through with the calculations," Willow informed him. "The result should be pretty accurate."
"How accurate?" Spike asked.
"About 99,996 per cent," Willow said.
"Well, that's pretty accurate," Spike admitted.
"What does it say?" Buffy asked. "Who would succeed to the throne if something happened to Spike?"
Willow gestured at her laptop proudly. "Have a look."
Xander looked over her shoulder. His eyes widened. "Isn't that..."
"Was this person at the polo match or at the opera?" Anya asked.
Buffy walked around the table, looking over Willow's shoulder. "Are you positive? That's the rightful successor after Spike?"
Willow nodded.
"Who?" Spike asked.
"You won't believe it even if you see it," Buffy commented.
Sir Rupert stared at the small screen. The name and the face were familiar. He began to rub his glasses. "Sometimes it turns out you do not know people at all."
Spike rose and walked around the table, joining the others, in order to look at the mysterious outcome on Willow’s computer. Then all the missing pieces fell into place.

*

"How's my hair?"
"Fine..."
"Attention, Claudia, commercial's over. Five, four, three..." the last two digits were merely indicated by the assistant's fingers.
"This is Claudia Vayne, live from the Abbey Church of St Peter, better known as Westminster Abbey, where thousands of people have gathered this morning to attend the coronation of King William V. Among the guests we encounter members of all European royal families along with representatives of politics and society from all over the world." Pictures of the guests' entrance into the Abbey were shown on television while Claudia Vayne kept talking. "With us, again, Lord Quentin Travers, British royalty expert, who will comment the coronation for us. Lord Travers, thank you for being with us today."
"My pleasure, Miss Vayne," Lord Travers said pompously.
"Lord Travers, can you tell us what is going on?"
"Of course. The litany is sung as the Dean and Prebendaries and the choir of Westminster proceed from the Altar to the west door of the Church.
The Archbishops and the Bishops Assistant lead the procession, which is formed immediately outside of the west door of the Church. They wait until notice is given of the approach of her Majesty, and then shall begin to move inside the Church. And the people remain standing from the Entrance until the beginning of the Communion Service. The king enters, passes by his throne, where he is given time for private prayer. Then he sits in his Chair, the regalia are presented and lain down on the altar. Then the king is acclaimed from all four sides of the abbey. What follows is the oath and presentation of the Bible, Communion, Anointment, delivery of the regalia, and finally, the Coronation."
"There has been much speculation about the security measures at the coronation. Have there been any concrete threats to the life of His Majesty?"
"Currently, we have no indication of the existence of such a threat. There has to be security, of course, given the nature of this event and its attendants. There is no need to worry on such a joyous day."
"Our TV station has received some insider information from a reliable source, claiming that King William was planning on giving the ceremony a personal touch. What do you know about that, what might that mean?"
Lord Travers chuckled condescendingly. "I do not know who your reliable source is supposed to be. I assure you, this ceremony has been the same for several hundred years. There will not be any changes whatsoever."

*

Spike's knees were weak when he approached the carriage which was supposed to take him to the abbey. His dream was still too vivid on his mind, and he was not sure Buffy's plan was the best of ideas.
With another deep breath, he approached it, the door was opened for him, as always, then he got inside and sat leaning back in the red plush seats, sweating and falling to pieces.
"Nervous?" a female voice asked next to him.
Only then did he see there was already someone seated inside the brougham.
His heartbeat stopped.
"How have you been?" she asked softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't be at your side before. My feeble health did not allow such a thing. But I am happy to make your acquaintance at last. Just let me say one thing: I am proud of you."
Spike stared at the elegant woman, who held herself with such grace and dignity despite her age and frail wellbeing. His voice was trembling with emotion. "Thanks... mother."

*

In Westminster Abbey, Buffy and her father pretended to be exchanging some small talk with Wesley and Fred.
"Everything's prepared," Wesley reported to Sir Rupert, a false smile on his face, while Fred kept nodding at those people she knew and who were seated in the south wing of the abbey with them. "We are just waiting for the assassin to make his move. And, thanks to Buffy's strategy, we will catch him."
Buffy forced herself to smile. "Strategy? I have a strategy?"
"The distraction will work out fine," Fred said, trying to sound more convinced than she actually was. "Though I'm still not sure if it's right to do such a thing in a church."
"The assassin didn't mind that killing someone in a church wasn’t appropriate either, well actually, killing someone anywhere is inappropriate, full stop" Buffy said. Her heart was pounding. What if she was wrong? What if the assassin struck before Spike even entered the abbey?

