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BREAKING: Her Majesty Queen Mary III dead at 82.
Her Majesty Mary II, by the Grace of God Queen of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, passed away peacefully in her sleep sometime last night, the official statement from Buckingham Palace says as of 8:32 a.m.
“We are saddened by the tragedy of Her Majesty’s death,” says an official statement from the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. “This is an incredibly sad and difficult time for our family, and for all the people of the Commonwealth.”
Prince Philip and wife Martha released this statement at 9:00 am today, almost thirty minutes after the first digital announcement of Her Majesty’s passing by the BBC this morning. Both the Prince and the Duchess have confirmed plans to travel from their residence at Kensington Palace to meet with new Queen Regnant Catherine, at Buckingham Palace later today.
No statement has been released as of now from the official accounts of Prince Henry and his husband, Mr. Alexander Claremont-Diaz. Discussions will certainly arise later in the day on the topic of Prince Henry and Mr. Claremont-Diaz’s travel plans for the upcoming funeral and coronation.
Funeral plans for Her Majesty and coronation details for Queen Catherine will be released in the coming days, a source says. The nation will be in a state of mourning beginning today at noon. Flags on royal properties have already been lowered to half mast.
CNN, October 21, 2022.
***
“Shit, fucking shit, Henry! ” Alex calls, pressing his lips together and staring at the toppled over suitcase on the floor. “Fucking great, ” he mutters to himself.
Henry, who’s most likely still trying to find his appropriately somber black coat, doesn’t hear Alex from their bedroom upstairs, so he sighs. “Okay. I give up.”
He leaves the suitcase where it is, not bothering to wrestle with the zipper anymore, and some of the stress lines ease away from his face when he feels a fuzzy face push itself against his ankle. “Hey, buddy,” he says to David, leaning down to pet him. “I know you’re upset. It’s okay. We’ll be back soon.”
The thing is, Alex has no idea how true that statement is. He had been sitting with his feet in Henry’s lap on their couch, laughing over a cup of coffee, when their home phone rang. They had both looked at each other at the same time, Henry’s face gone white as a sheet.
Their home phone was only for the royal family and the White House staff.
Now, Alex is petting his husband’s ridiculous dog between the ears, trying not to worry about Henry, who’s been eerily quiet since they got the news that his grandmother died.
Henry chooses that moment to walk in, finally wearing his black coat. He raises one eyebrow at Alex. “Did I just hear you consoling David?”
“No,” Alex says with a shrug. “I was telling him to keep being the big macho man he is. You know, a real womanizer.”
Henry laughs for the first time that morning, crouching down to give his dog a little pat on the ears. “You’ll be in good hands, lad.”
Alex just watches him for a moment, looks at the shadows under his eyes. “Hey,” he says, softer, and Henry sighs, turning to look at him.
“I’m fine.”
“How’d you know I was going to ask?” Alex says, moving closer to him.
“Because I know you,” Henry quips, a smile ghosting over his face.
He brushes his hand against Alex’s cheek, and Alex grabs it, running the pad of his thumb over Henry’s fingers. “Hey,” he says again, staring at his husband with concern. “Talk to me.”
And this. This is one of those moments where years ago Henry would’ve paused, made an excuse, maybe said nothing at all. But now he’s here, and so is Alex, and so the first thing he does is press their foreheads together, close his eyes, and let out a breath. “I’m sorry.”
Alex blinks. “What are you sorry for?”
“Being like this.”
“H, look at me.” Henry raises his head and opens his eyes, purses his lips. “You don’t have to feel any specific way. You get to feel how you want to feel.”
“I know,” he whispers.
“No, listen, ” Alex says, suddenly enraged. “Your grandmother was terrible. She was an awful, awful woman, and an awful queen, and I have no doubts that your mother’s going to be better in every way.”
There’s a hint of mirth in Henry’s eyes. “You’re quite outspoken today.”
Alex scoffs. “I’m only emotionally available for you, baby.” Then he pauses. “But she was still your grandmother. No matter what, that’s allowed to mean something. Or nothing at all. But you’re allowed to feel more than one thing.” Henry’s silent, and it’s worrying Alex, so he tacks something onto the end of it all. “Or we can skip the funeral and go to the British Museum?”
Now Henry laughs. He looks down at Alex with a tiny smile. “God save the Queen, I love you.”
“Is there a queen right now, though?” Alex quips.
“Of course,” Henry says, then pauses. “Well. Pretty much. But there will be a Prince of Wales, I suppose, and Bea’s likely going to be Princess Royal- hold on. Was this a distraction technique?” He asks, faintly smiling.
