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~x~
T-minus nine hours and forty-five minutes. Henry shook the hand of another faceless, nameless person. T-minus nine hours and thirty minutes. Henry gave another plastic utterly fake smile. T-minus nine hours and fifteen minutes. Henry bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed down another inflammatory answer to another moronic question. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what the gala he was at was even for. What he was sure of was the fact that in T-minus nine hours and two minutes his love would be back in his arms again and none of this pointless, moronic bullshit, that his grandmother persistently kept shoving down his throat, would matter. Henry shook another hand, offered another practiced smile and was just about to signal Shaan for extraction when someone decided it would be a good idea to let the paps in and now Henry was swallowing down a solid groan.
“Your Royal Highness, so sorry to hear the news, do you have any comments? A reason perhaps?”
“Your Royal Highness, what was the final straw?”
“Your Royal Highness, how do you think what happened will impact the trade negotiations between us and the US?”
Henry blinked. Opened his mouth, closed it. Cleared his throat.
“Pardon?” He was confused, whatever the paparazzi were talking about - he had not been briefed about. From the corner of his eye, he clocked Shaan hurrying to his side, expression grim. It was taking him a while since Henry had been swarmed by the paps so suddenly but he seemed determined enough to deploy the Sharp Elbows at any moment.
“Your breakup with the American–” one of the paparazzi was saying.
“My what?” Henry was pretty sure he was dissociating because there was no way, no way in hell he had heard what he thought he had just heard.
“Is it true he's been put on a no flight list?”
“Is his ban from the UK permanent?”
“Your Royal Highness–” and that was Shaan, finally getting through to him, " there's been a development. Your car is waiting."
For the first time in his life, Henry turned on his heel, and walked away from the paparazzi without so much as a nod or a smile.
~
“It seems that the Queen has declared Mister Claremont-Diaz a persona non grata and—”
“She what.”
Shaan was speaking again, but Henry wasn’t listening. Something had… Snapped, inside of him. Something that had no coming back from. A Henry from a year, hell, from half a year ago? That Henry would have gone numb. Would have been too scared to do anything, to even say anything. That Henry would have been alone and drowning with no hope of anyone offering him so much as a hand from freezing waters. This Henry, however? This Henry was decidedly not alone. This Henry had not gone numb. And he sure as hell was not scared. This Henry was furious. Furious and determined and very much fueled not by doubt, but by faith in him, by love for him.
He straightened his back and had Shaan stop speaking with one look. “Buckingham,” he said, quiet and fierce and Shaan, who clearly wanted to caution and protest, only nodded.
~
“Your Royal Highness, you were not expected—”
Henry snorted, snorted as he passed one of Her Majesty’s lackeys, speed-walking through the winding corridors of the palace. A plan had been formed on the drive. Calls had been made, first to Alex, who’s plane had been turned around and who had been climbing walls; then to Pez, who had been beyond delighted and had, naturally, promised all the help Henry could ever desire. Henry had desired a plane. Pez’s jet was fueled and his pilots on board and waiting before Henry had hung up the call.
Henry waved off another sputtering staffer, jogging down the stairs into the wine cellar. He went by row after row of shelves, filled with priceless bottles of wine, searching searching…there. Henry grabbed a bottle of his Grandmother’s favorite champagne and turned to leave. Before taking another step, however, he hesitated, his lips quirking into a smirk before he grabbed another bottle and made for the stairs.
~
“Your Highness, you can’t, Her Majesty’s in a meeting—” The aide stuttered and seemed to choke on whatever else she was about to say at the expression on Henry’s face.
“Good.” He didn’t want to frighten the poor girl and, had the circumstances been anything other than what they were, he would have felt at least a modicum of guilt for doing so… alas. “Open up the door for me, would you?” he asked with a far warmer smile (yes, so, he was fundamentally nice, sue him), “my hands are rather full, thanks ever so.”
“What is the meaning—” the Queen sputtered when the doors opened without so much a knock, much less a by-your-leave and Henry strode right in. “Henry—” she hissed, outraged, the Prime Minister and the members of the Cabinet sitting frozen and gaping around the large table, at the head of which sat Her Royal Majesty, Queen Mary Mountchristen-Windsor herself.
Henry merrily ignored both the hissing monarch and the Cabinet members as he strode across the room, stopping right before the Queen, back ramrod straight and eyes harder than the Queen had ever seen them.
He took a moment to look at her, really look. And then he smiled, nay, beamed at her. The absolute and utter joy, displayed so clearly on his face, threw the Queen so much she actually stopped her hissing. Which was exactly what Henry had been aiming for.
“One day,” he started, voice strong and loud, clearly audible for not only everyone in the meeting, but the staff who’d been crowding near the still wide open doors as well, “one day, sooner rather than later, you will die.” The Queen’s jaw dropped. Someone gasped. Henry didn’t so much as blink as he continued, voice so calm he sounded almost serene, “You will die and on that day I will pop open this,” he waved the - extremely valuable, old and rare - bottle of champagne under her nose which made her face turn a rather fitting shade of puce, “and I will raise a toast with the love of my life. I will raise a toast, and I will drop to a knee before him then and there and ask him to be my husband. Your death will be overshadowed by my joy and happiness as he says yes, just like your life will be overshadowed by mine.” Henry smirked then, looking down at the woman who had been supposed to be there for him and support him and love him and instead did her utmost best to destroy everything that made him him. “I shan’t spit on your grave, unlike you would certainly spit on mine, for I am and I always will be, a better person than you ever could be. Cheers Gran.” He finished, saluted the still completely gaping like a fish Queen of England with one of the bottles and turned on a heel.
“Oh,” he paused right beside the door and turned to beam at her once more, “We’ll pop the second bottle on our wedding day. Granted, Alex might end up pouring it down the gutter in celebration, he’s a bit spiteful like that.” He shrugged in a what-can-you-do way, turned back around and walked right out. Past the frozen staff, down the drop-dead-silent corridors, right out the doors of Buckingham palace.
Shaan caught up to him not two steps away from the doors, a large suitcase and David’s carrier in hand.
“The car’s waiting, Your Highness.”
Henry smiled, feeling lighter than he ever had, leaving the palace, “Straight to the airport, thank you, Shaan.”
~x~
It is with a heavy heart that I address you all. Earlier today, by decree of Queen Mary Mountchristen-Windsor, an American citizen was made a persona non grata for having the audacity to love me. As many of you are no doubt aware, the crime here is that the person loving me, is, in fact, a man. I am posting this, now, because it is important to me that you, my people, know the truth. And the truth is this - England will always be my country and you, my people. I love you all with all that I am and nothing will ever change that. I have given you all of me for as long as I’ve been drawing breath. You’ve always had me all, body and soul. For the longest time, I thought that that would be enough. That my life, my all would belong to nothing and no one else but you. That all I would ever be good enough for would be to give everything of myself away. By something that I dare not call anything but a miracle, I have been proven wrong. I have met someone who is proving to me every day that I am worthy of being given to, too. Someone who is proving to me that I am worthy of being loved. It is my greatest, deepest wish that each and every one of you experience the joy that I am now experiencing, and that you all find your miracle as well. Always yours, Henry Fox, former HRH Prince Henry of Wales.
~x~