*

"Oh my God, this is such a surprise!" Claudia Vayne practically screamed into the microphone, "As the Royal Carriage is passing through the streets of London, we can see there are two people waving at the subjects, it's King William and his mother, the old Queen, and the crowd is out of control, wow, this is better than Notting Hill Carnival, now look at them, the same crystal blue eyes, I can't believe it, it's an historical day, a day to remember!"
Closer to her than she thought, someone prepared his weapons to make one unforgettable day indeed.

*

Spike looked at the old queen as the carriage stopped at the entrance for the guests, and she made to descend from the carriage. "Are you not coming with me?"
She smiled. "No. My place is among the guests. This is your day, and your crown." With an encouraging nod of her head and assisted by servants, the queen left the carriage, and Spike was alone again. The carriage rolled on to the west entrance.
The carriage door was opened. The servants bowed.
Spike got off the carriage, accompanied by the shouts from the crowd, Long live the King. "Hopefully," Spike murmured. He waved at his subjects one last time.
Trumpets.
Organ.
And he approached the entrance, the doors were being held for him. The guests gathered at the abbey stood to greet him. He slowly walked down the aisle. The choir sang a psalm.
I was glad when they said unto me:
We will go into the house of the Lord.
Our feet shall stand in thy gates:
O Jerusalem.
"As I said," Lord Travers said with satisfaction, "Everything is being followed according to the traditional ceremony, no personal note whatsoever."

Spike passed through the body of the church. Nothing looked suspicious. He passed into and through the choir, and then up the steps to the Theatre; when he was given a moment for private prayer, he looked around for any sign from security, but there was none. His only prayer was to leave Westminster Abbey alive.
Jerusalem is built as a city:
that is at unity in itself.
O pray for the peace of Jerusalem:
they shall prosper that love thee.
Peace be within thy walls:
and plenteousness within thy palaces.
He felt exposed when he finally sat on his Chair. If the assassin shot at him now, there was absolutely nothing he could do. But Buffy had been so sure of her plan. He trusted her, and so he would stick to it.
Spike hardly looked when the Lords presented the regalia to him.
The music faded.
The Archbishop of Canterbury stepped forward to welcome the guests and the cameras, and with them, the millions of people whose eyes rested on him that day in more than a hundred and fifty nations.
Suddenly, the lights went off, limelight in four different colours flashed through the ancient abbey, and the loudspeakers flooded the building with "The Final Countdown" at full volume. Girls in glittering white, blue and red costumes emulating the British flag brought huge real ones with them, always two of them carrying one spread flag in front of the Archbishop, the Lord Chancellor, Lord Great Chamberlain, Lord High Constable, Earl Marshal, and the King, hiding them from view behind those flags, glitter bombs exploding left and right of the King's chair.

"No personal note whatsoever, huh?" Claudia Vayne asked Lord Travers with glee.
"This is a scandal," Lord Travers murmured.
"But a darn good show," Claudia Vayne made her point across.

As the last lines of the Final Countdown filled the hall, the girls all dropped the flags at once, and a single spotlight was focused on the King, now revealed to the public again. He stood beside the chair, looking very grave and serious, maybe also a little tense, but who was to blame him?
The lights went back on.
Some of the elderly guests looked scandalized at the change of a traditional coronation ceremony, but especially the younger princes and princesses of Europe's royal houses were very enthusiastic about this fusion between popular culture and ancient monarchy.

"Now follows the official acclamation from all corners of the abbey, representing the corners of the British Empire," Claudia Vayne commented for the spectators at home, "As soon as the monarch has been acknowledged formally from all four corners, he is officially the undoubted sovereign and is proceeded to be crowned. So if there was any objection to this king, now would be the time. Of course, in all of British history, there hasn't been a single sovereign who has been denied acclamation in Westminster Abbey."

The Archbishop went to the east corner of the abbey, addressing the congregation in a loud voice:
"Sirs, I here present unto you
King William,
your undoubted King:
Wherefore all you who are come this day
to do your homage and service,
Are you willing to do the same?"
Those in the east wing replied all with one voice: "God save King William."

On one of the side galleries, the assassin prepared for his big moment.

