by V Vee
Every tiny thing that either of them did had to be remarked on, photographed, recorded by video camera, and documented; not only by the family, but by the servants and the local media. Alastair just couldn’t understand it.
“I just received a memo from the royal advisors. They want to meet with Algerone and myself about the repercussions of his marriage to Valerie,” his father began without greeting. King Callum sat down on the couch in Alastair’s office, and began murmuring to the newborn girls.
Alastair grunted. “Of course, they did, Kothrar. While the people are accepting of Al’s “diverse” choice in princess and consort, there are members of the upper crust of society that would have a bit of a problem with it,” he pointed out.
King Callum shook his head. “Racist bastards the lot of them,” he muttered.
Alastair sighed. “I am not positive it is all motivated by racism, Kothrar. Much of it is the result of centuries of tradition, I’m sure. What we cannot do is allow their close-mindedness to cause us to react rashly.” He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a sheet of watermark paper. Picking up his favorite pen, Alastair started to write down ideas of ways to deal with this current predicament.
Algerone and Valerie would need to do a number of appearances. Some together and some apart. Then there would need to be a few with the children. Not only to show the happy, beautiful family Algerone created and maintained in fourteen years, but also to ease the kingdom and the wealthier members of society into the appearances—and skin tones—of their future leaders.
Alastair was so focused on the planning, organizing, and strategizing that needed to go into smoothing over any ruffled feathers, that he didn’t hear his father calling his name until the crying of his nieces let him know that his father’s raised voice had startled them. Alastair flashed his gaze up to his king’s and quirked an eyebrow.
“Yes, Kothrar? Is there something I can help you with?” he asked with a smirk.
“Remove that look from your visage, immediately,” King Callum rebuked and Alastair wiped his face of any and all emotion. “Good. Now, as you know, with the birth of Eliava and Eckha, your brother and his wife now have seven children to raise, which is quite a courageous undertaking. Especially as Valerie has just given birth.”
Alastair sat back and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Which is why they have nannies, Kothrar.”
King Callum nodded. “Indeed. They do, for all the children except the newborns and Dahni. Valerie believes she will have both the time and the energy to devote to all three of her youngest children and her duties as consort to the Crown Prince.”
Alastair snorted. He loved his sister-in-law and her whole: “I am woman, hear me roar!” independence thing, but she was sadly mistaken if she thought she could do it all. No one could. His father was one of the strongest, most competent, and organized men in the world, who raised five sons with his wife, five nannies, five governesses, two cooks, a slew of maids, numerous bodyguards, and a butler. And that was just in their home. Valerie and Algerone had more children than his parents did, and less help. Who did she think she was? Some sort of superhero woman?
“So, she is delusional, what would you like me to do about it?” Alastair asked his father.
King Callum leaned forward. “I would like you to do what you do best. Take care of it. Find them a nanny. One qualified to care for the youngest princesses, who will also be able to cook, and clean the rooms, should the need arise. Be sure that she meets all of the security protocols and—”
Alastair cut off his father, something he never did. “I know what to do, Kothrar, but why isn’t Algerone doing this? It is after all his children we are acquiring care for.”
King Callum narrowed his eyes at Alastair and he waited for the dressing down he would receive for interrupting “The King,” rather than his father, because that’s who the man in front of him was at this moment. He was King Callum Smythe, King of Malvidence. Not Callum Smythe, Alastair’s father.
“You are doing this because your brother is as exhausted as Valerie with the birth of these beauties. Not only that, I have need of him at a number of meetings. Now that he is married and a father, he appears much more stable in the eyes of many of the delegation, and rulers of other countries. It is time for him to step fully into his role as Crown Prince. He has a duty to the Crown and needs to be present as my heir, you don’t need to be there as my assistant and advisor,” King Callum shook his head.
Alastair ignored the twinge of hurt that gripped his heart, and internally placed a cement plaster over the tear. His heart probably represented more of a cement block than a beating, pulsing, feeling, capable of loving, organ, but years of his father’s and mother’s subtle and not-so-subtle digs at his uselessness had turned his once gentle heart to one almost completely made of stone. It was no matter. He had no prospects that he would consider giving his heart to, and no plans to be married. He’d leave that to his other brothers. He would remain a bachelor for the rest of his life.
And tie up, spank, gag, paddle, and fuck every single submissive woman he could get his hands on.
Alastair brought his mind back to his present conversation with his father and nodded. “I will place an ad with the local agencies and interview prospective nannies immediately.”
“Excellent,” King Callum responded, then turning in his chair, lifted slowly and carefully, still holding onto his granddaughters, before exiting Alastair’s office.
Alastair sighed then pulled his private cellphone from his inner suit jacket pocket. He would need a scene that evening. A particularly rough one, and he knew just who to call.
Lifting his phone to his ear, Alastair smiled at the sound of the soft, breathless voice that answered after two rings.
“Hello, love,” he growled. “I will be leaving in three hours. Be ready for me,” he commanded.
