The morning of the coronation dawned, sunshine streaming through the windows of the palace and bathing the corridors and the milling guests with light.

Meredith, up early that morning to fetch Isabella's new dress, now knocked on her friend's door.

"Come in," said Isabella, sleepily.

Meredith swept in, carrying the dress.

"It turned out beautifully!" she told Isabella, enthusiastically. "It's perfectly lovely. The periwinkle blue most definitely suits your eyes."

Isabella rolled over in bed, laughing.

"Meredith, you get more excited about dresses than anything else." She sat up, chuckling and took the dress from Meredith.

"May I help you, just this once?" begged Meredith, wanting to handle the dress again, feel the soft silken fabric. "And do your hair?" Then, smirking: "My Lady?"

Isabella gave a playful shove and stood from bed. "I suppose, this once."

Meredith smiled and Isabella slipped into her bathing room and changed into her under skirt and slip and came back out. Her friend slipped the beautiful dress over her head and smoothed the fabric, arranging it so it lay perfectly. She did up the pearl buttons in the back and tied the dark blue bow, pulling it until it was even.

She pulled her friend to a stool in front of a mirror.

"Sit," she said, and Isabella sat. Meredith took the pins out of Isabella's blonde hair and brushed it, then worked her fingers deftly through it, braiding pieces, pulling strands together, and bringing it all into a lovely up-do with lose tendrils that framed Isabella's face.

Once her hair was finished, Isabella stood and looked herself over in the mirror.

"You've done a lovely job!" she exclaimed to Meredith, who blushed.

"Thank you," she said, softly. Isabella disappeared into their shared parlor and returned with Meredith's dress.

"Put it on," she said.

Meredith slipped the dress over her head, careful of her hair, which Isabella had done, and allowed her companion to fasten her buttons.

They both took a few steps back to look at themselves in the mirror.

"I think," said Isabella. "That we are ready."

Both were already imagining the evening, the dancing, and all the people.

Meredith briefly wondered what Evan would think, then pushed the thought from her mind. Evan would, of course, be staying as far from the coronation as he could.

Antony tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, the tight feeling in his throat no less relieved. He sighed and turned to the chair next to him, from which he took his dress uniform coat, the navy blue jacket with its polished brass buttons and the medals that symbolized Astoria, the King, and the military, and put it on, watching himself in the mirror as he mechanically fastened each button and pulled on the red sash that went over the coat. Finally, he put on the belt and sword sheath.

He turned and picked up the sword from where he had laid it across his bed. It was purely ceremonial, and had not been used in actual fighting since Rupert the First's death. For this sword had belonged to the first king. Now, it was worn by every subsequent king on their coronation day.

He slid it into its sheath and turned to look at himself in the mirror.

You look a fool, Antony, he told himself. You look too young to be a king. And, indeed, he would be the first king Astoria had had to wait on to turn twenty for his coronation.

A knocking on his door startled him.

"Yes?" he said, opening the door. Isabella smiled back at him.

"Good morning, cousin," she said, tilting her head to look him up and down. "Don't you look fancy!"

He smiled slightly. "Isabella. You look lovely as ever."

She gave him a teasing shove. "A friend did my hair," she said.

"Your new maid?"

"Companion," snapped Isabella, her playful smile ensuring that she was not really upset.

They had made their way again to the mirror and Antony turned slightly in front of it, making sure that all the medals were in place and the sword hung correctly. He sighed.

"Nervous?"

He turned to look at Isabella.

"Do I look it?"

"Well..." She finally smiled. "A little. Just stand straight, keep your head up, and don't frown so much. No one will know."

"Thanks..." he said, sarcastically.

"I just came to wish you luck."

"Thank you, Isabella," he said, turning to face her.

She smiled back at him. "I'll see you in a bit. I'll wave at you from the front row of the chapel!"

"Perhaps you shouldn't. Think of your mother," he joked.

"Ah yes, Mother would have a heart attack if I did anything so unladylike as waving."

"Aside from the fact that I would probably find it difficult not to laugh at her reaction."

"Perhaps I'll refrain from waving, then. But I'll be there, of course."

She turned to leave.

"Thank you...again, Isabella," he called, as she reached the door.

"You're welcome," she called back. "Don't drop the crown or trip or...well...good luck!"

He rolled his eyes as his cousin left. He was grateful; her visit had cheered him up a bit.

It seemed that hardly any time at all had passed, and yet, it had: two hours, in fact. Antony was now standing before the double doors of the palace chapel. At a cue from the guards on either side of the door, he stood straight.

The doors opened.

Walking in, Antony forced himself to look straight ahead, and to adopt a look of calm and confidence. Reaching the front, he turned to face his grandmother. In Astoria, the next King was always crowned by the previous Queen, if she were living.

The small choir, which had sung the Astorian Anthem as Antony walked in, now fell silent, and Antony was conscious of the faces watching him. He kept his eyes on Olivya, who gave him a quick, reassuring smile, and then turned back to being serious.

"Prince Antony the First, son of Prince William and Princess Saraya," she began. "You stand here before people of the Astorian Empire. You stand here, heir to the throne. With the position comes grave responsibility: these people will look to you for protection and guidance." She turned back from the audience to face him.

"Do you swear that you will protect them, to the best of your abilities?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear that you will lead them honorably, provide for them, and hold court justly?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear that the welfare of these people, this empire, will always be forefront in your mind as you make decisions for these lands?"

"I swear it."

"Kneel."

He knelt, swallowing against the tight feeling in his throat that had never left. He felt acutely aware of every sound in the room: a slight clearing of the throat here, a rustle of movement there.

Olivya turned, and took from a red velvet pillow borne by a servant, the crown. It was, perhaps, simple for a royal crown, but it gleamed golden in the sunlight streaming through the large chapel windows.

She came to stand directly in front of him, holding the crown before her. He felt, then, a sudden, intense desire, to be a ruler that Astoria, and his parents, would be proud of. He would make every attempt to right the wrongs done by the past two Ruperts.

"It is my last act as Queen that I perform here today." She took a step forward. "By the power invested in me, as Queen of Astoria, I hereby crown this Prince."

Antony felt the crown settle on his head, and it seemed to him, very heavy.

"Stand."

He stood, then, turning his back on the observers, and took from another cushion the Astorian items of regalia*: the golden scepter and the globus cruciger**.

He turned and faced the crowd, meeting Isabella's smiling eyes, his Aunt Therese's teary ones, and...behind Therese, the Lady Adelaide, smiling and serene, staring right back at him. He swallowed again, and forced himself to look straight down the aisle.

"People of Astoria!" said Olivya. "I present to you now, your ruler: King Antony Hayes-Robert the First, of the House Westerholme!"