Marching On

Harry tore open Lavin's letter as soon as one of the staff handed it to him. It had been the first piece of any kind of response from Lavin in almost a month. He had sent her hundreds of text messages, possibly even thousands; more than two dozen emails and plenty of phone calls.

His eyes scanned her precise handwriting and a rage grew in his heart.

My life is and will forever be devoted to my country.

Sod the whole damned privileged life that both he and Lavin were born. There was nothing special about their lives but the amount of inheritance and publicity that came with it. And even that lost its appeal after awhile.

William had been no help. He doubted his father would do much for him either.

Might as well go straight to the top, he thought and rushed out of his room in pursuit of his grandmother.

He found her in her study bent over important papers and signing in various spots.

"Gran," he said, knocking on the open door. "May I come in?"

"Yes, dear. Of course," she told him, ushering Harry in with her free hand without looking away from her work.

Harry dropped the letter onto her desk, covering the current paper she was examining.

Elizabeth took it into her hands and read Lavin's letter. A deep crease had appeared in her forehead by the time she finished.

"I'm not sure what to say, Harry," she said, keeping the letter between her soft hands. "But I am sorry."

"I don't want to be consoled. I want someone to help me."

Elizabeth looked at Harry for a long time. Harry knew she did not have one thing to offer, but perhaps if he prodded and poked he would get some sort of applicable answers.

"Yes or no, Gran. Queen's need to be married when they take the throne?'

"Well," she began. "It surely isn't a requirement of the job."

"Then why is Lavin so keen on ending this relationship? Why does she do this to us?" Harry asked hotly.

"Being married ensures that the line of succession continues. It's her duty to produce an heir and a spare. You know yourself how important that is in families like ours."

"So, if she doesn't get married, there is a fear that the line won't continue."

"Yes."

"But she has her brothers."

Elizabeth sighed calmly. "Lavinia was born and bred to be queen. She knows of nothing of another occupation. Her brother's, while they are good at their duties, have not been given the same amount of education to be monarch. Her firstborn will be groomed similarly."

"I must be stupid, but I don't see how that can keep the two of us from marrying," said Harry, arms folding against his chest.

"You are still very close to the throne, Harry. If something were to happen to Charles, William, or myself you would be king."

"William will have children," replied Harry quickly.

"I believe he will too but in his own time. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I wish I could change things for you. I know how much you two love each other. But consider if you did marry and then, heaven forbid, something happened to all three of us, you'd be king of England and prince consort of Denmark. Do you see the complications in that?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at his grandmother, not liking anything she had told him. It was nothing he had not heard before.

"Yes."

He began to retreat.

"Harry, wait."

He turned to look at his grandmother. She was wearing a soft yellow dress, her matching loafers discarded under the ancient wood desk and a simple smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Love will find a way to bring you two together, Harry. Have faith; I've always believed in this relationship of yours."

Harry could not help the small smile that appeared on his face. He broke eye contact for brief moment, embarrassed, humbled, heartbroken, and for the first time in many months, hopeful.

"Thanks, Grandma."