“Yes, Sir,” she responded. No questions asked, no hesitation, Alastair loved that.
He hung up without another word, then returned his focus to his duties. After all, he was the assistant to the King of Malvidence, and outside of the bedroom, it was apparently all he was good at.
Heerzand, Waldakan
Current capital and royal city
Home of Princess Aa’Leyah Zameer, Queen-apparent
Base of the Rebellion
Leyah stared at Danorian with incredulity through the computer screen.
“You want me to do what?” she asked.
Danorian smiled at her. “I am quite certain you understood my words, Princess Leyah. In order to give you access to the royal family of Malvidence, and get you close enough to the Smythes, you will need a position in the home. Much as I do. They are all extremely paranoid after the last attempt on Prince Algerone and Princess Valerie’s lives,” he paused, and a smirk crossed his lips. “Unfortunately, the shooter killed himself in the interrogation room. So, they are even more hyperaware. However, they are seeking a nanny for the newborn twins. If you apply for the position and are hired you will be in the perfect place to carry out the plan of attack.”
Leyah shook her head, then pinched the bridge of her nose. Lord Danorian’s plan seemed foolproof, and yet a knot had formed in her belly.
It is a fool who believes he has a plan with no possibility of errors. While one can map out their actions, they cannot anticipate the reactions of those around them, nor the interference of the gods. For only they can have a plan which will always succeed, no matter the interference of fools. Leyah’s father’s words came back to her and she sighed. Even after all these years, she still missed her parents fiercely. It was for them that she was doing this. She appreciated her ancestral history, and even understood the revenge which had plagued and fueled generations before her, but Leyah loved Waldakan. It was smaller than the land her people had once inhabited, but, it was all she’d known.
No. Her revenge was not fired by the stealing or colonization of her ancestors’ land. It was enflamed by the deaths of
her parents. Someone would pay for the lifeless bodies of her parents, eyes fixed and unseeing, blood pooling beneath their heads, that haunted her nightly.
With that in mind, Leyah nodded. “Fine. But I cannot go to them as I am. Aa’Leyah Zameer, Princess of Waldakan, Queen-apparent, leader of the Rebellion. I will need a new identity.”
Danorian inclined his head. “It shall be done, Your Majesty.” Then with the Waldakan salute over his heart, he signed off.
Leyah slouched down in her chair, smiling softly as the wind, blowing through her office window, brought with it the remembrance of her mother’s reprimand to her ears.
You are more than merely a princess, Leyah. My drotibābā, you are a lady as well. You must always behave as one, for the only times the eyes of the world will not be upon you, judging you, trying to find you lacking, will be when you are alone in your bedroom, for even with the man you will eventually take as your consort will weigh you against those who have come before. So, sit up! Hold your head high, look at all around you with compassion, understanding, and grace, but with a firmness in your spine that lets them know royalty was not something you were merely born into, it is something that infuses your blood.
Leyah wiped at the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Yes, she was royalty. She was a princess, a future queen—as soon as she found a consort—because it was woven into her DNA. She embodied grace, strength, determination, ambition, drive, intelligence, beauty, compassion, understanding, regality, philanthropy, and caring. She was the exact image of what her mother had always told her a princess… a queen… should be.
But Leyah would never be queen. Because she would never marry.
After being witness to the murder of her parents and left all alone without a family member to help her grieve, to comfort her, to lead and guide her, Leyah’s heart had shattered so much that all that remained was an empty husk. Still beating in order to keep her alive, so that she could exact revenge upon her family’s enemies, but incapable of feeling emotion.
Leyah was dead inside, and she was fine with it.
Or at least that’s what she told herself.
With a sigh Leyah, aka Aa΄Leyah—which was in fact her legal and more formal name—rose from her chair and walked over to a floor-to-ceiling window in her office. Her office was the same one her father had once used. Still bearing the weight of her father, King Izem “The Lion” Zameer, the room was filled with dark wood furniture. Books were stuffed onto the shelves, the covers well-worn from repeated reading. Pictures of herself and her parents, in various poses, on numerous occasions, covered the walls and the overly large desk. A large lion skin was draped over the dark brown leather couch. It was Leyah’s favorite place in the room. It was where she felt closest to her father, so many of her memories of him encapsulating the time he sat on the couch, one arm stretched along the back of the leather, his legs stretched out on the cushions as he leaned against the armrest, the other hand holding a stack of papers. Whenever Leyah looked for her father, she would find him there, or out with the people, and every so often, she would find him hunting with the warriors, his gaze focused and intent.
When Leyah was ten, she’d gone hunting with her father for the first time. When Izem’s arrow found itself true, and lodged the arrowhead directly into the lion’s heart, Leyah had screamed, rushing forward to help the innocent creature. She’d been furious with her father for killing such a powerful and majestic animal and it had been two weeks before she’d been willing to speak to him again. What he told her changed her life, forever.