The Archbishop proceeded to the south corner, repeating his words.
"Sirs, I here present unto you
King William,
your undoubted King:
Wherefore all you who are come this day
to do your homage and service,
Are you willing to do the same?"
Buffy, exchanged a frightful glance with her father.
Sir Rupert squeezed her hand. "God save King William," he said loudly and clearly along with the other people around them.
"God save King William," Buffy murmured mechanically, and she meant it.

The assassin took his position. The assassin's hands were calm, not trembling. His heartbeat was calm, his expression determined under the black mask. One clean shot in the head. The heart wouldn't do. He bet the King was wearing a Kevlar vest underneath his uniform. Loudly and clearly, the words were carried up to him from the west wing now, for the third time acclaiming the new monarch: "God save King William."

"One more acclamation left," Claudia Vayne commented for her audience, "What a contrast to the light show of just a minute ago, this is truly an extraordinary coronation ceremony for an extraordinary king."
"He keeps making mistakes," Lord Travers snorted arrogantly, "He is supposed to face every side of the abbey when they acclaim him, but he's just staring right in front of him like petrified, as if this were his execution and not his coronation!"
Claudia Vayne gave him a dirty side-glance. "Oh, just shut up!"

The archbishop had slowly walked to the remaining side, the north wing. He spoke very loudly now.
"Sirs, I here present unto you
King William,
your undoubted King:
Wherefore all you who are come this day
to do your homage and service."
Buffy gasped. A red light danced on Spike's forehead. Her head flew around, and she saw a dark figure, well-hidden among the marble saints on one of the side galleries.
The Archbishop addressed the congregation: "Are you willing to do the same?"

"God save King William!" the assassin whispered and shot.

*

There were screams and panic, the Archbishop and his assistants immediately surrounded the fallen king, guests stormed for the exits, ladies fainted, some security men shouted "Scotland Yard!" or "MI6, everything's under control, don't panic!", making their way through the fleeing crowd, as all hell broke loose.
The assassin looked down at his work with satisfaction. The king's body lay still, eyes wide and glassy. When all kinds of people rushed to his side, they would be too late.
"Nice shot," Wesley said behind him, aiming his weapon right at the back of the assassin's head. "Put it down."
The assassin did not move.
"I said PUT IT DOWN!" Wesley shouted.
The assassin chuckled. He raised his hands very slowly, stretching them away from his body, and slowly put the weapon down.
"MI6, you are under arrest, as a murder suspect," Wesley told him, " You have the right to remain silent. Now, if you would be so kind as to take off your mask - Sir Riley."
Sir Riley looked at him in astonishment. "How did you know it was me?"
"You are the first in line after King William, a much neglected side line of the family," Wesley said. "So let’s see the reasons that made us suspect you, besides your lineage: You trained the King in polo and had access to the saddle chamber, plenty of opportunity to cut the strap. I saw you at the opera house as well. Why would a polo instructor be interested in the fine arts? You live on the premises of Buckingham Palace. It was easy for you to sneak into the kitchen and poison the King's drink for the Investiture ceremony. The acid found in the glass is normally used to clean dried horse excrements from the royal stables. The King's glass has his very own Coat of Arms on it, easily recognisable for an employee. Oh, and let us not forget your mother lives at Canterbury, and you happened to visit her the day the Black Prince's shield almost crushed King William's skull," he added coldly. "If I didn't know better, I would say you wanted to be caught. We had to figure it out, sooner or later."
Sir Riley grinned. "Just not fast enough. It doesn't matter, as long as he's dead. Look at the body, how he's lying surrounded by a sea made of his own blood." He peered down at the body. He frowned. "There isn't enough blood... I shot him in the head... There ought to be blood, and brain matter, and..."
Wesley's lips curled into a smile.

*

"Nice work," Spike told Jeni and Lisa from Madame Tussaud's, looking down at his double, which was a sorry sight. "He looks just like me. Apart from the hole in his head."
"My best piece of work, and now I have to do it again," Jeni complained, but she was smiling.
"Exchanging you against your wax figure while those half-naked girls were holding a flag before you, what a brilliant idea," Lisa agreed. "And everyone thought you were putting on a show!"
"All the credit goes out to Buffy," Spike admitted, "She was the brain behind all this undercover operation."
"I was so scared," Buffy admitted hugging him fiercely, not that he was complaining.
"You were scared?" Spike teased her.
Sir Rupert stepped to the microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we regret the little charade and the shock it caused you, but it was necessary for the safety of King William. I am glad to inform you that the situation is under control now. The shooter has been arrested, and the King has not been harmed. So if you please return to your seats. We shall continue with the ceremony shortly. Thank you."