Alex assumes the face of an angel. “‘Of course it was, darling.” And when Henry laughs again, some of the stress melts from Alex’s body.
***
A car ride. A plane ride. Another car ride. It’s all very appropriately rainy.
Alex grasps Henry’s hand as they’re ushered into Buckingham Palace, up some stairs, through the door of a drawing room. He only squeezes tighter when he realizes that there’s only one member of this damn family who would’ve insisted on meeting them in a fucking drawing room.
Henry’s relationship with Philip is… strained, at best, but at least he’s trying. That’s what Alex’s mother-in-law says, and he loves the woman, but every time he sees her elder son, Alex wants to give him a black eye.
His husband has very pointedly instructed him not to do so, however, and Alex quietly believes that he would’ve broken those orders long ago if it weren’t for his sister-in-law Martha. Who is, by all means, way too damn good for her husband, and Alex admits he feels a little bad about judging her before he ever knew her.
“Do you know where your mom is?” Alex asks quietly, shaking his head at a servant asking if he wants tea.
Henry accepts a cup of Earl Grey and furrows his brow. “She should be here. I’d imagine she’s on her way to see us right now, caught in the middle of some preparation or another. On the phone this morning, She said she’d see us when we got in.”
Alex nods, staring at his lap and feeling useless in the way he always does around the extended royal family, so he just looks at Henry and says, “Are you ready? To see your brother?”
“I am,” Henry responds, and he looks sure of it. Then he smiles, just the tiniest bit. “Are you ready to see my brother?”
“I am known for my self control,” Alex huffs.
“Alright, love,” Henry says, amused. He absentmindedly brings their intertwined fingers to his mouth and presses his lips to the back of Alex’s hand. “I believe you.”
“No, you don’t,” Alex accuses him, but he presses their sides together and leans into his husband.
Henry hums, and the moment could almost be content, one of their normal, happy mornings at home, if the door didn’t open to reveal the crown prince of England the next moment.
“Henry,” Philip says, almost warmly, and the first thing Alex thinks is oh my God he looks like a mess.
He exchanges a brief glance with Henry, whose eyebrows are raised. “Hello, Philip. Where’s Mum?”
Philip strides in and sits across from them, letting out a haggard sort of breath and immediately shoving two sugars into a cup of tea. “She’s still trying to sort out the will. We’re all going to have to take a look at it at some point.” He then seems to notice Alex for the first time since he’s walked in. “Hello, Alexander. How are you?”
Alex blinks, once, then assumes an easy smile. “Well enough, considering.”
“Well, good,” Philip says, leaving a silence that he doesn’t seem to notice is awkward while he chugs tea. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a year, and his white dress shirt is buttoned wrong. Alex makes a mental note of this alarmingly human version of him to make fun of later.
Thankfully, they’re all saved from a more prolonged interaction when the doors burst open again, this time with some power, Martha and Bea behind them.
His friendships with his sisters-in-law came surprisingly easy after Alex was announced as a royal suitor. He already knew and loved Bea, but never expected Martha to send him witty texts at three am and expose Philip for listening to shitty music. Sometimes he thinks that she’s probably just relieved to have someone who knows, at least on some level, what she’s going through.
“Alex, Henry,” she greets, sitting next to Philip and whispering something in his ear. She turns to Alex then, her face almost sad. “It’s so good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too,” Alex says, giving her a little smile.
Meanwhile, Bea sniffs at Philip and sidesteps him, running to hug Henry. “Oi. Hullo, Alex. Almost didn’t see you there,” she says, trying not to smile. “You know. Because you’re awful short.”
“Hi to you too,” Alex says, narrowing his eyes at Bea. There’s laughter in her eyes, and Alex is just grateful that she’s not as messy as Philip, who has his eyes closed and might have actually died.
Apparently not, however, because he turns to his brother. “You and I need to go see Mother and discuss the will.”
Alex feels Henry’s hand tense in his own. “What about Bea?”
The princess in question snorts. “You think she left me anything? That particular meeting was over in minutes.”
“That’s not true and you know it,” Philip says, sounding more tired than anything else. Alex squeezes Henry’s hand once, twice, three times, while they all stare at Philip. He looks around the room and shrugs uncharacteristically. “What? Bea, tell them.”
“It appears,” Bea drawls. “That dear Grandmother has left me a large amount of… funds.”
“A generous sum of royal money,” Philip adds.
“ Colonized money,” Bea shoots back.
Alex can almost feel Henry’s desperation to break this up when he stands. “Philip, let’s just go then.”
Philip shoots Alex a wayward glance. “Right. But just the two of us, at least for now.”