The people of Waldakan do not hunt fruitlessly, as many other cultures do. When we seek the creatures, who live in the forests, we say a prayer before we begin to the gods that they would bless our venture. That they would welcome the spirits of our brother and sister animals as we take from them the nourishment provided to us by the gods and the spirits of our ancestors. We bless those magnificent beings who are felled by our weapons and are sure to leave no part of the animal unused. The parts that we cannot use to feed our people, or clothe their bodies, or use as weapons against those who wish to do us harm, we offer up as a sacrifice to the gods and ask that the animal be honored and bestowed a welcome worthy of royalty into the Great Beyond. We are not monsters, drotibābā, we are protectors, harvesters, restorers, and spiritual guardians of the land, the animals that live upon it, and our people who share it with them. You must respect the animal as it blesses you with its meat and its hide, but you must never take it for granted, because that is what separates us from the true monsters.
Leyah had been moved by her father’s words, spoken in his slow, deep melody of a voice. Her father’s words had changed her, they often did, but it was his voice—spoken in earnestness—that had so swayed her. Izem had once been the tarabęĵdor—the composer and performer of Waldakan music that held within it the history of their people, and messages for their country. His voice, so deep, so melodious, so soothing, often lulled many of the younger children to sleep, and when he sang of love, it enflamed the passions of the lovers within earshot who listened.
Leyah had been trained to be a tarabęĵdor by her father, but her mother, Mwassaa Agbaje-Zameer—who had once been a huntress and warrior in her region of Antoyonne—was adamant that Leyah learn the discipline and the art of battle. And so, Leyah was knowledgeable in both the creative, and the deadly. The grace and the viciousness. The compassionate and the mercurial.
As every royal should be.
She watched as some of the servants’ children played down in the courtyard and smiled faintly. Her people were happy. They were thriving. Their crops were plentiful. The waters of the lakes, streams, and ponds, that flowed through the pipes of the city, and filled their various wells, were swelling. There was no major crime, nor were there a large number of unexplained deaths or incurable diseases. She should be happy. It was the job of every leader to make sure their people were taken care of, in spite of the cost to themselves personally or professionally.
However, Leyah heard the murmurings and the rumblings of her people when they thought she was unaware. They spoke of the deaths of her parents. The inexplicable hunting accident which had taken her grandfather, her beloved jaddthrï, Seba Zameer, and the broken heart which had taken her grandmother, her graceful and demure jaddathrā, Emefa Akyeampong-Zameer, only days later. They talked of King ZwooZa and the promise he’d made to the people of Waldakan along with his queen Oonktu΄al, and his brother, Waruhiu, to return them to their homeland and evict those who had stolen it from them.
Leyah knew they would never presume to push her into doing what Lord Danorian had propositioned, but Leyah was the last of her line. Waruhiu had borne no sons, and his daughters had been barren. The people of Waldakan spoke as if the brother of King ZwooZa had been cursed, which was ridiculous. Still, it was up to Leyah to fulfill the promise her family had made to their people, and she had to do it soon, before she took her last breath.
So, if that meant she would have to become a nanny to the detestable royal family of Malvidence, she would do so.
Pushing away from the window, Leyah turned and walked out of her office, her black boots thumping on the floor with her determined strides. If she was going to get the position, she would need to do some studying on the children, and the wife of Prince Algerone. She would need to brush up on the foods that Americans ate.
Leyah grimaced. Americans and their filthy eating habits. She would try to introduce some healthy alternatives to the princess and her children while she was there. Yes, she intended to kill the princess’s husband, Prince Algerone, and his brothers, and parents, before removing the entire country, but she would not allow harm to come to the princess from America and her children. No matter what Danorian wanted.
Leyah stepped into the war room and nodded at the women and men who sat within.
“It’s time. I will infiltrate the palace of Malvidence as a nanny. So, teach me how to serve.”
Chapter Two
A l
astair was hard at work in his office when his older brother, Augustus, stomped in and flopped down on the couch.
Alastair barely restrained a chuckle.
“Problem?” he asked.
“Helen has disappeared,” Augustus mumbled.
Alastair shook his head. “I highly doubt that,” he remarked.
The baleful glare Augustus sent him had no effect whatsoever on Alastair and he merely grinned at his older sibling who currently lay pouting in the room like a child. “I think I know if someone is merely hiding or if they’ve fallen off the map, Las,” Augustus stated, using Alastair’s childhood nickname. The one he knew Alastair hated.
“I am in no way doubting, nor questioning your numerous skills, bruthrar, I am simply pointing out the fact that her disappearing is not the most likely situation. She would not do that to Val, who is her best friend. Nor would she do that to her godchildren, our nieces and nephews. Especially not now that there are two newborns,” Alastair pointed out. “She is probably just hiding from you. Since you are the one who not only broke her heart but made her look like a fool in front of what essentially amounts to the world.”
Augustus sat up quickly and slammed his fists down on the cushions on either side of him.
“I would never hurt Helen!” he growled.
Alastair remained calm in the face of his brother’s anger. It was his normal state. A sense of calmness, a mask of apathy where others displayed emotion. It served him well in his position. And when dealing with his other hotheaded brothers.
