The day of the funeral arrived with a heavy, overcast sky that seemed to mirror the somber mood of London. Per the Kingston family traditions, Elijah was to be buried seven days after his demise—a week that felt like a lifetime of holding our collective breath.
The church was a cathedral of aged stone and stained glass, packed with people from all walks of life. Tycoons in charcoal suits, politicians, and distant relatives had gathered to honor the memory of a man who had been a titan of industry. I sat in the front pew, the wood hard beneath me, feeling the eyes of the elite boring into the back of my head. To them, I was still the mystery wife, the woman who had appeared out of nowhere to claim a seat at the royal table.
The service was a marathon of grief. Multiple people stepped up t