Henry looks at his brother in disbelief. “Are you serious? We’re married- ”
“This is family business-”
“Yes, and Alex is my husband, in case you’ve forgotten about the wedding you attended-”
Philip cuts Henry off, sighing in his all-important way. “ Royal family business-”
“Is Alex not married to a member of the royal family now? If not in title, then in name?” Henry demands, crossing his arms, and Alex hates seeing him like this, hates that Philip can rile him up.
“Well-”
“Stop,” Alex says, and everyone turns to stare at him. Bea with both eyebrows raised, Martha carefully sipping a cup of tea, and Henry looking down at him with worry lining his face. Alex stands, rubs his husband’s arm. “Just go, alright?” He murmurs, loud enough for everyone to hear (it’s still a tiny room, but soft enough to imagine it’s only them). “It’ll be fine. Go talk to your mom, get things sorted out, and tell me later.” Henry looks at him dubiously, so Alex grabs his face. “Hey. I trust you to tell me everything I need to know, alright?”
“Alright,” Henry mutters, placing a kiss on Alex’s forehead, and he flushes red. Because still, even after a year of marriage and two years out of the closet, it’s exhilarating for Henry to be able to love him in public. “Hopefully I’ll be done soon.”
“I’ll be waiting for you,” Alex promises, and sighs as he watches him go off with Philip. Then he flops down onto one of the drawing room’s uncomfortable couches and drops his head into his hands. “ Ugh. ”
He feels the weight of Martha sitting next to him, and the pressure of her small hand on his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I think we all feel much the same.”
Bea sits on his other side and pats his back. “How has he been?” She asks quietly.
Alex doesn’t have to clarify to know who she’s talking about. “Quiet. Pensive. I don’t know, it’s not like he’s keeping secrets, he’s just doing that grin-and-bear-it-shoulder-the-burden thing and I wish there was something I could do.”
“Oh, Alex,” Martha says softly, and Alex turns to look at her.
“What?”
She hesitates for a moment then looks over at Bea. “How did you say it was you talked to him right after they were outed? Candidly?”
“I used slightly more colorful phrasing than that,” Bea responds, her eyes sparkling with the memory. “But yes. Something along those lines, I think.”
“Right,” Martha says, sitting back on the love seat. “Alex, you probably know Henry better than anyone now.”
Alex scoffs. “I should think so,” he says, poorly imitating her accent.
She just chuckles and goes back to thinking. “You clearly know all of his moods. You’ve seen him grieve before, but I don’t think you’ve ever seen him grieve quite like this.”
“No,” Alex says, and he almost struggles with the weight of it. “It’s almost like how it is sometimes, when there’s something else there, and I’m just too out of reach to understand.”
“I think he’s worried about the line of succession,” Martha says gently.
Alex snaps his head up and groans. “Of course. God, why did I not think about the fucking throne?”
“It goes to show that you worried about Henry first,” Bea points out.
“Still. I’m supposed to know these things,” Alex grumbles, closing his eyes.
“No, you are not,” Martha tells him, her voice firm.
Alex opens one eye to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that loving someone doesn’t mean you can read their mind,” she says, looking at him appraisingly. “Lord knows I’ve had to figure that out.”
Bea laughs, so Alex allows himself a chuckle. “I just don’t know if what I’m doing is right.”
“I know how you feel,” Martha tells him, and Alex really believes her. Because she’s the only other person who might understand some aspect of what he’s gone through, even if it’s nowhere near the same. “I only figured it out because Philip was so upset about it.”
“Philip?”
“He’s next in line now.”
Alex lets out a breath. “Oh.”
“He always knew he’d have to be King,” Martha continues, frowning at a stray thread on her skirt. “But I think this has really brought it all into perspective. Not to mention the fact that he probably misses his grandmother the most out of anyone.” She winces. “Sorry, Bea.”
Bea shrugs, leaning up against the back of the couch. “No need to apologize. It’s the truth.” She eyes Alex. “Unless Henry is faring worse?”
“That’s the thing,” Alex groans. “I can’t tell . I fucking hate not knowing shit, even if it’s not my business.”
“You are one nosy bastard,” Bea says. “But you know. Maybe it is your business. She was your grandmother by marriage, technically.”
Alex wrinkles his nose, and the girls laugh. “You both know she would’ve had me quietly murdered if it wouldn’t have caused so much bad press.”
“She was probably constantly weighing the options over tea; bad press from Alex, or bad press from killing Alex?” Bea muses.
“Good lord,” Alex says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Is it bad luck to speak ill of the dead?”
“Not if the dead were homophobic,” Martha says primly, and they all manage to laugh until they’re doubling over with the effort of it all.