*

The shock was hard on many of the assembled guests, and very reluctantly they did return into the abbey. However, the many cameras pointed at them and the load of tabloid publicity this may carry finally got the better of the European royalty, and so, they came back to follow a ceremony which would be in the headlines of the yellow press for several of the following weeks, at least until the Belgian crown prince was arrested in a drug raid at a night club in Brussels.
Thanks to Fred's training, Spike did not make a single mistake during the whole ceremony. Sometimes he sought out Buffy's eyes in the crowd, and she smiled at him, blinking away a tear when he swore to preserve the country.
"That's ridiculous, I'm an American citizen, why am I crying?" she whispered in a small voice.
Instead of an answer, Sir Rupert began to clean his glasses.
The Archbishop blessed the crown on the altar. Then he stepped forward and reverently put the crown on Spike's head. " God crown you with a crown of glory and righteousness, that having a right faith and manifold fruit of good works, you may obtain the crown of an everlasting kingdom by the gift of him whose kingdom endureth forever."





EPILOGUE

"They're here!" Dawn ran down the stairs, almost tripping on the last step.
"Slow down, child" Joyce chided her, "They can't fly - they will need to get off the car first!"
"Can't wait to tell my classmates that the king of England is staying at my house!"
"Dawn," Joyce said in a strict voice, "We talked about this. Buffy and William want some time on their own after those horrible past few weeks, and they wouldn’t enjoy their holiday if the press knew about their staying in Sunnydale. You can't go on bragging about the British monarchy's best guarded secret around your high school!"
Dawn made a sad little face. Joyce opened the door.
"Mom!" Buffy burst through the door and embraced her mother, then her sister. "Dawn! It's so good to be home! Seven hours in a military jet, that's enough to last me for the three weeks till we have to go back!"
"Three weeks?" Dawn looked disappointed. "Can't you stay longer?"
"Spike has to work," Buffy explained.
"He's the King, others are supposed to do the work for him!" Dawn protested.
"You must be Dawn," Spike said and to Dawn's surprise she observed he was carrying his own suitcase and Buffy's.
Dawn stared at him.
"Your Majesty," Joyce said and curtseyed awkwardly.
"Spike," he corrected her immediately.
"Can I call you Spike, too?" Dawn asked curiously.
"Of course, you're my future sister-in-law, after all," he told her.
Dawn's eyes widened. "Cool."
Buffy extended her hand so Dawn and their mother could get a good look at her precious engagement ring.
Spike cleared his voice. "Buffy, where do these go?" He shrugged with the heavy baggage still in his hands. "Arms falling off here."
"Sorry," Buffy said, "Upstairs, to my room. I'll show you." She walked up the stairs, followed by Spike and her hyper excited sister.
"I've made some lunch," Joyce called after them, "let me just close the door, and then..." She made to close the door, when someone else appeared at her doorstep. "Hello, Joyce."
Joyce was staring at the man in his incredibly old-fashioned tweed suit. "Rupert."
"Sorry I have not called," Sir Rupert apologized. "I was not sure if you wanted to see me."
Joyce was totally taken aback. "It's been a really long time," she finally said.
"I know." He cleared his voice. "I wanted to talk to you about Buffy's future. I presume you have noticed the ring."
Joyce nodded.
"And I suppose you were aware of a slight problem to that. Since Buffy does not belong to British nobility, King William is technically considered to be marrying beneath his station."
Joyce took in a sharp breath. "Yeah. Seems Spike has more guts than someone else I know."
Sir Rupert cast his eyes down in shame, for she was right. "I deserve that kind of treatment. Joyce. I've made a terrible mistake I cannot dream you would allow me to rectify, after all this time. I know we can't turn back the clock twenty years, but... I was thinking... I mean, we are not getting any younger, none of us... and in theory, if Buffy were a child of mine by legitimate marriage, she would be entitled to the rank of a Lady. So I was thinking, maybe just for Buffy's well-being, we could... talk."
Joyce stared at him. "After twenty years, you just show up here and... Wait, you are not proposing to me, are you?"
Sir Rupert shrugged with a minor grin on his face. "Not technically, no."
Joyce stepped away from the door, with a grin on her face which gave him a little hope. "Come on in. Let’s talk."

THE END